WHAT IS THE MAIN IDEA OF THIS STORY?

Wanda wants to bring a dish to the family picnic. But she is too little to cook.

She cannot bring ribs. Dad says, “The grill is too hot.”

She cannot boil potatoes for salad. Mom says, “The stove is not for children.”

Wanda feels sad. But then she has an idea!

Wanda asks Grandma to walk with her down the road. They find a bush with blueberries. Wanda picks the bluest berries and brings them home to wash.

Wanda puts the clean berries in a beautiful bowl. Wanda takes the full bowl to the picnic.

Everyone loves the berries. They say, “Wanda brought a delicious treat!"

WHAT IS THE MAIN IDEA OF THIS STORY?

Lisa was excited. Today was Lunar New Year. It was time to celebrate!

Lisa started the holiday by calling her grandparents. She bowed to them over FaceTime. Next, her mom gave Lisa a red envelope. Inside was a gift of money for the new year.

Lisa’s friend Susie came over for lunch. They ate noodles. “These are long life noodles!” Lisa’s mom said. “The longer the noodles, the longer our lives will be!”

After lunch, the family went to the Chinatown parade. Happy crowds stood along the streets. They watched the famous Chinese dragon dance. They heard people popping firecrackers. “The firecracker noise scares off evil spirits!” Lisa’s dad said.

The parade ended. Suddenly, Lisa’s dad disappeared. He returned quickly with a special dessert. The treat was yummy, crispy almond cookies. It was a sweet end to their new year celebration. It was also a great way to start the new year!

WHAT IS A GOOD SUMMARY OF THIS STORY?

Tim grew up in Montana. He did not know how to speak Spanish. He knew just one word in Spanish: abuela. That was the word for grandmother.

Tim’s abuela grew up in Mexico. She came to live in Tim’s home when she was very old. She did not know many English words.

One day, Abuela showed Tim her lotería cards. Lotería was a game from Mexico. The cards had pictures and Spanish words.

Tim picked one with a picture of the moon.

“La luna,” he read. “Does that mean moon?”

“Moon!” Abuela said.

Each day, they learned a word. Soon, there were no new cards left.

But Tim had a surprise. He took something from his pocket. He had made a new card. Abuela saw the picture. She read the word. "Cat!"

Tim showed Abuela paper and crayons. She knew what to do. Abuela wrote on the card: el gato.

There could be more cards. There could be more words!

WHAT IS A GOOD SUMMARY OF THIS STORY?

Colby and his older sister, Ana, love to swing. At their school’s playground, there is a swing set. Colby and Ana always play on the swing set at recess.

When they get to the swing set, Colby gets on the swing. It’s Ana’s turn to push Colby. First, Ana grabs the swing in her hands. Then, she pulls it back as far as she can. Finally, she pushes the swing with all her strength. The swing goes high in the air!

When it’s Ana’s turn to swing, Colby pushes her lightly. The swing does not go very high. Ana asks Colby to push harder. She wants to go higher! Colby uses all of his energy to push Ana as hard as he can. The swing goes high in the air!

Colby and Ana take turns pushing each other on the swing until it’s time to go back inside. They can’t wait to swing again the next day!

WHAT IS A GOOD SUMMARY OF THIS STORY?

Eight-year-old Maya and her parents were on vacation. They were hiking in the Appalachian Mountains. The Appalachians are the longest group of mountains in eastern North America. These mountains start in the northern U.S. state of Maine. They end in the southern state of Georgia.

Maya’s family was walking on a road that goes from one end of the Appalachians to the other. It is called the Appalachian Trail. Maya and her family had started near their home in Maryland. A native of Maryland, Maya had never left her state before. A native is someone who was born in a place. The family’s first stop was in West Virginia.

Every evening, Maya and her family would make a campfire. She loved that! She also enjoyed sleeping in a tent each night. Maya wanted to remember everything that happened on her vacation. Whenever she came across a new animal, such as a beaver or a quail, she would draw a picture of it in her journal.

Maya learned that she had to be quiet if she wanted the animals to stay. She also drew a field of daisies. Maya thought that flowers were easier to draw than animals. They didn’t run away!

WHAT IS THE BEST THEME FOR THIS STORY?

One bright day in late autumn a family of Ants was bustling about in the warm sunshine, drying out the grain they had stored up during the summer, when a starving Grasshopper, his fiddle under his arm, came up and humbly begged for a bite to eat.

"What!" cried the Ants in surprise. "Haven't you stored anything away for the winter? What in the world were you doing all last summer?"

"I didn't have time to store up any food," whined the Grasshopper. "I was so busy making music that before I knew it the summer was gone."

The Ants shrugged their shoulders in disgust.

"Making music, were you?" they cried. "Very well; now dance!" And they turned their backs on the Grasshopper and went on with their work.

