The next Monday afternoon I was back at Kristy’s house, watching Emily and David Michael while Kristy baby-sat for the Papadakis kids. This time I had ridden home on the school bus with her.

It had been awhile since I’d had that … opportunity. How did Kristy do it twice every weekday? I wondered. It was awful. The sixth-grade boys tormented the sixth-grade girls, and everyone seemed to have leftover lunch food with them. Only they didn’t eat it, they threw it around.

“I’m used to it, I guess,” said Kristy, as a dill pickle sailed over our heads. She watched it land in the aisle, and then went on to a different subject, as if the flying pickle didn’t exist.

I was glad to get off the bus.

Kristy headed for the Papadakises’, and I headed for her house. My sitting job started pretty much the way Dawn’s had the week before. Nannie left, Emily whimpered, David Michael arrived, and Emily stopped crying.

But this time, David Michael didn’t invite a friend over. In fact, Timmy Hsu called and invited David Michael to his house, so I was left with Emily.

“Well,” I said, looking into her deep dark eyes. “What shall we do today, Miss Emily?”

“Boe!” exclaimed Emily, pointing across the kitchen at absolutely nothing. She grinned at me.

What were Emily and I going to do all afternoon?

Emily wandered into the den and I followed her. She found a box of crayons and a pad of paper, plopped onto the floor, and began scribbling. I remembered what Kristy had told us sitters at the BSC meeting: that the preschool teachers had said Emily wasn’t ready to attend school. She was still too far behind the other children.

“Hey, Emily,” I said suddenly. “Show me the red crayon.” I was wondering exactly how much Emily did know — and if maybe I could teach her a few things.

Emily just looked at me.

I tried something easier. I knew Emily could follow simple instructions. “Give me a crayon, please,” I said.

Very carefully, almost delicately, Emily pulled a blue crayon from the box and handed it to me.

“Good girl!” I exclaimed, making a really big deal out of it. “Good girl! Thank you!”

Emily beamed. She loved the attention. She gave me another crayon.

“Oh, thank you!” I said. Then I added, “Now this time, give me the red crayon.”

Emily frowned slightly. Then she smiled again — and handed me the purple crayon, followed by the yellow one.

Okay, so Emily didn’t know her colors yet. She certainly couldn’t say their names and she couldn’t even identify them. I would have to try something simpler. I let Emily go back to her scribbling while I found a pair of scissors and a package of construction paper. I cut out two big blue squares, two big red squares, and two big yellow squares.

When I was done, and the scissors had been put away, I said, “Hey, Emily, let’s play a game!” I laid three squares, one of each color, on the floor in front of Emily. She immediately abandoned her crayons. Then I handed Emily the second red square. “Look,” I said. “Here’s a red square. Can you find the other red one?” I showed her the three on the floor. Then, since I knew Emily had no idea what we were doing, I pointed to the red square. As soon as Emily picked it up, I praised her as if she’d just achieved world peace or something. I even tickled her, which made her giggle and kick her feet. Then I settled her down, spread out the three squares again, and this time gave her the second yellow one.

“That’s yellow,” I told her emphatically. “Where’s the other yellow square?”

Emily handed me the red one again, since she’d received such praise for that before.

Hmm. This was going to be harder than I’d thought.

I tried something new. I mixed up the three squares, set them out in a different order, and gave Emily the second red square again.

“Emily, that’s red,” I said. “Where’s the other red square?”

Emily looked uncertainly at the squares in front of her. The red square had been in the middle before. Her hand went toward the middle square again, which was now the blue one.

“Give me red, Emily,” I said, before she could make a mistake. “Give me the one that’s the same.”

I realized something. I wasn’t teaching Emily colors. I was teaching her how to match. Was this what being a teacher was all about? Guiding someone toward something, step by step? It wasn’t easy. I began to have a little more respect for the teachers at SMS, especially my teachers, who probably had to work harder with me than they did with most other kids.

Emily was looking over the squares in front of her.

I decided to give her some help. Gently, I pulled her hand forward. I placed her red square next to the yellow one, then next to the blue one, and finally next to the red one.

“There it is!” I cried, as we matched the two red squares. “There’s the one that’s the same.” I held the squares up for Emily. “They’re both red! They’re the same!”

I could practically see a light go on in Emily’s head. Her eyes widened. “Buh!” she said.

I mixed up the three squares again. Before I could even ask Emily to find the red one, she held it up triumphantly.

Whoa! I think I felt as proud as Emily did. I rewarded her with a hug and a cracker. Then I tried switching tactics. I took away her red square and asked her to match the yellow one. After just two false tries, Emily understood what we were doing. She matched the blue one like a pro, and soon the game was too easy for her. I had to make it more difficult.

I added other colors.

Then I changed to shapes (all red, so the game wouldn’t be too confusing). Emily could match! Wait until Mrs. Brewer came home!

I checked the time. We still had another twenty minutes together, and Emily hadn’t lost interest in what we were doing. I decided to go back to teaching her colors, so I put away the shapes and spread the red, yellow, and blue squares in front of her again. This time I didn’t hand her a square to match with, though. I just said, “Emily, show me red.” And then I gave her a hint. I pointed to the red one for her. When Emily picked it up — hugs!

We were still playing the color game when Mrs. Brewer came home from work. Emily had been so intent on her colors that she didn’t even see her mother at first. When she finally glanced up and realized that Mrs. Brewer was standing in the doorway to the den, she leaped to her feet and gave her mother a tight squeeze around the legs.

“Hi, Mrs. Brewer,” I said, standing up. “Emily and I were playing some matching and color games this afternoon.” I was about to add, “Do you want to see what Emily can do?” when Emily pulled her mother into the room and began showing off.

Mrs. Brewer was impressed. Then she said the last thing I would have expected. “Claudia, how would you like to work with Emily for awhile? Maybe twice a week — at your house? I think that going to a new environment and working with someone Emily doesn’t live with would be good for her. It would be like going to school.”

Me! A tutor? I couldn’t believe it! I’m usually the tutee. But of course I said, “Yes,” without even hesitating. Then Mrs. Brewer and I worked out the arrangements.

When Dad picked me up on his way home from work, I was ecstatic!