What can we say according to the chart?

Most of the students aren’t keen on listening to jazz.

LET'S SEE WHOSE THE HIGHEST SCORE IS!

Whose Tracks Are These? Animal Visitors. How do we know whether an animal has visited a place? One way we know is because it may leave tracks, or marks in the soil. Tracks show where the animal's body has touched the ground. Let's find out who has visited us today! Large Animals. A large animal that likes honey made these tracks. This animal is a good climber. It has strong claws for digging up plants, and it eats animals, too. Can you guess who it is? A black bear made these tracks. Black bears sleep all winter and wake up hungry in the spring. A large animal with hooves made these tracks. This animal can eat ten pounds of leaves, bark, and twigs each day. Can you guess who it is? A deer made these tracks. Male deer grow antlers in the spring and shed them in late winter. Baby deer have spots that disappear when they grow up. A large, strong cat made these tracks. This hunter runs fast and jumps far. It eats other animals, such as deer. birds, and rabbits. Can you guess who it is? A mountain lion made these tracks. Adult mountain lions live alone most of the time. Babies must learn to hunt before they can leave their mothers. Small Animals. A smart bird made these tracks. It has a curved beak and sharp claws. It hunts at night and eats many kinds of animals. Can you guess who it is? An owl made these tracks. It has large yellow eyes and can see well in the dark. It makes a noise called a hoot. A small animal made these tracks. Its tail made the line between the footprints. This animal must run very fast to escape being eaten. Can you guess who it is? A mouse made these tracks. Mice are food for owls, snakes, and other animals. But this one got away! Many Kinds of Tracks. Each kind of animal has its own special tracks. Look for tracks when you are in nature. Have fun finding out who has been visiting!

What do an ancient Greek philosopher and a 19th century Quaker have in common with Nobel Prize-winning scientists? Although they are separated over 2,400 years of history, each of them contributed to answering the eternal question: what is stuff made of? It was around 440 BCE that Democritus first proposed that everything in the world was made up of tiny particles surrounded by empty space. And he even speculated that they vary in size and shape depending on the substance they compose. He called these particles "atomos," Greek for indivisible. His ideas were opposed by the more popular philosophers of his day. Aristotle, for instance, disagreed completely, stating instead that matter was made of four elements: earth, wind, water and fire, and most later scientists followed suit. Atoms would remain all but forgotten until 1808, when a Quaker teacher named John Dalton sought to challenge Aristotelian theory. Whereas Democritus's atomism had been purely theoretical, Dalton showed that common substances always broke down into the same elements in the same proportions. He concluded that the various compounds were combinations of atoms of different elements, each of a particular size and mass that could neither be created nor destroyed. Though he received many honors for his work, as a Quaker, Dalton lived modestly until the end of his days. Atomic theory was now accepted by the scientific community, but the next major advancement would not come until nearly a century later with the physicist J.J. Thompson's 1897 discovery of the electron. In what we might call the chocolate chip cookie model of the atom, he showed atoms as uniformly packed spheres of positive matter filled with negatively charged electrons. Thompson won a Nobel Prize in 1906 for his electron discovery, but his model of the atom didn't stick around long. This was because he happened to have some pretty smart students, including a certain Ernest Rutherford, who would become known as the father of the nuclear age. While studying the effects of X-rays on gases, Rutherford