Reading Standards for Literature > Experiencing Text in Different Forms (CCSS.RL.6.7) Practice Test

The classroom buzzed until Ms. Patel clapped once. 'Good news,' she said. 'On Friday we will visit the Marshview River cleanup site. We will learn how water moves through our town.' Lena grinned. Jai whispered, 'Field trip!' But Malik wrapped his backpack strap around his fingers until his knuckles went pale. 'Questions?' Ms. Patel asked. 'Do we have to, um, wade in the water?' Malik's voice came out thin. 'We will stay on the bank,' she said. 'Rubber boots are optional.' The bell rang. Chairs scraped. As everyone packed up, Malik moved slowly, eyes flicking toward the rain-streaked windows. He lingered in the doorway. 'I do not like rivers much,' he said, barely above a whisper. Ms. Patel stepped closer, lowering her voice. 'Thank you for telling me. You can help me clip trash bags to the bins and keep tally on a clipboard. You will be my organizer.' Malik let go of the strap, then tugged it once more. 'Okay,' he said. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but it faded as thunder grumbled far away. 'Bring a jacket,' Ms. Patel added. 'And we will stand where the ground is high.' Malik nodded, still watching the window, then finally headed to lunch.

A gray thumb smudges the afternoon sky. Leaves turn their pale undersides, like coins flipped for luck. The flag rope taps the pole, tick tick, then snaps a warning. Far off, a low drumroll stirs the hills. The air grows thick, slow as syrup. Sparrows stitch themselves into the hedge. My porch steps hold their breath. A first drop lands, bold enough to darken dust. Another. Another. The street gives a shiver. Clouds press closer, stitched seam to seam. Light blinks, a white nerve, and the drumroll swells into something with a chest and a voice. Boom. Windows tremble in their frames. The maple leaves clap together, a hundred green hands. Rain hurries its syllables, faster now, until the gutters sing. Then, as if someone turns the dial, the world hushes. The last drops tick out a code on the railing. A wind lifts the curtains, cool, rinsed. A bird tries one note, then two. The porch exhales. The street smells like iron and earth and something new.