“Is pretty. So pretty!”

Mrs. Yashimoto was nodding at my kimono blouse. “Thank you,” I said. “It was my grandmother’s.”

She smiled, but I could tell she didn’t understand.

“Arigato,” I said, remembering one of the few Japanese words I learned from Mimi. Arigato means “thank you.”

She beamed at me. We’d gotten off to a good start.

It was Monday, after school. And for the first time in what seemed like days, I wasn’t thinking about Stacey or Jeremy. Instead, I was concentrating on getting to know the Yashimotos, the family who needed my help learning English and adjusting to life in America.

As soon as the last bell had rung, Erica and I had headed for the home economics room, where we were going to meet our families for the first time. During our training sessions, Ms. Beckwith had gone over the basics of how ESL (that’s English as a Second Language) is taught. She’d explained that our job would be to help the families use what they were learning. It would be less threatening, for example, for immigrants to practice English with us than with strangers in a store or a restaurant or a state office. We were helping them polish their skills for the “real world.”

The adult volunteers — some of them were teachers from SMS and some were parents or other community members — were responsible for the real teaching, Ms. Beckwith had assured us. Each SMS student was paired with one of the adult volunteers. I’d be working with a woman named Mary Buckley, who had been teaching ESL for years.

That was a relief. I’d been more than a little nervous about what was expected of me. After all, I barely knew any Japanese. Mimi, who spoke it fluently, had taught me to count to ten and say a few other words and phrases, but other than that I knew nothing.

Ms. Beckwith reassured me. “You’ll be surprised,” she said. “People are people all over the world, and language is not as much of a barrier as you would think.”

Ten minutes into my first session with the Yashimotos, I had to admit she was right.

Ms. Buckley — who had told me to call her Mary — had already met several times with the Yashimotos, so she had handled the introductions when they arrived in the classroom.

“This is Mr. Yashimoto,” she said, gesturing toward a handsome man in a gray suit. He nodded to me — sort of a little bow — and I nodded back.

“And this is Claudia Kishi,” Mary told him, gesturing toward me.

“Please meet you,” he said.

Mary smiled at him. “Good,” she said. “Almost right. Want to try again?”

He thought for a second. “Please to meet you,” he said with a question in his voice. He was looking at Mary, not at me.

“Better,” she said. “But say ‘pleased’ instead of ‘please.’ ”

“Ah!” he said. “Okay. Pleased to meet you,” he told me with confidence.

“And I’m pleased to meet you,” I said, remembering to speak clearly but in my normal rhythm. I also made an effort not to shout; during our training we’d been reminded that our students are not hard of hearing. (Many people have a habit of raising their voices when they speak to someone who doesn’t speak English.)

Mr. Yashimoto smiled and nodded again.

“And this is Mrs. Yashimoto,” Mary said. “She speaks less English, but she’s learning quickly.”

Mr. Yashimoto was a small, very pretty woman with shiny dark eyes and a heart-shaped face. She smiled a quick, shy smile that lit up her face. “Hello,” she said in a soft voice. Then she gestured toward her two children.

One was a boy of about six. He was adorable. His straight black hair was cut short with bangs across his forehead. He gave me a solemn look.

“This — Yoshi-chan,” said Mrs. Yashimoto.

I remembered that Mimi used to refer to me as Claudia-chan. “Chan” is sometimes added to a child’s name in Japan. “Hello, Yoshi,” I said, smiling. “I’m Claudia.”

He ducked his head and hid behind his mother.

I smiled at Mrs. Yashimoto. I could see that Yoshi was shy, and I wanted his mom to know I understood that.

She smiled back. Then she nodded toward her little girl, who looked about eight. “Maiko-chan,” she said.

Maiko was, if possible, even cuter than Yoshi. Her black hair was fixed in pigtails with pink ribbons, and she wore a pink dress with smocking across the front. She stared at me. “Are you Japanese?” she asked.

I was surprised. She had a strong accent, but her English was excellent. Then I remembered Ms. Beckwith telling us that sometimes younger children pick up languages faster than adults. Also, I remembered that most Japanese children study English in school. Mr. and Mrs. Yashimoto had grown up in a rural area, according to what Mary had said, and had only studied English for a few years, long ago. But their children had been born in Tokyo, and both of them had already been in school for at least a year or two.

