Those were the attributes that Ross' friends and family recalled Saturday as they gathered near the stadium gates at the Long Beach campus. They placed flowers and votive candles at the spot where she was fatally shot Friday night as she and her friends were leaving the Wilson homecoming game against Polytechnic High School.

The daughter of Cambodian immigrants, Ross died at St. Mary's Hospital at 10:30 p.m., half an hour after she was shot, said her uncle, Sam Che.

Two men, ages 18 and 20, were wounded in the gunfire and hospitalized with non-life-threatening injuries, police said. They are not believed to be students at either school, and their identities were not released.

No arrests have been made, police said.

Classmates and school officials expressed disbelief over the death of a well-liked student.

"It's very disconcerting. I'm sick to my stomach when something like that happens and you have an innocent kid involved," said Wilson football coach Mario Morales. He said he heard five to seven shots as he was leaving the stadium after his team's 34-15 loss to Poly.

"She was an all-around good person," Demitrius Torres, a 16-year-old classmate, said of Ross, with whom he sat during the homecoming game. He had befriended her last year when the two had a history class together. "She was the only one who got my jokes."

Demitrius, who joined other students at a makeshift memorial along Ximeno Avenue across from the stadium, had said goodbye to Ross after the game and left to go home. Like other students, he didn't know how to express his feelings over the senseless death.

Tiffany Ford, a 17-year-old senior and Bruin cheerleader who had recently become friends with Ross, described her as a "nice, bubbly and giggling person."

After learning of Ross' death from a mutual friend's text message Saturday morning, Tiffany said she was "just broken up. I was crying."

"You are talking about a girl who had a positive attitude," said Patrick Merola, 17, a close friend of Ross' sister, Emily, a senior at Wilson. "She was a very good person. I loved her."

Students on Saturday hugged each other and some sat with their heads down, pondering the loss of a friend. A passerby in a green Toyota truck yelled out: "Police need to do their job!"

"The Long Beach Unified School District extends its deepest sympathies to Ross' family, friends and teachers," said district spokesman Chris Eftychiou.

Extra security will be deployed on campus Monday, and grief counselors will be available "for any student who needs to talk about the incident," Eftychiou said.

A homecoming dance attended by about 200 students was underway on campus when the shots were fired about 10 p.m., Eftychiou said. The sparsely attended dance for a school of 4,500 students was put under lockdown while police searched for suspects, he said. Security had been beefed up for the sold-out game, which Eftychiou described as a "healthy rivalry" between the two Long Beach schools.

Authorities have not determined whether the shooting was gang-related, said Long Beach Police Department spokeswoman Sgt. Dina Zapalski.

Che, Ross' uncle, said their family immigrated to Southern California in the mid-1980s from Cambodia. "We escaped the killing fields," said Che, 36, hinting at the irony of his niece's death outside of a suburban high school with no history of violence. At least one bullet struck her in the side, Che said.

ruben.vives@latimes.com

ben.bolch@latimes.com

Times staff writer Carol J. Williams contributed to this report.

San envisioned one day looking down Anaheim Street and seeing facades resembling ornate Cambodian temples; a large-scale shopping center where tourists could sample Cambodian cuisine and buy handcrafts; and even a museum outlining the history of Cambodian Americans in Long Beach.

But years after the official designation, the fate of Cambodia Town remains in limbo. Long Beach officials did not commit city funds to improve the area.

Backers have been struggling to persuade businesses on the 1.2-mile strip to shell out money to support a business improvement district, which is mandated by the city to pay for additional services, such as special signs, increased security, street cleaning and landscaping.

These are features that would lure investors and tourists to the area, said San, chairwoman of Cambodia Town Inc. But for businesses, many of them mom-and-pop shops hurt by the economic downturn, the extra services would mean paying $50 to $200 in extra fees per year.

"You can't blame the small businesses because they count every penny, and they don't necessarily feel the need" for the district, San said. "They are asking us, 'I already pay high taxes; why should I have to pay extra?' "

For San, a refugee who fled the killing fields in Cambodia with her family as a teenager, the answer is simple. "We should be proud to have Cambodia Town," she said. "In the U.S., we are the only place that has one."

On a recent Saturday afternoon, San and a dozen other Cambodian Americans walked down Anaheim Street to promote the district, which would run from Atlantic Avenue to Junipero Avenue.