WHAT WOULD BE A GOOD TITLE FOR THIS STORY?

“Thanks for letting me help out in your pet shop, Uncle Bill,” Sarah said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“You can start by feeding the guinea pigs,” her uncle told her. “Just be careful and make sure you close up the pen when you’re done. Those little guys love to escape.”

“No problem,” Sarah said.

She got the bag of guinea pig food and opened the pen. The phone rang while she was working. Uncle Bill talked for a minute, then walked up to her.

“Sarah, I’ve got to run out for a few minutes,” he said. “I’ve got a hamster emergency to take care of.”

“I’ll take good care of things while you’re gone,” Sarah promised.

Uncle Bill left, and Sarah poured the guinea pig food into the bowl in the pen. The little animals crowded around the bowl. Then Sarah heard a crash. She turned around to see that one of the plastic fish bowls had fallen over. She ran to the bowl and quickly scooped up the fish. She put the fish in another bowl and cleaned up the water. Then she went back to the guinea pig pen.

“Oh no!” Sarah cried.

She had accidentally left the pen open. The guinea pigs had escaped!

WHAT IS THE MAIN CONFLICT HAPPENING IN THIS STORY?

Donald Seastrunk never feared the jugglers until they upgraded from bean bags to bowling pins. By the movie theater, after a movie let out, excited crowds gathered around the most skilled jugglers, whose silk vests were as blue as the sky. Winking and smiling, the jugglers performed astonishing feats: dozens of balls in the air at once; nifty, behind-the-back and through-the-legs tricks; even juggling blindfolded. Word of mouth spread to neighboring towns. People from far away came to see the street performers. All seemed well and good, but with the jugglers’ popularity came copycats. And so many of them!

On the side streets and quiet walkways, juggling copycats blundered through their simple routines. A ball or two rolling into the street was the worst of it, at first. But when the very best jugglers switched to bowling pins to freshen up their act, the bad jugglers copied this, too. For Donald Seastrunk, the juggling problem came to a head one May morning, as he hurried from his car up the path to the library. Just as he thought he was safe, a stray bowling pin spiraled through the air and whomped him on the head.

The next day it was crazy at Town Hall, too. Mayor Marjorie Arnold sighed at her desk. She had just read Donald Seastrunk’s angry email, which Donald had sent to dozens of friends, the town council, and the mayor’s office. This wasn’t the first complaint the mayor had received about the jugglers. But what could she do? Some people were mad, but others loved the jugglers. After all, the town was practically famous now, and people were proud to be from a famous town. The biggest newspaper in the state capital had even written an article about the jugglers. And think of all the money the crowds spent at local stores! The mayor chewed her pen. She tapped her foot furiously. She sighed so strongly that important documents blew off her desk, and this made her sigh again.

Whenever she found herself in trouble, Mayor Arnold liked to hold imaginary conversations with the golden cat statue on her desk. With another heavy sigh, she asked it for advice.

“Why not pass a law banning juggling in public?” it seemed to say.

“The mayor can’t just pass whatever laws she wants,” said Mayor Arnold. “Laws are passed by the town council.” With a groan, the mayor rose from her leather chair and stood at the window, looking at the trees in full bloom on the town green. One tree had a bowling pin caught in the branches.

The mayor imagined the cat’s voice dropping to a whisper. “Why not order the police to fine the jugglers for disturbing the peace?”

“That’s no good,” the mayor said. She rested her forehead on the cool window and closed her eyes. “What if the jugglers sue us? Then the case would go to court, and the town could lose a lot of money!”

The golden cat statue made no reply. The mayor was by herself. She heard what sounded like the distant rumble of thunder. Thunder? There wasn’t a cloud in the sky! Without taking her forehead off the window, Mayor Arnold opened her eyes. What she saw next made her jump up with a squeak. A crowd of people were marching up the long street that led to Town Hall, and at the crowd’s front was Donald Seastrunk himself. They pumped their fists in the air and waved signs. An anti-juggler protest! Mayor Arnold sighed. It was going to be a long day.

WHAT IS THE MAIN IDEA OF THIS STORY?

My náanaa k’ayáa (great-grandmother) would always say, “Sing loud, dagwáang (dear one), so the bears know it’s our turn.”

We always listened to our elders, because they have a lot of wisdom.

“When the táan (black bear) hear us singing our songs, they will leave us alone,” great-grandmother told us. “They respect us and we respect them. When it is their turn to pick berries, we leave them alone, too.”

My family is from the Haida tribe. Every summer, my grandmother, mom, auntie, siblings, cousins and I visited our great-grandmother in our very remote Haida village of Hydaburg in southeastern Alaska. I loved to visit my village. My favorite part was playing with my friends and cousins at the river. Oh, and hearing my elders laugh!

