Middle School English Quiz: Cite Multiple Pieces Of Literary Evidence

I keep my worries in a jar
behind the cereal, out of sight.
They rattle when the kitchen's quiet,
like pennies that refuse to sleep.

Mom asks, "How was school?"
I say, "Fine," the easiest word,
and twist the lid a little tighter
so nothing spills between us.

At night the jar sweats in the dark.
I hear it breathing on the shelf.
Tomorrow, I tell myself,
I'll open it, just a crack.

But morning comes with bright spoons,
and my brother's jokes, and the bus horn.
I carry the jar inside my chest,
glass against bone, careful, careful.

Which choice identifies multiple pieces of evidence, including figurative language, that best support the analysis that the speaker hides anxiety to protect family relationships?

The class was supposed to build bridges from popsicle sticks, but the room felt more like a courtroom. On the whiteboard, Mr. Hsu had written: "TEAMWORK = SHARED RISK."

Ava lined up the sticks by length. "If we follow my plan," she said, "we'll win."

DeShawn held up the glue bottle. "Your plan doesn't include anyone else," he said.

Ava's cheeks flushed. "I'm trying to help."

Mr. Hsu walked by and tapped the board. "Shared," he repeated.

When the timer started, Ava grabbed the glue and worked fast, sealing joints before anyone could adjust them. The bridge looked neat, too neat, like a model in a store window.

"Stop," DeShawn said. "You're not listening."

Ava's hands froze. Across the table, Maya's stick tower collapsed with a soft crack, and Maya whispered, "I hate this."

Ava stared at the broken pieces, then slid the glue bottle toward DeShawn. "Okay," she said, voice smaller. "Tell me what you think will hold."

DeShawn blinked, surprised, then drew a triangle shape on the paper. Ava nodded and began again, slower.

Which choice best uses evidence from the excerpt to support the claim that Ava starts out controlling but learns to collaborate?

"I'm not lost," Kira insisted, though the trail sign behind her pointed in three directions and none of them matched the map she'd printed at school.

Ben squinted at the paper. "The map's from last year. Look, someone drew over it."

Kira held the map closer, as if staring could force it to behave. The woods around them were quiet in the way that made every snapped twig sound like a shout.

"We should turn back," Ben said.

Kira's jaw tightened. "If we turn back now, we'll miss the overlook. I promised Ms. Rios we'd get photos for the bulletin board."

Ben shifted his backpack. "Promises don't matter if we don't get home."

Kira opened her mouth, then shut it. Her cheeks reddened. She pulled out her phone, frowned at the blank bars, and slid it back into her pocket.

A breeze moved through the branches, and Kira's map fluttered like it wanted to escape.

"Fine," she said at last, the word clipped. She tore a strip of bright tape from her water bottle and wrapped it around a tree. "We'll mark our way. And we'll go slow."

Ben exhaled. "That's... actually smart."

Kira didn't smile. She adjusted the straps on her bag and started walking, counting her steps under her breath.

Which choice includes multiple pieces of evidence that best support the claim that Kira is stubborn but able to adapt when necessary?

Tariq had been practicing free throws behind the apartment building every evening, even when the court lights flickered like they might give up. He counted out loud, "twenty-seven, twenty-eight," because silence made him think too much.

On the day of tryouts, he arrived early and wiped his shoes on the grass until the soles looked new. Coach Rivera blew the whistle and called names into groups.

When Tariq's turn came, his first shot hit the rim and bounced out.

A boy behind him chuckled. "All that practice for nothing."

Tariq's face went hot, but he didn't look back. He stepped to the line again and rolled the ball in his hands the way his older cousin had taught him: fingertips, not palm. "Again," he whispered.

His second shot dropped cleanly through.

Coach Rivera made a mark on the clipboard.

Later, during scrimmage, Tariq passed the ball to a teammate who had a clearer lane, even though Tariq was open. The teammate scored.

After tryouts, Coach Rivera stopped Tariq at the door. "Come back tomorrow," the coach said. "We're not done."

Which choice includes the best set of evidence to support the prediction that Tariq is likely to earn a spot on the team?

The first rehearsal for the spring play was supposed to be "low pressure," according to Mr. Hines. Still, Devon arrived early, carrying a notebook that smelled like fresh glue from the new cover he had added.

