#8, Mrs. Wyatt.

I almost hate to give Mrs. (Ms.?) Wyatt number eight, as it's my favorite number. She was a tiny, evil old woman who ran the after-school care at LeConte. (This is where i first remember ever eating "Bumps on a Log", ugh!)
She had a shock of white hair and a mean, wrinkled, dark brown face. She always wore puritanical dresses with a belt, which was what she used to hit us with. 16 years later, when i was working at an art store in the same city, i was on a lunch break and saw someone who looked like her pushing a shopping cart full of aluminum cans. My stomach dropped and my breath left my chest. It was actually her. We walked right by each other, and i instantly felt like a 7-year-old girl again, certain that she recognized me and was going to screw her face up into mine and tell me how awful me and my brother and sister were.
She didn't see me or say a word, just shuffled by mumbling to herself... I remember thinking that even she didn't deserve a life like that.