In our village, everyone lives humbly and takes care of each other, sharing whatever they catch from the ocean: salmon, shrimp, crabs, herring roe on kelp, seal, sea otter. Elders always receive their shares first. That’s just the way it has always been. And the children serve the elders. Somehow, this practice helps bring balance among the generations.

I remember one summer day during berry-picking month when I was about 10 years old. The weather was warm and sunny, which helped the berries ripen. We all could smell the sweetness in the air as we grabbed our berry baskets, put on our rubber boots, and headed out to the wild berry patches around our village.

On the way there, we crossed the bridge over the river where the chíin (salmon) were still spawning. There were so many salmon, it looked as if you could cross the whole river just walking on their red backs!

We saw a sGáan (killer whale) family swimming by. One breached, as if to say “hello!” We all yelled “AAY YO!” The killer whales swim and hunt in between the many islands that protect our village from the strong winds of náng síigaay (the ocean). We heard the tsáak (eagle) and yáahl (raven) singing their songs and having bird-talk conversations.

Our náanaa k’ayáa would teach us how to dance and sing like the animals in and around our village. We spread our arms out like the wings of the eagle. We hopped about curiously, looking around, like the raven. We put one hand on our foreheads like a dorsal fin and make the “woosh” sound, like the orca’s. Or we crouched down like the bear and growled, putting our hands up to show our claws.

For each dance we did, our great-grandmother taught us special Haida songs. She knew many languages: in addition to her native tongue, Haida, she spoke Chinook, Tlingit, Tsimshian, Russian, and English. Náanaa k’ayáa was proud to teach our language to her nine children and many generations of grandchildren.

Finally, we arrived at the berry patch. There were so many types of berries to choose from: salmonberries, huckleberries, smile berries, blueberries, thimble berries, gooseberries. As we picked (and ate!) the berries, we sang many songs so the bears could hear us. When our berry baskets were overflowing, we went back to the house of náanaa k’ayáa to make lots of jam to share and to last throughout the cold months. And we froze some berries for later, which náanaa k’ayáa served with súugaa (sugar) and cream. Yum!

Gathering food, preparing food, sharing food—these were some of the many ways my náanaa k’ayáa expressed her love for us. She taught us how to take care of ourselves and each other. She taught us many stories and songs.

She taught us how to respect creation.

WHAT IS THE BEST SUMMARY FOR THIS STORY?

“Going to Noah’s!” I yelled as I headed to our front door. But as soon as I saw my parents in the kitchen, I skidded to a stop. Something was wrong.

“Jaiven, hold on,” said Baba, clearing his throat. “Your Ma and I spoke with Noah’s parents a little while ago.”

I sat down at the kitchen table, wondering if Noah was in trouble. Was my best friend and neighbor grounded?

“It’s sad news, I’m afraid,” said Ma. “Noah’s grandmother just passed away.” She put her hand on my shoulder and said, “This is going to be a tough time for your friend. If you want to go to the funeral, your Baba and I can take you.”

Noah’s quiet grandma often visited him. Sometimes, when I’d gone next door, she watched over both of us. She laughed at the jokes I told her, and she once taught me how to make gingerbread. I was sad that I wouldn’t see her again, but I couldn’t imagine how Noah felt. Even though my grandparents lived far away, I texted and called all four of them all the time. What would it be like if one of them were gone?

I had never been to a funeral before. The only relative I knew who had died was my uncle, Bhaskar Mama. Since he lived in India, I didn’t know him very well. My parents and I watched the puja, the ceremony to remember him, over the internet.

Ma explained that Noah’s grandma’s funeral would be a little different.

“How different?” I asked.

“It will be at their family’s church,” said Ma. “People will make speeches, and you can go up to Noah before the family leaves for the cemetery to speak to him.”

I knew that we were supposed to talk to the family at the funeral. That’s what I was the most worried about. How was I supposed to act? In my room, I took out my tablet and typed into Google, “What to say to person at funeral,” but the answers weren’t helpful.

There is no “right” thing to say at a funeral. Say what is in your heart.

What did that mean? !

Ma knocked on my door. “Beta, are you okay? Do you have any questions?”

“Ma? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to Noah.”

My mother sat down next to me and was quiet for a bit. “Do you remember when Bhaskar Mama passed away, Jaiven? He was my brother, and I was so sad. People didn’t really know what to say to me, but that was okay. I just needed to know that they cared. It helped to see that people were thinking about me.”

The next morning, I dressed in dark clothes. Outside, I saw Noah sitting by himself on his front steps. My mother nodded when I asked if I could go over for a few minutes.

“Hey, Noah,” I said, walking up to him slowly.

“Oh, hey, Jaiven,” he said, looking back down.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “Is it okay if I sit here too?”

Noah smiled a little and scooted over. I sat down next to him, and we were just there, in silence, for a bit. He was still sad. But I think it kind of helped.