On the stage, the prop table held a crown, a plastic sword, and a small velvet pouch labeled COINS: DO NOT LOSE. Devon touched the pouch, then pulled his hand back as if it were hot.

"I can't do the king," he told Mr. Hines. "I'll mess up the speech."

Mr. Hines didn't argue. He just said, "Read it once. Out loud. Here."

Devon's voice shook on the first line. He swallowed and tried again, slower. When he reached the part where the king admits he was wrong, Devon's shoulders eased, like he had set down a backpack.

From the seats, Talia whispered, "He's actually good."

During break, Devon found the velvet pouch open. Coins scattered across the floor like dull stars. He dropped to his knees, gathering them one by one. "Count with me," he asked, and he did not stand up until the number matched the label.

When rehearsal ended, Mr. Hines handed Devon the crown. "Take it home. Practice."

Devon hesitated. Then he accepted it with both hands, carefully, the way you hold something that can break.

Which choice provides the strongest set of multiple evidence pieces to support the inference that Devon is anxious but determined to improve?

Ben's grandma taught him to fold dumplings by pinching the edges like a smile. "Not too tight," she warned, "or they'll burst." Ben tried to copy her hands, but his dumpling looked more like a lopsided hat.

Grandma didn't laugh. She slid her own dumpling onto the tray and said, "Your fingers are learning."

Ben frowned at the mess. "It's ugly," he said.

"Ugly is honest," Grandma replied. "Pretty can be a costume."

Ben didn't understand, not at first. But when his cousin Mira walked into the kitchen, Mira's voice rose into a bright song. "Hi, Auntie! Hi, Ben!" She twirled as if the tile floor were a stage.

Grandma's eyes softened, and she turned the stove knob down. "Mira," she said gently, "you don't have to perform for us."

Mira's smile stayed on, but her shoulders tightened. "I'm just being me," she said.

Later, when Mira thought no one was looking, she pressed her palm to her stomach and breathed through her nose, slow and careful.

Ben stared at his dumpling again. He pinched the edge less tightly this time.

Which choice identifies the strongest evidence to support the inference that Mira is hiding stress behind a cheerful act?

Aunt Lin's apartment always smelled like orange peel and rice. On the wall above the kitchen table hung a framed sentence in careful calligraphy: "Small kindnesses make a long road."

Kai didn't want to be there. He wanted to be at the skate park, where nobody asked about report cards. But his mom had dropped him off with a grocery bag and a warning: "Help your aunt. Don't complain."

Aunt Lin was sorting cans into two piles. "These are for the pantry," she said. "These are for Mr. Duran next door. His elevator is broken again."

Kai stared at the heavy bag. "Why can't he get his own stuff?" he muttered.

Aunt Lin didn't argue. She simply handed Kai a note written in English and Spanish and said, "You can read it to him. He gets embarrassed."

In the hallway, Kai heard Mr. Duran coughing behind the door, like a car that wouldn't start. Kai's hand hovered over the knob. For a second, he imagined turning back.

Then he knocked. "It's Kai," he said, louder than he meant to. "I brought groceries." He read the note slowly, stumbling over the Spanish but not skipping any words. When the door opened, Mr. Duran's eyes were watery. "Gracias," he whispered.

Back inside, Kai didn't mention the skate park. He picked up the next bag without being asked.

Which choice best uses evidence from the passage to support the theme that small acts of kindness can matter a lot to others?

(Drama scene)

[Kitchen. Evening. A single lamp makes a small circle of light on the table. The rest of the room is dim.]

RINA (14) sits with an envelope in her hands. She keeps sliding her thumb under the flap and then pulling it back out.

DAD enters, drying his hands on a towel.

DAD: You're still up.

RINA: I couldn't sleep.

DAD notices the envelope.

DAD: That from the magnet school?

RINA: (quickly) It's nothing.

DAD: Nothing that has your name on it?

RINA does not answer. She smooths the envelope on the table until it lies perfectly flat.

DAD: Rina. Whatever it says, we read it together.

RINA: If it's good news, you'll be proud. If it's bad, you'll be disappointed.

DAD: I'm already proud.

RINA's eyes fill, but she blinks hard and laughs once, sharp and small.

RINA: Then why does my stomach feel like it's falling?

The lamp hums. Outside, a car door slams.