decided to investigate atoms more closely by shooting small, positively charged alpha particles at a sheet of gold foil. Under Thompson's model, the atom's thinly dispersed positive charge would not be enough to deflect the particles in any one place. The effect would have been like a bunch of tennis balls punching through a thin paper screen. But while most of the particles did pass through, some bounced right back, suggesting that the foil was more like a thick net with a very large mesh. Rutherford concluded that atoms consisted largely of empty space with just a few electrons, while most of the mass was concentrated in the center, which he termed the nucleus. The alpha particles passed through the gaps but bounced back from the dense, positively charged nucleus. But the atomic theory wasn't complete just yet. In 1913, another of Thompson's students by the name of Niels Bohr expanded on Rutherford's nuclear model. Drawing on earlier work by Max Planck and Albert Einstein he stipulated that electrons orbit the nucleus at fixed energies and distances, able to jump from one level to another, but not to exist in the space between. Bohr's planetary model took center stage, but soon, it too encountered some complications. Experiments had shown that rather than simply being discrete particles, electrons simultaneously behaved like waves, not being confined to a particular point in space. And in formulating his famous uncertainty principle, Werner Heisenberg showed it was impossible to determine both the exact position and speed of electrons as they moved around an atom. The idea that electrons cannot be pinpointed but exist within a range of possible locations gave rise to the current quantum model of the atom, a fascinating theory with a whole new set of complexities whose implications have yet to be fully grasped. Even though our understanding of atoms keeps changing, the basic fact of atoms remains, so let's celebrate the triumph of atomic theory with some fireworks. As electrons circling an atom shift between energy levels, they absorb or release energy in the form of specific wavelengths of light, resulting in all the marvelous colors we see. And we can imagine Democritus watching from somewhere, satisfied that over two millennia later, he turned out to have been right all along.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

A BAD CASE OF THE STRIPES By David Shannon Parts(18): Camilla Narrator 1 Narrator 2 Narrator 3 Narrator 4 Mr. Harms Mother Father Dr. Bumble Old Woman Environmental Therapist Dr. Grop Dr. Gourd Dr. Sponge Mr. Mellon Dr. Cricket Dr. Young <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> Narrator 1: A BAD CASE OF THE STRIPES By David Shannon Narrator 2: Camilla Cream loved lima beans. But she never ate them. Narrator 3: All of her friends hated lima beans, and she wanted to fit in. Camilla always worried about what other people thought of her. Narrator 4: Today she was fretting even more than usual. It was the very first day of school, and she couldn't decide what to wear. There were so many people to impress! Narrator 1: She tried on forty-two outfits, but none seemed quite right. She put on a pretty red dress and looked in the mirror. Then she screamed. Narrator 2: Her mother ran into the room, and she screamed, too. Mother: "Oh my heavens! You're completely covered with stripes!" Narrator 3: she cried. This was certainly true. Camilla was striped from head to toe. She looked like a rainbow. Narrator 4: Mrs. Cream felt Camilla's forehead. Mother: "Do you feel all right?" Narrator 1: she asked. Camilla: "I feel fine, but just look at me!" Narrator 2: Camilla answered. Mother: "You get back in bed this instant. You're not going to school today." Narrator 3: her mother ordered. Camilla was relieved. She didn't want to miss the first day of school, but she was afraid of what the other kids would say. And she had no idea what to wear with those crazy stripes. Narrator 4: That afternoon, Dr. Bumble came to examine