Read the excerpt from a student’s narrative.The rusting gate to Mrs. Stillman’s overgrown yard opened with a whining squeak. Unruly hedges and waist-high weeds engulfed the front of the house. A blanket of leaves and twigs littering the cracked walkway baked in the heat of the afternoon sun. The steps leading to her front door were well-worn and groaned underfoot. Hesitantly, I raised my fist to give a gentle knock.