Which choice identifies both explicit and inferred evidence that best supports the analysis that the mood is tense and nervous?

In the back of the library, the "Quiet Room" sign hung crooked, as if it were tired of being obeyed. Devon slid into the last chair, the one with a torn seam that scratched his elbow. His science project, an unfinished model bridge, peeked from his backpack like it wanted to escape.

Ms. Ochoa, the librarian, said softly, "You can work here as long as you respect the room." Devon nodded too fast.

He tried to read the directions, but his phone buzzed again: group chat messages stacking like dominoes. He flipped the phone face-down. A minute later, he flipped it back up. His knee bounced under the table.

Across from him, a little kid whispered to her grandmother, and Devon's eyes snapped to them. He didn't glare, exactly, but his mouth tightened. When the kid giggled, Devon stood and walked to the shelves, pretending to browse. He pressed his forehead briefly against the cool spines of the books.

When he returned, he opened his notebook and wrote in big letters: "BRIDGE: START OVER." Then, under it, smaller: "Ask for help."

Which choice best uses evidence to support the inference that Devon feels anxious and overwhelmed?

The stage curtains smelled like dust and old applause. Mateo stood in the wings, holding a cardboard crown that had been painted gold but still showed streaks of brown underneath. He was supposed to play the king in the school play.

"Remember," Ms. Patel whispered, "slow down your lines. Let the audience hear you."

Mateo nodded, but his eyes were on the front row. His dad sat there with his arms folded tight, as if he were bracing for bad weather. Next to him, Mateo's little sister waved both hands, too excited to be quiet.

When the music started, Mateo stepped into the light. For a second, his mouth went dry. He could feel the crown bending slightly in his grip.

Then he saw a kid from his math class in the third row, making a face like he'd already decided the play was stupid. Mateo's stomach dropped.

On his first line, Mateo's voice came out thin. He heard a few giggles.

Mateo inhaled, deep enough to hurt, and lifted the crown high above his head. "I will not be a paper king," he said, louder than the script required.

The giggles stopped. Somewhere in the dark, Ms. Patel whispered, "Yes."

Which choice gives the strongest set of evidence to support the analysis that Mateo begins uncertain but chooses courage and confidence?

Dad said the old shed was "a perfectly good place" for the donated bikes, but it looked like a tired animal crouched behind our garage. The door stuck when I pulled it, and the air inside smelled like wet rope.

"Just stack them," Dad said, handing me a flashlight. "We'll sort later."

The beam caught a row of handlebars, all tangled like elbows. In the back, a small bike leaned against the wall, its tires flat, its bell rusted into silence.

I touched the bell anyway. It didn't ring.

"Leave that one," Dad called. "No one wants a baby bike."

I stared at it longer than I meant to. My little cousin Rosa had learned to ride on a bike that size. She'd fallen, cried, and then climbed back on, cheeks wet but eyes steady.

I dragged the small bike forward. Dust rose in a soft cloud. "Someone will," I said.

Dad sighed. "You always pick the hardest project."

I rolled the bike into the driveway and pumped the tires until the rubber rounded out again. The bell still wouldn't ring, so I found a can of oil and worked the rust loose. When it finally chimed, the sound was thin but bright.

Dad watched from the garage door. He didn't say anything at first. Then he said, quietly, "All right. Put it with the keepers."

Which choice cites several pieces of evidence that best support the inference that the narrator values perseverance and second chances?

The day before the race, Coach wrote the route on the whiteboard: two miles out, turn at the water tower, two miles back. "Simple," he said, like the word could erase nerves.

Inez traced the diagram with her eyes, then stayed after practice to run the first mile alone. Her shoes slapped the track in a steady rhythm, not fast, not slow, but measured.

"Why are you still here?" Coach asked.

"Because I don't want to guess tomorrow," Inez said.

At home, her little brother taped a paper medal to the fridge that read: YOU GOT THIS. Inez laughed, but she didn't take it down.

That night, rain started, soft at first, then loud enough to drum on the roof. Inez lay awake listening.

In the morning, the track was slick. The water tower looked farther away than it had yesterday.

Coach clapped his hands. "Conditions change," he called. "Your work doesn't."

Inez stepped to the line. Her stomach flipped, but she whispered, "Measured," like a promise. When the whistle blew, she didn't sprint. She found her rhythm.

