I could see Kana's head bobbing up and down as she paced outside my classroom. She's one of my students. She's always early. Occasionally she peeked above the horizon where the frosted glass becomes clear.

"Open the do-or, 1-2-3." Class ended, and Kana appeared in the doorway. I cocked my head to the side, questioningly.

She smiled. "Teacher. Blue marker, please."

I pointed to my basket in the corner, and she rushed to it and disappeared to the other classroom down the hall.

There are three girls in this class: Kana, Kanako, and Koko. They are all aspiring artists, specializing in the erasable marker medium. And since I like to consider myself a laid back teacher, I let them explore their art to its fullest.

The first three minutes of class are spent solely writing names on the board. The girls take full advantage. They each have their preferred color: Kana, blue; Kanako, orange; and Koko, green.

Koko almost always draws a palm tree with her name written on its leaves. Kanako prefers to draw a giant sunflower, the seeds spelling her name. And Kana's tends to change according to season: a Santa Clause in December; and most recently, a rat in lieu of 2008, the year of the rat.

And so it was no surprise when I walked into the classroom, I found Kana finalizing her furry friend. I explained to Kana that I was born in 1984--also the year of the rat--so 2008 should be a lucky year for me.

Kanako and Koko arrived shortly and drew their respective sunflower and palm tree. They sketched precisely six petals for the flower and six lines on the trunk of the tree for the six activities we would do in class.

I like to break up the monotony of class with games, partly for my own amusement in watching them play dirty and partly for their own benefit to learn while having fun. As an incentive, I give one point to the winner of each activity, who then has the privilege to add the point to her name.

The girls like to incorporate their points to their pictures, thus the strategically drawn petals and lines. Kana had spent so much time designing her picture that she had not premeditated a point system to her rat. So when she won the first game, she paused momentarily to consider precisely where the point should go.

She had written her name on its belly, which left the only blank space on the animal wedged between its head and her name. She promptly drew a 1 with the only marker left at the board, my red one.

Giggles spouted from Kanako and Koko. Now Kana's blue rat had red pouring from its mouth like blood. Kana looked at me confused, and I, too, couldn't help but laugh.

"Kana," I said. "It's a zombie rat."

A continued blank stare.

I smiled devilishly, raised my arms, and staggered toward her, licking my lips. I grabbed her arm and--"Ar rar raar ra arar!"--faked gnawing it.

She squealed and we all erupted with laughter. As the games progressed, Kana continued to win. With each additional point dripping blood from her rat's mouth, the class chanted, "Zombie rat! Zombie rat! Zombie rat!"

From then on, anything red was instantly zombified. Zombie boots. Zombie eraser. Zombie dice.

And then suddenly, Kanako jutted her finger at me. "Look!" They looked.

An exaggerated "Ehhhhhhhhhhhh!" that only the Japanese can pull off emitted from their tiny mouths.

"Zombie sensei!" yelled Kanako.

I had worn my red ribbon in my hair that day.