Reading Standards for Literature > Dialogue, Events and Character Decisions (CCSS.RL.8.5) Practice Test

Text A (Chronological narrative)

1. At dawn, the street yawned open and I tied my shoes.
2. My coach's note said: steady first mile, breathe.
3. I trotted past shuttered shops, counting breaths and steps.
4. The sun lifted, slow as a curtain.
5. By lunch, my legs hummed with a good ache.
6. After school, I packed pins and a lucky ribbon.
7. The bus smelled of oranges and chalk dust.
8. We laughed, then fell silent as the track appeared.
9. I stretched, listening for my heartbeat's metronome.
10. The starter raised the pistol; the world narrowed.
11. One lap, then two; I saved the hill for last.
12. The crowd's noise braided with my breath.
13. I chose a line inside the final turn.
14. My throat burned; my thoughts shrank to yes, now.
15. I drove my knees, felt the ground loosen.
16. The tape broke; I stumbled forward, grinning.
17. My coach's hand found my shoulder.
18. The day closed like a book, page by page.

Text B (Flashback narrative)

1. The finish-line ribbon snapped against my chest.
2. Cheers blurred into a white rush in my ears.
3. While I bent double, another sound rose—memory.
4. Weeks earlier, I'd woken to a street of frost.
5. My breath made small ghosts that led me onward.
6. My coach's note, creased and greasy, said: steady first mile.
7. At lunch the day before the meet, my legs buzzed.
8. On the bus, oranges and chalk dust argued in the air.
9. I had tied a lucky ribbon, not that I believed in luck.
10. The starter's pistol cracked, and I kept a secret pace.
11. I saved the hill for last, like a promise.
12. Coming back to the present, the crowd spilled my name.
13. I felt the last turn again, the angle of decision.
14. The burning throat, the small word yes, the now.
15. The tape breaking—that clean, ridiculous sound.
16. My coach's hand on my shoulder steadied the film of it.
17. I stood up, suddenly both past and present.
18. The victory wasn't just a moment; it was threaded time.

Text A (Single first-person POV)

1. When the storm knocked the lights out, I found the candles by memory.
2. The apartment turned to a cave of wax and whispering wicks.
3. I wrapped the radio in a towel to make its voice kinder.
4. Rain drummed like a drummer who had lost his sticks.
5. I felt the windows testing their latches, asking to come in.
6. I set a pot under the leak by the back door.
7. The drip counted time better than any clock.
8. I thought of my aunt, two blocks away, knee-deep in worry.
9. My phone was a black stone in my pocket—no bars.
10. I talked to the plants and promised to keep them from shivering.
11. The hallway smelled of wet umbrellas and old wood.
12. When the wind yanked, I yanked back and laughed.
13. In the morning, I would check on her. For now: match, wick, breath.
14. The storm kept playing its loud song, but I chose my own tempo.
15. I braided three candles together; the light steadied.
16. I waited with my thoughts, the only voice in the room.

Text B (Alternating first-person POV)

1. Milo: The lights snapped off and I patted the wall for the switch anyway.
2. Aunt Ren: Across town, my kettle died mid-hum; I swore at the dark.
3. Milo: I found candles, stubby soldiers, and stood them at attention.
4. Aunt Ren: I opened the window to listen—rain speaking in riddles.
5. Milo: The radio hissed; a voice said, stay indoors; I stayed.
6. Aunt Ren: My phone showed one bar, then none, a heartbeat teasing me.
7. Milo: I thought of Aunt Ren, two blocks but a river away.
8. Aunt Ren: I pictured Milo's windows rattling, his plants lined like choir.
9. Milo: The hallway smelled like umbrellas and a century of floor polish.
10. Aunt Ren: I set bowls under leaks; the drip stitched minutes together.
11. Milo: Wind tugged; I tugged back, grinning at nobody.
12. Aunt Ren: The kettle cooled; I warmed my hands on worry.
13. Milo: I promised to check on her at first light.
14. Aunt Ren: I promised the same—two promises crossing in the dark.
15. Milo: I braided three candles; steadier flame, steadier nerves.
16. Aunt Ren: I hummed a hymn that remembered me when I forgot words.
17. Milo: The storm played loud; I chose my own tempo.
18. Aunt Ren: The storm played loud; I heard another rhythm—his.