Read Grade-Level Literature Practice Test
•10 QuestionsRead the following fiction excerpt, then answer the question.
Mara kept the library’s lost-and-found key on a ribbon under her collar, as if it were a charm instead of a responsibility. The drawer itself was a shallow wooden mouth that swallowed stray gloves, cracked phone cases, and the occasional homework packet with a name rubbed away. Today it held something new: a thin notebook wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine so carefully it looked ceremonial.
She should have taken it straight to Mr. Dela Cruz. That was the rule; the rule was printed in neat block letters on the wall beside the circulation desk. Yet the notebook sat in her palms with a weight that was not its own. When she pressed the paper, she felt the ridges of handwriting through it, as if the words were trying to emerge.
Mara told herself she was only checking for a name. Her fingers worried the twine until it loosened with a dry sigh. Inside, the first page was filled with sketches of the old footbridge behind the school—the one the city promised to fix every year and never did. The bridge in the drawings was always different: once sturdy as a spine, once splintered like a broken tooth, once floating above the creek as if it had decided to leave.
On the last page, a single sentence stood alone: I am tired of being the part everyone steps over.
Mara’s throat tightened. She pictured the bridge, yes, but also the way her mother’s voice thinned when bills arrived, and the way teachers praised Mara for being “easy,” as if she were furniture that didn’t complain. She rewrapped the notebook, hands suddenly clumsy.
When Mr. Dela Cruz asked later if anything “unusual” had turned up, she said, too quickly, “Just the usual.” The lie landed between them, small but perpetual, like a pebble in a shoe.
Question: What does the notebook most likely symbolize in the passage?
Read the following fiction excerpt, then answer the question.
Mara kept the library’s lost-and-found key on a ribbon under her collar, as if it were a charm instead of a responsibility. The drawer itself was a shallow wooden mouth that swallowed stray gloves, cracked phone cases, and the occasional homework packet with a name rubbed away. Today it held something new: a thin notebook wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine so carefully it looked ceremonial.
She should have taken it straight to Mr. Dela Cruz. That was the rule; the rule was printed in neat block letters on the wall beside the circulation desk. Yet the notebook sat in her palms with a weight that was not its own. When she pressed the paper, she felt the ridges of handwriting through it, as if the words were trying to emerge.
Mara told herself she was only checking for a name. Her fingers worried the twine until it loosened with a dry sigh. Inside, the first page was filled with sketches of the old footbridge behind the school—the one the city promised to fix every year and never did. The bridge in the drawings was always different: once sturdy as a spine, once splintered like a broken tooth, once floating above the creek as if it had decided to leave.
On the last page, a single sentence stood alone: I am tired of being the part everyone steps over.
Mara’s throat tightened. She pictured the bridge, yes, but also the way her mother’s voice thinned when bills arrived, and the way teachers praised Mara for being “easy,” as if she were furniture that didn’t complain. She rewrapped the notebook, hands suddenly clumsy.
When Mr. Dela Cruz asked later if anything “unusual” had turned up, she said, too quickly, “Just the usual.” The lie landed between them, small but perpetual, like a pebble in a shoe.
Question: What does the notebook most likely symbolize in the passage?