Abel Rodriguez had no car. He’s a janitor at Community High School in Collin County, near Dallas.

Abel is nice. Not a big guy. Easy going, mostly quiet. Friendly. He deals with teenagers all day. He cleans spills from the floor. The occasional vomit from the hallways. Messes in the bathroom. You name it.

He’s a big supporter of athletics. Including the women’s volleyball team. He even warms up with them if they need someone to run drills.

Well, having no wheels makes life difficult for Abel. Getting to and from work is a giant pain in the proverbial intergluteal cleft.

Recently, for example, he was stuck at the high school until 1 a.m., waiting for his ride to arrive.

Students eventually heard about his situation. Rumors of Abel’s transit issues started making their way around campus. And if you remember high school, you know how fast such gossip can travel. Gossip is the love language of the pubescent.

News of the janitor’s transportation crisis finally made its way to the Lady Braves volleyball team. The girls could hardly believe it. They didn’t even know about his problem. Namely, because he never complains.

Jorryn Collins is a senior on the volleyball team.

“He has a million reasons to be sad,” she says, “and never has a smile NOT on his face… he’s always more happy than you will ever be, honestly. And you would NEVER guess the reality of his situation.”

“He’s just really helpful, honestly,” said Addee Kuenstler, another student athlete. “He’s our biggest cheerleader.”

So the volleyball team got an idea. They started a GoFundMe campaign. They told their friends. Friends told their friends. Parents got involved. Sometimes, gossip can work in your favor.

On the first day of the campaign, the girls raised $3000. And te numbers kept growing. It wasn’t long before they had raised $9,000.

A local dealership heard about the team’s efforts. The dealership made things happen. Another local business agreed to provide auto insurance coverage and a huge chunk of gas money.

Once things were in place, all that was left was giving Abel the keys.

It happened outside Community High School. It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. Abel was called outside for “an emergency.”

When he walked through the doors into the hot Texan sunlight, more than a hundred people had gathered there. Mostly kids.

They were all cheering, chanting his name, holding hand painted signs.

Signs which read, “¡Te Amamos Abel!” “¡Felicitaciones Por Tu Nuevo Auto!” And “Congratulations, We Love You!”

In the center of the crowd was a parked Ford Escape, champagne colored, sitting pretty, gleaming in the sun. The doors and rear hatch, splayed open. The body, polished within an inch of its grain.

Abel’s eyes became pink. He covered his face. He doubled over. And finally, in a soft spoken voice with a broken accent, he spoke.

“I love you,” he said.

I can’t think of three better words with which to end this tale.