The summers in my hometown of Desert Springs were exceptionally hot, and all that people wanted to do was nothing but swimming in the public pool. This also meant that the most coveted (令人垂涎的) summer job for a high school student was to be a swimming instructor. You got to spend the whole summer in the pool and it was really glamorous (有魅力的), too!

However, I did not get a job as a swimming instructor. I tried really hard—I’m a good swimmer and I practiced my interview answers for weeks beforehand, but the pool offered me a job as a lifeguard instead.

Being a lifeguard wasn’t nearly as fun or glamorous as being a swimming instructor. Mostly, being a lifeguard meant sitting next to the pool, sweating in the hot sun, and making sure everyone obeyed the rules. “Being a lifeguard is an important job,” my dad kept reminding me, “and you have to be one of the best swimmers in the whole town. If someone gets hurt or in distress in the pool, it’s your job to rescue them.” I knew that, and I wanted to do well at such an important job, but I was still disappointed. No one at school next year would be impressed with a story of how I sat in a chair all summer and got sunburnt.

But finally I took the job anyway. Once I began work, I quickly learned that being a lifeguard was much more involved than I thought. With half of the town at the pool at any given time, there were a lot of people to keep an eye on.

I was also still jealous of the swimming instructors, who I could see every day from my seat in the lifeguard chair, which was almost eight feet tall to give me a good view and right by the side of the pool. The swimming instructors always looked like they were having so much fun, giving their lessons and playing around during their breaks in the cool, inviting water.

One afternoon, midway through the summer, I was arguing with a group of elementary schoolers about the no running rule when the sound of a woman shouting caught my attention. “Carey! Carey!” I glanced around and saw a woman searching frantically (疯狂地) for something. Immediately, my eyes went to the pool.

Everything looked fine until I spotted the shape of a small child.

I was feeling a bit embarrassed now with all of the attention.

“I don’t get it, Pete,” Janet said to her cousin. “Why do you fish at Murphy’s pond if old Mrs. Murphy is a witch (女巫)?”

“The fishing’s great… And the old Murphy house is over a hill behind the pond,” Pete replied. “We’ll be okay… As long as we stay away from the house,” he continued in a low voice. “They say kids who go into that house are never seen again!”

After they got to the pond, witches were forgotten. Pete sat on the old dock and threw out his line. Suddenly Janet saw something shining in the water and stepped forward for a closer look. The rotting (腐朽的) wood of the dock broke under her. “H-e-l-l-p!” She screamed as she dropped down into the dark, cold water.

Pete jumped in to help her. “Quiet down!” He said out of breath as they got to the rocky shore. “You’re not hurt. If you keep complaining, you’ll wake the witch!” Then he screamed. “OUCH-H-H!” and lifted his foot. There was a deep cut on the bottom of his foot from a sharp rock!

“Oh, Pete, you’re hurt!” Janet cried. “I’ll go for…” But before she could say Help, she saw an old woman coming toward them. Without a word, the woman picked up Pete and carried him up the hill. A cold, wet, and confused Janet followed. She was frightened but had a strange feeling that the old woman meant no harm.

At the top of the hill, the woman walked to ward an old house. “Oh, p-p-please, Ma’am,” a frightened Pete begged, “Please don’t go there. That’s where the w-w-witch lives!”

“That is my home, young man,” the woman said softly, “Do not be afraid.” At the front door, she said to Janet, “Please open the door.” Janet did, and the three went inside. Mrs. Murphy gently put Pete on a couch (睡椅), then disappeared into another room.

Mrs. Murphy returned with two warm blankets.

Mrs. Murphy smiled happily.

I always hope for some student who possesses that unusual capability to convey feeling， insight, and passion through art. It doesn’t happen often, but it did one summer holiday - and from a wonderfully unexpected source.

That summer, I volunteered to teach a summer school art class for high school freshmen. When I arrived on the first day, the students were grouping in the center of the classroom, except for a red-haired girl named Emma who took a desk in the back row. I looked over what would be my workspace for the following days. There were large windows with plenty of light and I spotted several kinds of trees outside that would serve as models.

Emma was always the earliest to get to our classes，and I could feel her effort. However, she kept her seat in the back row as though being ignored was something to hope for. I asked one popular girl, who said, “She is an orphan. We try to be friendly, but she acts like she’s in another world.” I said, “All right. Let’s try to make this summer the good part of Emma’s life, OK?” There was no answer in words but she nodded, telling me she understood and empathized - good kid, at heart.

During the following days, I could feel other students’ kindness to Emma. Sometimes, Emma even talked and drew with them, but she still kept a certain distance from me. When I asked to see her work, she leaned forward covering it with her forearms. Treating her in any special way only seemed to emphasize her painful dissimilarity, so I limited my communication with her to a good morning smile.

The summer went by quickly and everyone got much better at drawing. So did Emma’s behavior. We had a lot of fun in the process, but the last day came at the right time. The kids filed in and watched me write the assignment on the whiteboard: Draw a picture titled: “A Place I Love”.

I walked around, watching the drawings develop.

It was Emma’s turn to show her drawing.