I do not recallthe firsttime Inoticed her at school，but Mrs．Kwas not one to blend into a crowd．Iwould see her walking briskly across the school rotunda，tall and lean， wearing a skirt and a mauve①-colored raincoat，holding a stuffed beige handbag in one hand and a bright red coffee pot in the other．She seemed so confident，always looking straight ahead as she walked around school．Perhaps it was her hair that first caught my eye．It was short，a mix of
light brown and gray，combed slightly up—almost spiked①．Not the typical sort of hairstyle for an English teacher at our school．It set her apart and made her look dynamic．Already I knew that she was somebody special．
My first day in Mrs．K's class left much to be desired．I entered to find most of my classmates just laughing and joking．The first-day-of-school jitters②had become passe，and the smugness that comes with seniordom dominated the room．Suddenly the chattering diminished．Mrs．K was coming．
In she ambled，with her stuffed hand- bag and bright red coffee pot，wearing a skirt and the mauve raincoat；she was just as I had remembered．She scanned that room，and up went her right eyebrow．A most peculiar“I-know-what-you-are-up-to” smirk③was our first GREeting．Now I was nervous．
“All right，ladies and gentlemen，I want to see if you belong in my class，”she be- gan．“Take out a pen and lots of paper．” There was a pause．“Some of you know you don't really belong in here，”she said，“and it's time you stopped getting put in Honors English just because you passed some silly little test in second grade．Well now we're going to see what you can do．Okay now， stop and think for a moment，and get those creative juices going．I want you to write me a paper telling me the origin of the English language．You can be as creative as you want．Make up something if you have to— two cavemen grunting at each other，I don't care．You have until the end of the period．Go．”
It was not the most encouraging welcome．For a moment the whole class just sort of slumped in their seats，drained suddenly of allvitality①and hopes of a relaxed senior year．Blank faces abounded，mine included．I had no idea what to write．The origin of the English language？Being“creative”seemed too risky．What ever happened to the good old five paragraph essay with specific examples？Well I didn't have any specific examples anyway．Iremember staring at a sheet of white paper， then scrawling②down some incoherent mumbo-jumbo③．What a first day！
Fortunately，that first day with Mrs．K would not be my last．Although the class size shrunk the following days as some students ran for their academic lives，I was not prepared to leave．I knew Mrs．K's class would be an arduous English journey，but I could never let myself miss it．It would be a journey well worth taking．
As the weeks continued，tidbits④of Mrs．K's colorful past and philosophy about life would somehow always creep into lectures and class discussions．We found out she had served as a volunteer nurse ina combat hospital in Japan．During the 60s a wilder Mrs．K could be seen cruising the streets of San Francisco on motorcycle， decked out in long spiked boots and short spiked hair．And there was a running joke about her age．Mrs．Kcould be much less than 45，but she was forever 28．
（to be continued）
