Reading Standards for Literature > Comparing Genres and Themes (CCSS.RL.6.9) Practice Test

Text 1 (Poem) Bridge Between Lockers Between the rattling lockers, you were the steady shelf, a plank across the rush-hour river of sixth grade. When rumors blew like torn paper down the hall, you handed me tape, said, "Let's fix what matters." At lunch, when chairs scraped like thunder, you slid your tray beside mine, storm shelter. We mapped bus routes on the backs of math worksheets, finding paths from lonely to less alone. Friendship, you were a lighthouse in the spilled-milk sea, a jacket shrugged across my shaking shoulders, a secret handshake that said, "Here means you." I learned your language: passing notes that spelled courage, listening until the noise thinned to a single, kind drum. Even on test days, when pencils drilled bedrock, you tapped three times, and the ground felt like floor again. Bridge, glue, lantern—whatever the day demanded, you held until I could hold myself.

Text 2 (Story) The Science Fair Fix Maya's baking-soda volcano collapsed the night before the fair. The cardboard sides caved in like soggy toast. She stared at the fizzy mess, close to tears. "I can help," said Jae, stepping over paint-splattered newspapers. He didn't brag or scold. He just rolled up his sleeves.

They cut new walls from a cereal box, glued them in place, and mixed a second batch of clay. When the glue refused to dry, Jae aimed a desk fan at the volcano and told a joke about lava being shy. Maya laughed, then steadied the base while Jae tested the wires for the light inside.

By midnight, the volcano stood firm. At the fair, a kid in line bumped the table. Maya grabbed the model—too late. Jae caught it from the other side. "Teamwork," he said, handing it back. Maya grinned. The eruption worked, but what she remembered most was not the red foam. It was Jae's hand, there every time she reached.

Text 1 (Historical Novel) The First Day On the first day the new law opened Pine Ridge Middle to every student, Ruth ironed the collar of her blue dress until it lay flat as a lake in the early morning. Mama packed two sandwiches. "In case you eat late," she said, not looking up. Outside, the sidewalk was a tunnel of stares. Someone coughed. Someone whispered. Ruth kept her hands folded around the strap of her book bag and counted her steps. Twelve to the stop sign. Eight to the gate.

Inside, the halls smelled like floor wax and pencil shavings. A boy bumped her shoulder but did not say sorry. The principal's voice crackled over the speaker: "Welcome, students." Ruth breathed in, square by square like Mama had taught her. She didn't shout, didn't run, didn't turn around. She walked to her classroom and sat in the front row. When the bell rang, she opened her notebook and wrote her name slowly, the letters brave together.

Text 2 (Fantasy) The Stone Bridge Kelan stood before the stone bridge that broke in the middle like a bitten cookie. Below, the gorge swallowed sound. "No turning back," the map-sprite whispered from his pocket. On the far side, the moonlit tower glowed, and with it, the cure for his village.

A gray-winged guardian unfolded itself from the shadows. "Cross, if you dare," it said, talons scraping rock. Kelan's knees wobbled, but he tied the rope around his waist and fixed the other end to a rooted stump. He tested a loose slab with his boot, then another. When the guardian lunged, he did not swing his sword wildly. He ducked, waited for it to pass, and leaped to the next stone. The wind tried to push him back. He pushed forward.

At the last gap, Kelan flung the rope, caught a jag, and hauled himself across. He looked down once—only once—then stood, chest hammering, and bowed to the guardian before running for the tower.