Function of Conflict: Short Fiction Practice Test
•15 QuestionsRead the excerpt from a short story:
Mara kept the key to her mother’s house in the coin pocket of her jeans, though she no longer wore jeans often. It was an old habit—like saying “we” when she meant “I,” like turning her car toward the familiar street before she remembered she had moved across town. On the morning of the estate sale, her brother Eli texted: “Don’t be late. The realtor’s coming at ten.”
Inside, the house smelled of lemon polish and the faint, sweet rot of flowers left too long in a vase. Eli had arranged the living room into neat zones: “keep,” “sell,” “trash.” Mara watched him tape labels to objects as if naming them made them lighter. When she reached for the chipped teacup their mother used every evening, Eli said, “That’s going. It’s just a cup.”
Mara set it down, then picked it up again. In her mind, the cup was not porcelain but a small, steady proof that their mother had sat, had sipped, had been. She wanted to tell Eli that the cup held the last months like water holds a reflection. Instead she heard herself say, “Fine.”
At ten, the realtor arrived with bright teeth and a clipboard. She praised the “good bones” of the house, and Mara felt the phrase land like a verdict. Eli signed papers quickly. Mara’s hand hovered over the pen.
She thought of the key in her pocket—how it had once meant entrance, and now meant permission. She wanted to keep the house as a way of keeping her mother, but she also knew the house was already becoming a museum she could not afford to curate. Eli cleared his throat. “Mara?”
Mara signed.
In the excerpt, what is the primary function of the bolded conflict in shaping the meaning of the story?
Read the excerpt from a short story:
Mara kept the key to her mother’s house in the coin pocket of her jeans, though she no longer wore jeans often. It was an old habit—like saying “we” when she meant “I,” like turning her car toward the familiar street before she remembered she had moved across town. On the morning of the estate sale, her brother Eli texted: “Don’t be late. The realtor’s coming at ten.”
Inside, the house smelled of lemon polish and the faint, sweet rot of flowers left too long in a vase. Eli had arranged the living room into neat zones: “keep,” “sell,” “trash.” Mara watched him tape labels to objects as if naming them made them lighter. When she reached for the chipped teacup their mother used every evening, Eli said, “That’s going. It’s just a cup.”
Mara set it down, then picked it up again. In her mind, the cup was not porcelain but a small, steady proof that their mother had sat, had sipped, had been. She wanted to tell Eli that the cup held the last months like water holds a reflection. Instead she heard herself say, “Fine.”
At ten, the realtor arrived with bright teeth and a clipboard. She praised the “good bones” of the house, and Mara felt the phrase land like a verdict. Eli signed papers quickly. Mara’s hand hovered over the pen.
She thought of the key in her pocket—how it had once meant entrance, and now meant permission. She wanted to keep the house as a way of keeping her mother, but she also knew the house was already becoming a museum she could not afford to curate. Eli cleared his throat. “Mara?”
Mara signed.
In the excerpt, what is the primary function of the bolded conflict in shaping the meaning of the story?