Priscilla Contreras had noticed the change in her friend. The two had grown up together, first in the trailer park, then in elementary school and later in high school. When Contreras had a baby, it was Delgado who would often come over and sit with her.

"She told me she didn't want to live her life just working," she said. "She wanted to do something more. She wanted better for herself and for her mom."

Her new job as a bank teller stoked her dreams. She loved working there; perhaps, she told her sister, she might someday be a loan officer.

In February, Delgado got her driver's license. She would plead with her father to allow her to drive his 1998 Mustang. Her friends recalled how much she loved that car.

"Come on, let me take the car," Delgado asked her father, according to Galdamez. "I'm just going to work."

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The Kingdom of Tonga lies two-thirds of the way from Hawaii to New Zealand and a world away from the tiny trailer park where Edith Delgado lived. These are Capt. James Cook's "Friendly Islands," a Polynesian paradise of gorgeous, serene beaches and coconut palm trees, home to just 102,000 people.

In Tonga, families watch out for each other's children. Island life is so different from fast-paced America, where many Tongans have moved to earn money to send home.

Tongans are taught to revere the monarchy and not to criticize their leaders.

But that doesn't mean they don't want change.

The king has near-absolute power. He appoints members of his Cabinet, who serve until retirement or death. The king sits with them in the 30-member Parliament, which includes nine members elected by the people.

The democracy movement has gotten stronger over the years, and pressure has been mounting for the king to surrender his powers to an elected parliament. Last year, seven of the nine seats in Parliament went to candidates who support a democracy.

Last August, thousands of public servants, their families and supporters marched through the streets of Tonga's capital, Nuku'alofa, calling for higher wages. But it was the leader of the march who garnered the most attention.

Surprisingly, it was not a commoner who led the people to the palace to deliver the petition. It was Prince Tu'ipelehake — nephew of King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV, the monarch who would die in September after a 41-year reign.

With that one gesture, the prince became the "people's prince," the first royal to truly connect with the people and really listen to their views.