Which choice best uses multiple pieces of evidence to support the inference that Inez is likely to succeed because she prepares carefully and stays focused under pressure?

I keep my apologies in my pocket
like coins I never spend,
clinking when I run,
quiet when I sit.

At lunch, I trade my apple
for a joke that isn't mine,
and laugh on time,
and swallow the bruise of it.

My best friend says, "Tell me,"
and I say, "Nothing,"
because nothing is lighter
than the truth.

After school, the sky is a scraped knee,
pink at the edges,
still healing.
I count my coins again
and wish one of them
could buy a voice.

Which choice best uses evidence to support the inference that the speaker hides their feelings to fit in, even though it hurts?

MOM: You're home late. RINA: The late bus. MOM: Again? RINA (dropping her backpack): We had to redo the poster. MOM (not looking up from the sink): The one for Student Council? You said you quit. RINA: I did. MOM: Then why is there glitter on your sleeves? RINA (scrubbing at her sleeve): It's everywhere at school. MOM (turning, finally): Rina. RINA (too quickly): I'm tired, okay? MOM: I'm not asking for perfect. I'm asking for true. RINA's phone buzzes. She flips it over, screen down. MOM: Who is that? RINA: Nobody. MOM: Your "nobody" texts a lot. RINA (voice smaller): It's Maya. She needed help. If I don't do it, it falls apart. MOM: And you couldn't tell me? RINA: You've been working doubles. You already look like you're carrying the whole world. MOM (softening): I can carry some of yours, too. RINA stares at the glitter on her hands, then nods once.

Which choice best uses evidence from the scene to evaluate the idea that Rina hides the truth to protect her mom from stress, rather than to be cruel?

At 6:40 a.m., Mina stood outside the closed library with a paper bag of muffins that had already cooled. The sign on the glass read, "OPEN AT 7." She checked her phone, then tucked it away as if it were something breakable. "It's fine," she told herself, though her breath came out in short puffs. Mr. Dalloway, the custodian, unlocked the door and frowned at the bag.

"You're early again," he said.

"I promised Ms. Kline I'd set up the chairs," Mina replied. She didn't mention that Ms. Kline had never asked her. She only knew the poetry club would look "more official" if the room was ready.

Inside, a stack of flyers lay crooked on the table. Mina straightened them until the corners lined up. When she found a crumpled permission slip under a chair, she smoothed it with her palm and slid it into the correct folder. Her own slip, unsigned, stayed in her backpack like a secret.

Mr. Dalloway watched her arrange pencils into a neat row. "You know," he said, softer now, "people can help you if you let them."

Mina's smile flashed and vanished. "I don't want to bother anyone," she said, lifting the heaviest chair with a grunt. As she carried it, her arms trembled, but she walked carefully, as if dropping it would prove something.

Which choice best uses evidence from the excerpt to support the claim that Mina is responsible but struggles to ask for help?

Tariq's bicycle chain popped off halfway up the hill, snapping like a bad idea. He wobbled to the curb and stared at the loose links. The day of the neighborhood race, of course.

From the top of the hill, kids' voices floated down: cheers, taunts, the starter whistle practicing.

Tariq wiped grease on his shorts and tried to fit the chain back on. It slipped, then slipped again.

"Need a hand?" a voice asked.

Tariq looked up. Ms. Alvarez from the corner shop stood there with a small tool kit. Her apron still had flour on it.

"I'm good," Tariq said quickly.

Ms. Alvarez didn't argue. She sat on the curb anyway and opened the kit. "Your hands are shaking," she said, not unkindly. "That makes tiny things harder."

Tariq's ears burned. "If I don't race, everyone will think I'm scared."

Ms. Alvarez held out a rag. "Or they'll think your bike broke," she said. "Both can be true: you can be scared and still show up."

Tariq took the rag. He breathed once, slow. "Okay," he said. "Show me."

Which choice best supports the interpretation that Tariq's main conflict is his pride getting in the way of accepting help?

The power went out at 9:03, right after Aunt Sora set the kettle on the stove. The house didn't go silent exactly; it filled with other sounds: the refrigerator's last sigh, the tick of the hallway clock, the wind pushing at the porch screen.

"Okay," Aunt Sora said, too brightly. "Adventure time."