Camilla. Dr. Bumble: "Most extraordinary! I've never seen anything like it! Are you having any coughing, sneezing, runny nose, aches, pains, chills, hot flashes, dizziness, drowsiness, shortness of breath, or uncontrollable twitching?" Narrator 1: he asked. Camilla: "No, I feel fine." Narrator 2: Camilla told him. Dr. Bumble: "Well then, I don't see any reason why she shouldn't go to school tomorrow. Here's some ointment that should help clear up those stripes in a few days. If it doesn't, you know where to reach me." Narrator 3: Dr. Bumble said, turning to Mrs. Cream. And off he went. Narrator 4: The next day was a disaster. Everyone at school laughed at Camilla. They called her "Camilla Crayon" and "Night of the Living Lollipop." Narrator 1: She tried her best to act as if everything were normal, but when the class said the Pledge of Allegiance, her stripes turned red, white, and blue, and she broke out in stars! Narrator 2: The other kids thought this was great. One yelled out, Narrator 3: "Let's see some purple polka dots!" Narrator 4: Sure enough, Camilla turned all purple polka-dotty. Someone else shouted, Narrator 1: "Checkerboard!" Narrator 4: and a pattern of squares covered her skin. Soon everyone was calling out different shapes and colors, and poor Camilla was changing faster than you can change channels on a T.V. Narrator 2: That night, Mr. Harms, the school principal, called. Mr. Harms: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cream, I'm going to have to ask you to keep Camilla home from school. She's just too much of a distraction, and I've been getting phone calls from the other parents. They're afraid those stripes may be contagious." Narrator 3: he said. Camilla was so embarrassed. She couldn't believe that two days ago everyone liked her. Now, nobody wanted to be in the same room with her. Narrator 1: Her father tried to make her feel better. Father: "Is there anything I can get you, sweetheart?" Narrator 2: he asked. Camilla: "No, thank you," Narrator 3: sighed Camilla. What she really wanted was a nice plate of lima beans, but she had been laughed at enough for one day. Dr. Bumble: "Hmm, well, yes, I see. I think I'd better bring in the Specialists. We'll be right over.” Narrator 4: said Dr. Bumble to Mr. Cream on the phone. About an hour later, Dr. Bumble arrived with four people in long white coats. He introduced them to the Creams. Dr. Bumble: "This is Dr. Grop, Dr. Sponge, Dr. Cricket, and Dr. Young." Narrator 1: Then the Specialists went to work on Camilla. They squeezed and jabbed, tapped and tested. It was very uncomfortable. Dr. Grop: "Well, it's not the mumps." Dr. Sponge: "Or the measles." Dr. Cricket:"Definitely not chicken pox." Dr. Young: "Or sunburn." Narrator 2: replied the Specialists. Specialists:"Try these. Take one of each before bed." Narrator 4: said the specialists. They each handed her a bottle filled with different colored pills. Then they filed out the front door followed by Dr. Bumble. Narrator 1: That night, Camilla took her medicine. It was awful. Narrator 2: When she woke up the next morning, she did feel different, but when she got dressed, her clothes didn't fit right. She looked in the mirror, and there, staring back at her, was a giant, multi-colored pill with a face on it. Narrator 3: Dr. Bumble rushed over as soon as Mrs. Cream called. But this time, instead of the Specialists, he brought the Experts. Narrator 4: Dr. Gourd and Mr. Mellon were the finest scientific minds in the land. Once again, Camilla was poked and prodded, looked at and listened to. Narrator 1: The Experts wrote down lots of numbers. Then they huddled together and whispered. Dr. Gourd finally spoke. Dr. Gourd: "It might be a virus," Narrator 2: he announced with authority. Suddenly, fuzzy little virus balls appeared all over Camilla. Mr. Mellon: "Or possibly some form of bacteria," Narrator 3: said Mr. Mellon. Out popped squiggly little bacteria tails. Dr. Gourd: "Or it could be a fungus," Narrator 4: added Dr. Gourd. Instantly, Camilla