Reading Standards for Literature > Understanding Point of View (CCSS.RL.6.6) Practice Test

Ms. Patel clapped her hands so fast the bracelets on her wrist chimed like tiny bells. The science fair is where ideas come to life! she said, sweeping her arm toward the gym. From the doorway, the gym looked like a carnival of ballooned posters and glue fumes. Jamal bumped my shoulder. I'm gonna crush it with my solar cooker, he grinned. I nodded, but my stomach folded itself into a paper crane. My volcano leaned, the red paint still tacky. Mom had said last night, Just have fun! but fun felt like a word you say when you forget what it actually means. As we set up, everyone talked a little louder than normal, like applause was already in the air. I tugged at the corner of my title, wishing the letters didn't tilt like a tired sign. Ms. Patel stopped by. I can't wait to see your demonstration! she beamed. Me neither, I said, though what I really meant was I hoped it wouldn't hiss and sputter like it did in the kitchen. When Jamal practiced his speech, people gathered and ooh-ed. I kept running through the steps in my head: baking soda, vinegar, tray ready. I wasn't trying to win trophies. I just didn't want to be the disaster everyone remembered.

Mr. Ortiz balanced a rake on his shoulder and said, Community gardens run on teamwork, folks. My little brother, Leo, bounced like a spring. Teamwork! he echoed, sloshing water from a can that was almost as big as he was. I reached for the other can. I've got it, I said, maybe louder than I needed to. The path was narrow, and the dirt was soft from last night's rain. When the can tugged my arm down, I tightened my grip. I didn't need three people telling me where to pour. Mr. Ortiz smiled, unfazed. Root bases, not leaves, he reminded. Leo splashed a puddle and laughed at his own reflection. I aimed carefully at the tomato plants, pretending the can wasn't heavy. A wave of water leaped over the rim and soaked my sneaker. Nice one, Leo said, which did not help. I wanted to show I could handle it without being rescued. After a while, my hands stung from the metal handle, and my arms felt like warm noodles. Mr. Ortiz slid a smaller can toward me. Share the load, he said. I hesitated, then swapped. The work didn't feel easier because someone told me about teamwork. It felt easier because, well, it was. I still like doing things myself. But I guess sometimes two hands beat one, even if one of them is Leo's.