San, who wore a navy blue Cambodia Town Inc. hat, carried a black binder containing glossy photos of ethnic districts in the area that she hoped Cambodia Town would resemble one day: Little Saigon in Westminster and Chinatown in Los Angeles.

The corridor is lined with Cambodian-owned restaurants, bakeries, markets and auto repair shops. It is also home to a hodgepodge of Latino-owned stores and Chinese and Vietnamese businesses.

The group needed about 185 businesses of the 370 along the corridor to support the district. At first, proponents reached out to owners they knew personally, and petitions were streaming in. Then they turned to businesses owned by those outside of their community. After several years of pounding the pavement, the group had 105 businesses on board.

"We're going to be more aggressive now," San said as she marched west on Anaheim Street in the beating sun, past vacant lots and drab strip malls with signs in the Khmer language. "It doesn't matter how long it takes."

Long Beach is known as the Cambodian capital of the United States. The port city is believed to have the largest concentration of Cambodians outside the home country, with an estimated 50,000, though 2000 census figures put the number at 20,000. Most were refugees who escaped the Khmer Rouge regime in the 1970s that claimed the lives of nearly 2 million Cambodians. Many settled around Anaheim Street, lured by its cheap housing and growing Cambodian American community.

"In the past, no one wanted to walk down Anaheim Street because it was considered a red-light district," San said. "It's a lot safer now, but we can do more. We want it to look clean and very nice to attract more people to shop."

A few steps behind San, Paul Chorn, 25, recalled that when he was younger, he hardly ventured onto Anaheim Street because of crime. But now he is proud that many Cambodian businesses have transformed the corridor into a safer, thriving area.

Chorn said the district would mean something more for his people. "With this designation, we can show that we are not people stuck in the era of genocide," he said. "We progressed for the better."

Chorn, San and several others walked into a strip mall at Anaheim and Orange Avenue. It was the third time the group had tried to get business owners in the plaza to sign the petition. Owners of a Cambodian supermarket, two restaurants, a design store and a video store have already signed up, but the group still needed the support of an Eastern herbal store, a dentist, a sandwich shop, a jewelry store and a pharmacy.

Chorn and several others walked into a pharmacy.

Michael Saing, 25, explained to Ben Mai, whose wife is a pharmacist there, why the group wanted a business improvement district.

Mai, who is Vietnamese, said he understood. "I come from Orange County, and when I drive down Bolsa [Avenue] in Little Saigon, you can see there's a lot there," he said. "For you Cambodians, you have a big community, but you don't have something to represent you."

Saing said it took 15 years to get Little Saigon started. "You have to start somewhere," he said.

But Mai said the pharmaceutical industry is struggling. "I don't know if I can make this decision right now," he said. "I'm for improvement, but it is kind of expensive."

The group left the store and continued down the street. They popped into Lily Bakery, a French patisserie that also sells Cambodian sweets. The flowery fragrance of sesame balls and breaded banana wafted through the store.

Saing greeted three women standing behind the counter in Khmer. He showed them the petition, laying his binder over the counter where packaged spring rolls lay. The women asked several questions and said they would talk to the owner.

The group continued westward, turning into a Church's Chicken and two auto repair stores. No one signed.

Next, the group walked into a Cambodian broadcasting studio, the Khmer Media Network. They were greeted by Alexander Thong, president of the studio, who invited San to sit on a black leather couch as she explained the need for the improvement district.

Thong decided to sign. "We moved to Anaheim Street to be closer to the Cambodian center," he said. "Cambodia Town is my second home from my homeland."

The group's last stop was Edith's Beauty and Barber Shop, owned by Blanca Edith Rivas, who said she doesn't have many Cambodian costumers. Many decide to go elsewhere when they learn that the shop is not Cambodian-owned, she said.

But Rivas decided to sign the petition. "I know that what Cambodians say they are going to do, they do it," she said.

The group gathered outside in the shade of Rivas' building. They were joined by Long Beach Councilman Dee Andrews, whose district includes parts of Cambodia Town. He told them to keep up the effort. The group snapped a photo.

It had been two hours, and the group got five businesses on board, including a Vietnamese pho noodle restaurant, a pizza joint and a coin-operated laundry.

"You see, it's not easy," said Richer San, Sithea's husband. But he said they weren't discouraged. The group would try again soon, he said.

He looked down the street and said he could one day see tourists streaming in from downtown Long Beach.