was covered with different colored fungus blotches. The experts looked at Camilla, then each other. Experts: "We need to go over these numbers again back at the lab. We’ll call you when we know something," Narrator 1: said the Experts. But the Experts didn't have a clue, much less a cure. Narrator 2: By now, the T.V. news had found out about Camilla. Reporters from every channel were outside her house, telling the story of "The Bizarre Case of the Incredible Changing Kid." Narrator 3: Soon a huge crowd was camped out on the front lawn. Narrator 4: The Creams were swamped with all kinds of remedies from psychologists, allergists, herbalists, nutritionists, psychics, an old medicine man, a guru, and even a veterinarian. Narrator 1: Each so-called cure only added to poor Camilla's strange appearance until it was hard to even recognize her. She sprouted roots and berries and crystals and feathers and a long furry tail. But nothing worked. Narrator 2: One day, a woman who called herself an Environmental Therapist claimed she could cure Camilla. She said, Environmental Therapist: "Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and become one with your room." Camilla: "I wish you hadn't said that," Narrator 3: Camilla groaned. Slowly, she started to melt into the walls of her room. Her bed became her mouth, her nose was a dresser, and two paintings were her eyes. The therapist screamed and ran from the house. Mother: "What are we going to do? It just keeps getting worse and worse!" Narrator 4: cried Mrs. Cream. She began to sob. Narrator 1: At that moment, Mr. Cream heard a quiet little knock at the front door. He opened it, and there stood an old woman who was just as plump and sweet as a strawberry. Old Woman: "Excuse me, but I think I can help." Narrator 2: she said brightly. Narrator 3: She went into Camilla's room and looked around. Old Woman: "My goodness, what we have here is a bad case of the stripes. One of the worst I've ever seen!" Narrator 4: she said with a shake of her head. She pulled a container of small green beans from her bag. She said, Old Woman: "Here. These might do the trick." Mother: "Are those magic beans?" Narrator 1: asked Mrs. Cream. The old woman replied, Old Woman: "Oh my, no, there's no such thing. These are just plain old lima beans. I'll bet you'd like some, wouldn't you?" Narrator 2: she asked Camilla. Camilla wanted a big, heaping plateful of lima beans more than just about anything, but she was still afraid to admit it. She said, Camilla: "Yuck! No one likes lima beans, especially me!" Old Woman: "Oh, dear, I guess I was wrong about you." Narrator 3: said the old woman sadly. She put the beans back in her bag and started toward the door. Narrator 4: Camilla watched the old woman walk away. Those beans would taste so good. And being laughed at for eating them was nothing, compared to what she'd been going through. She finally couldn't stand it. Camilla: "Wait! The truth is...I really love lima beans." Narrator 1: she cried. The old woman smiled, popping a handful of beans into Camilla's mouth, and said, Old Woman: "I thought so." Camilla: "Mmmmmmm," Narrator 2: said Camilla. Suddenly the branches, feathers, and squiggly tails began to disappear.Then the whole room swirled around. When it stopped, there stood Camilla, and everything was back to normal. Camilla: "I'm cured!" Narrator 3: she shouted. The old woman said, Old Woman: "Yes, I knew the real you was in there somewhere." Narrator 4: She patted Camilla on the head and went outside and vanished into the crowd. Narrator 1: Afterward, Camilla wasn't quite the same. Narrator 2: Some of the kids at school said she was weird, but she didn't care a bit. Narrator 3: She ate all the lima beans she wanted, and she never had even a touch of stripes again.