“Yes — I mean, I’m Japanese-American,” I answered. Maiko certainly wasn’t as shy as her brother. “I was born here in the United States. But my grandparents were born in Japan.”

Maiko turned to her mother and translated. I recognized the words oba san and oji san and remembered that they mean “grandmother” and “grandfather.” Mrs. Yashimoto nodded and smiled.

“Well,” said Mary. “Now that we’ve all met, I think Mr. Yashimoto and I will begin our lesson over there.” She waved toward an unoccupied table in the back of the room. “The children can play with the toys I brought, over there,” she said, gesturing toward a nearby corner, “and, Claudia, you and Mrs. Yashimoto can work together right here.”

I gulped.

Mary had explained, before the Yashimotos arrived, that Mr. Yashimoto was looking for a job and needed lots of help with skills such as filling out applications and answering interview questions. Mrs. Yashimoto, who was going to stay at home with the children for a while, needed help with skills such as answering the telephone, shopping for food, and talking to teachers. Mary thought I would be able to help her while she worked with Mr. Yashimoto. We had gone over some of the techniques I’d learned in training, but I was still nervous about being someone’s teacher — especially when that someone was older than me.

Mrs. Yashimoto didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. She settled the children in with the toys and crayons Mary had brought, then joined me at our table. She looked at me expectantly.

I cleared my throat and paused.

That’s when she told me how pretty my blouse was. I knew it took a lot for her to do that. According to Mary, Japanese people don’t give gushing compliments the way we do. “Arigato,” I said again. Then I looked down at the materials I’d brought with me, things Ms. Beckwith had loaned me for use when I was tutoring. My eye fell on a box of homemade flash cards. I opened it and leafed through them quickly. One of them caught my eye — a card that said nickel.

“Money!” I said.

Mrs. Yashimoto gave me a curious look.

I rummaged around in my backpack and pulled out my wallet. “Yes!” I said, opening it to see that there were some bills inside. I took out a ten, a five, and a one. Then I opened the change compartment and shook out some pennies, a nickel, a dime, and a quarter.

“Money,” I said again. “Let’s learn about money.”

Mrs. Yashimoto nodded eagerly and watched to see what I would do next.

I pushed the nickel toward her on the table. “Nickel,” I said. “Five cents.” I showed her the flash card. And I counted five on my fingers. Then I pointed to her.

“Nickel?” she asked. “Five?”

“Good,” I told her. Next, I showed her the dime. “Dime,” I said. “Ten cents.”

About fifteen minutes later, when we’d finished with the change and moved on to the bills, Maiko interrupted us.

“I’m hungry!” she announced to me. “And Yoshi has to — go.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “We can take a break. And I think I might have something yummy in my backpack, if it’s okay with your mom.”

Her eyes lit up. “What do you have?” she asked.

“Let’s take Yoshi to the bathroom first,” I said. “Can you explain to your mother?” I didn’t want Mrs. Yashimoto to wonder where I was going with her little boy.

Maiko translated quickly.

Mrs. Yashimoto looked grateful.

When we returned, I dug out a bag of mini Chips Ahoy cookies from my backpack and showed them to Mrs. Yashimoto. “Okay?” I asked, gesturing toward Maiko and Yoshi. She nodded, smiling. I turned the cookies over to Maiko. “Share them with your brother,” I told her.

“I will,” she promised. “Will you look at my picture?”

I glanced at Mrs. Yashimoto, who was looking through the flash cards we’d just used, murmuring to herself as she checked each one. “Sure,” I said. Maiko grabbed my hand and dragged me to the corner where she’d been playing.

People are people, and kids are kids. It was easy to get along with Maiko, and even Yoshi warmed up to me in a little while. After I’d admired their pictures and given them some ideas about what to draw next, I went back to Mrs. Yashimoto.

“You like children,” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” I answered, smiling back.

By the end of our lesson, I’d become a lot more confident about being able to teach English. And Mrs. Yashimoto was eager for her next shopping trip. Teaching ESL was going to be a blast.

When I talked to Erica afterward, she agreed. The family she was working with was Bosnian, and she had invited them to her family’s house for dinner. I thought that was a great idea and decided to do the same with the Yashimotos. I had a feeling they’d get along beautifully with my parents and Janine.