Read the beginning of Trevor’s narrative.Thinking back on that afternoon, I knew then that my best friend was keeping something from me. If I thought about it—I mean, really thought about it—there had been other signs. They may have been subtle, but they had been there, nonetheless.
Read the paragraph from Lucy’s narrative.I could see that my neighbor was struggling with the lone bag of groceries cradled in her arms, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. Grandma June—what all the neighborhood kids had called her for as long as I could remember—had always been the one to care for us, to help us build stronger forts, to grow better flowers, and to learn from our mistakes. To ask if she needed help with something as simple as carrying in one bag of groceries would be like shouting to the world that she was aging, that she was no longer as strong as she once had been. Hesitantly, I walked to the wooden gate that divided our front lawn from hers and stood there as the package she was carrying threatened to spill from her arms.
Read the excerpt from Spencer’s narrative.As we waited for our new football coach to enter the locker room, we all secretly wondered what he would be like. Would he be tough but fair? Would he be demanding but understanding? Would he motivate us before each game with a rousing speech the way Coach Jackson always had? These thoughts were abruptly interrupted when our new coach entered the locker room, stood before us, and commanded our attention. "He” was a "she”! Our new coach was a female? Stunned, my mouth gaping, I barely heard what she said to the team next.
Read the paragraph from Lucy’s narrative.I could see that my neighbor was struggling with the lone bag of groceries cradled in her arms, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. Grandma June—what all the neighborhood kids had called her for as long as I could remember—had always been the one to care for us, to help us build stronger forts, to grow better flowers, and to learn from our mistakes. To ask if she needed help with something as simple as carrying in one bag of groceries would be like shouting to the world that she was aging, that she was no longer as strong as she once had been. Hesitantly, I walked to the wooden gate that divided our front lawn from hers and stood there as the package she was carrying threatened to spill from her arms.
why his teacher was memorablewho affected his lifehow he changed during sixth gradewhat effect reading had on his life
Read the paragraph from Nick’s personal narrative.Standing alone in my family’s barn, I thought about how much hard work and time my parents had invested—how much hard work and time we had all invested—in maintaining a fully operational farm. I did not remember a time when my clothes had not reeked of manure or my hair had not held fast to brittle pieces of straw. What would happen if my parents had to sell the farm so we could move closer to my grandparents? Just as I was attempting to imagine a life in the city, a sudden commotion erupted and interrupted my thoughts. With animals squawking and dust flying, I scrambled to pinpoint the source of this unexpected intrusion. In seconds that felt more like minutes, I was successful . . . and I could scarcely believe what my eyes were seeing.
Read the paragraph from a personal narrative.1 It may have seemed like an ordinary day to everyone else, but to me, it couldn't have been further from it. 2 Today was my first day working as a waitress at Pete's Pizza Haven, and I could not have been more excited. 3 In fact, I was so excited that I rushed to get ready much faster than I typically do. 4 "I'm ready to go!" I shouted, bouncing down the stairs and flying into the kitchen, where my mom was making breakfast. 5 "I have so much to learn and don't want to be late," I declared for emphasis. 6 My mom just grinned and placed a steaming plate of eggs before me.
Read the sentence.I could tell by the mischievous gleam in their eyes and the sneaky looks they were exchanging that my little brother and sister had been planning to deceive me in some way.
Read the excerpt from Dominique’s narrative.1 Tired of waiting for the bus, which was late for the fifth day in a row, I sat leafing through an old magazine I had stuffed in my purse the previous night. 2 It was terribly warm for a September afternoon, and the sun cast transitory shadows on the bus stop sign with each car that passed. 3 I fleetingly wondered when the weather would get cooler and when the new bus driver would start arriving on time. 4 It was about then that I first noticed the apparent agitation of the man sitting next to me.5 Finally, the bus arrived and ambled to a gradual stop directly in front of the restless man. 6 The doors widened, and the bus driver greeted the man with his usual banter in his usual monotone.7 "Good afternoon. How are you today?”
Read the excerpt from Dominique’s personal narrative.Tired of waiting for the bus, which was late for the fifth day in a row, I sat leafing through an old magazine I had stuffed in my purse the previous night. It was terribly warm for a September afternoon, and the sun cast fleeting shadows on the bus stop sign with each car that passed. I wondered when the weather would get cooler and when the new bus driver would start arriving on time. It was about then that I first noticed the apparent agitation of the man sitting next to me.Finally, the bus arrived and ambled to a gradual stop directly in front of the restless man. The doors widened, and the bus driver greeted the man with his usual banter in his usual monotone."Good afternoon. How are you today?”
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