Eli stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding his phone like a small shield. The screen was dark. "No service," he muttered. He tried the flashlight anyway, clicking the button again and again.

Aunt Sora lit a candle. The flame bent, then steadied, and the walls grew taller in the soft, moving light.

From the living room, the hallway looked like a tunnel. Eli's little sister, Mina, whispered, "What if something's in there?"

Eli laughed, but it came out thin. "Nothing's in there," he said, and then he shifted so he was between Mina and the hallway.

A branch scraped the window. Mina jumped.

Eli's hand found hers. "We'll play cards," he said. "If we can't see the numbers, we'll make up new rules."

Aunt Sora watched him quietly. "You're doing fine," she said.

Eli didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the candle, as if staring hard enough could keep it from going out.

Which choice best combines explicit and inferential evidence to support the analysis that the mood is tense but also comforting?

Jasper held the cracked trophy like it might cut him. The brass plate still read "CITY SCIENCE FAIR, 1st," but the year had been scratched off, as if someone did not want time to count. His dad set a box on the porch and said, "We'll keep what matters." The box was already half full of things Jasper recognized: his baby shoes, a stack of report cards, and a jar of beach sand with a faded label.

"Do you want this?" his dad asked, nodding at the trophy.

Jasper shrugged. "It's just metal." He tried to sound bored, but his thumb rubbed the missing corner where the trophy had chipped.

Inside the house, the hallway echoed, too empty, like it was listening. Jasper's mom called from the kitchen, "Jas, come eat. You skipped lunch."

"I'm not hungry," Jasper said. He carried the trophy to the trash can anyway, then stopped with it hovering over the lid. The plastic bag inside smelled like orange peels and old coffee.

His dad didn't speak. He only waited.

Jasper lowered the trophy and set it gently on top of the box instead. "Maybe," he muttered, "it can go in the attic."

His dad's shoulders loosened. "Good idea," he said, like Jasper had solved something.

Which choice includes the strongest textual evidence to support the inference that Jasper is pretending not to care but actually values his past achievements?

When the new student arrived, the teacher introduced him as "Saeed," but the class repeated the name like it was a tricky math problem.

At lunch, Saeed sat alone with a neatly folded napkin and a sandwich he didn't unwrap. The cafeteria roared: trays clanged, someone shouted across the room, and the ceiling fans pushed warm air in circles.

Tess watched from her table. "He's probably stuck-up," Logan said, flicking a grape at his friend.

Tess didn't answer. She remembered the way Saeed's hands had trembled when he wrote his name on the board.

After lunch, Tess found a worksheet on the floor near Saeed's seat. The top said SAEED A. in careful letters. She picked it up and jogged to the hallway.

"Saeed!" she called.

He turned too fast, like he expected someone to be angry. When he saw the paper, his shoulders dropped.

"You dropped this," Tess said, holding it out.

Saeed took it with both hands. "Thank you," he said, then added, quieter, "I didn't want to eat because I didn't know where to throw the trash."

Tess glanced back at the cafeteria doors. "I can show you tomorrow," she said.

Saeed nodded once. The bell rang, and he walked beside her, half a step behind, matching her pace.

Which choice cites several pieces of evidence that best support the inference that Tess is empathetic and willing to include others?

The rain didn't fall so much as it pressed itself against the windows, turning the streetlights into blurry coins. Nora sat at the kitchen table with her debate notes spread like a fan. The topic, "Should our town ban the old quarry?", was underlined twice. Her brother Eli wandered in, dripping from soccer practice. "You're still doing that?" he asked. "It matters," Nora said, tapping her pen hard enough to leave dents. "Kids sneak in there. People get hurt." Eli opened the fridge and stared into it. "Dad used to go there," he said. "He said it was where he could think." Nora paused. On the counter, a chipped mug sat beside a photograph of their dad in a hard hat, smiling as if the world had never surprised him. Nora turned the photo face down. "Thinking doesn't require a cliff," she said. Eli shut the fridge. "You're not banning a place," he said quietly. "You're banning a memory." Nora's pen stopped moving. She looked at the rain, then at the turned-over photo. "If I win tomorrow," she whispered, "maybe nobody else has to lose someone."

Which option cites multiple pieces of evidence that best support the theme that protecting others can come with personal emotional costs?