好的，根據您提供的表格 [NEW SOURCE]，以下是表格中例句的中文意思： * **1. all** * **全部的**：**All** my friends were here with me. (我所有的朋友當時都在這裡。) * **全部**：**All** of us enjoyed the movie. (我們所有人都很喜歡這部電影。) * **都**：He got **all** wet. (他全身都濕透了。) * **2. along** * **沿著**：We walked **along** the river yesterday evening. (我們昨天傍晚沿著河邊散步。) * **帶……一起**：When my mother goes out, she takes my little brother **along**. (我媽媽外出時，會帶著我的小弟弟一起去。) * **3. angle** * **觀點**：We should look at the problems from different **angles**. (我們應該從不同的觀點來看待這些問題。) * **角度**：The picture is hanging at an **angle** of 45°. (這張畫以 45 度的角度懸掛著。) * **4. answer** * **答案**：Do you know the **answer** to the question? (你知道這個問題的答案嗎？) * **回答；回應**：Could you **answer** the phone for me? (你可以幫我接一下電話嗎？) * **5. back** * **後面**：She wrote her cellphone number down on the **back** of the paper. (她把她的手機號碼寫在紙的背面。) * **後面的**：Open the **back** door, please. (請打開後面的門。) * **回原處**：It’s time to go **back** home. (該回家了。) * **6. bat** * **蝙蝠**：Did you ever see a **bat** flying quickly in the sky at night? (你曾經看過蝙蝠在夜空中快速飛行嗎？) * **球棒**：Swing the **bat** higher. (把球棒揮高一點。) * **擊**：It’s your turn to **bat**. (輪到你打擊了。) * **7. bite** * **一口的量**：Jane took a **bite** of the guava. (珍咬了一口芭樂。) * **咬**：The dog **bit** the woman’s leg. (那隻狗咬了那個女人的腿。) * **8. book** * **書**：I’ve just started reading a **book** by Stephen King. (我剛開始讀一本史蒂芬·金的書。) * **預訂；預約**：They **booked** two seats at the theater. (他們在劇院預訂了兩個座位。) * **9. block** * **街區**：Nancy and I live on the same **block**. (南希和我住在同一個街區。) * **阻擋**：Those heavy boxes **blocked** my way to the restroom. (那些沉重的箱子擋住了我去洗手間的路。) * **10. bow** * **蝴蝶結**：David chose a gray **bow** tie to go with his black suit. (大衛選擇了一個灰色蝴蝶領結來搭配他的黑色西裝。) * **鞠躬**：The actor **bowed** to everyone before he left the stage. (那位演員在離開舞台前向大家鞠躬。) * **11. break** * **暫停；休息**：I’m tired. Can we take a **break**? (我累了。我們可以休息一下嗎？) * **分解**：These plastic forks are hard to **break** down. (這些塑膠叉子很難分解。) * **打破**：The glass is very expensive. Don’t **break** it. (這個玻璃很貴。不要打破它。) * **12. bright** * **晴朗的**：It’s a **bright** morning. Why not take a walk along the river? (這是個晴朗的早晨。何不沿著河邊散步呢？) * **明亮的**：The room isn’t **bright** enough. Let’s not read here. (這個房間不夠明亮。我們不要在這裡閱讀。) * **13. call** * **打電話**：I got a **call** from my old friend last night. (我昨晚接到我老朋友的電話。) * **打電話**：Tina **called** me last night. We talked a lot about music. (蒂娜昨晚打電話給我。我們聊了很多關於音樂的事。) * **呼喊**：Listen! Is that a **call** for help? (聽！那是求救的呼喊嗎？) * **呼喊**：Why did you **call** my name then? (那你當時為什麼喊我的名字？) * **14. camp** * **營隊**：Patrick joined a science **camp** this summer. (派屈克今年夏天參加了一個科學營隊。) * **露營**：They **camped** by the river yesterday. (他們昨天在河邊露營。) * **15. case** * **箱；盒**：The kids drank the whole **case** of Coke. (孩子們喝掉了一整箱可樂。) * **實例；情況**：The number of new **cases** of Covid-19 is growing. (新冠肺炎的新增病例數正在增加。) * **16. catch** * **接球**：Nice **catch**! My good dog. (接得好！我的好狗狗。) * **罹患（病）**：My head hurts. I may **catch** a cold. (我頭痛。我可能感冒了。) * **抓住**：I didn’t **catch** the ball. (我沒有接到那個球。) * **17. change** * **零錢；找零**：I think you’ve given me the wrong **change**. (我想你找錯錢了。) * **改變；交換**：The leaves **change** (in color) from green to red in the fall. (秋天時，樹葉的顏色從綠色變成紅色。) * **18. clean** * **打掃；清理**：Tom **cleans** the toilet once a week. (湯姆一週打掃一次馬桶。) * **乾淨的**：The water isn’t **clean**. Don’t drink it. (這水不乾淨。不要喝。) * **19. close** * **關；闔**：**Close** your books, students. Let’s have a pop quiz. (同學們，把你們的書闔上。我們要進行隨堂測驗。) * **靠近地**：Jane sat **close** to her husband at the party. (在派對上，珍緊挨著她的丈夫坐著。) * **20. cold** * **感冒**：I had a **cold** a week ago. (我一個星期前感冒了。) * **寒冷的**：It was **cold** last night. (昨晚很冷。)

Some substances, such as macromolecules and nutrients, are too large to pass through the cell membrane by the transport processes you have studied so far. Cells employ two other transport mecha- nisms—endocytosis and exocytosis—to move such substances into or out of cells. Endocytosis and exocytosis are also used to transport large quantities of small molecules into or out of cells at a single time. Both endocytosis and exocytosis require cells to expend energy. Therefore, they are types of active transport. Endocytosis Endocytosis (EN-doh-sie-TOH-sis) is the process by which cells ingest external fluid, macromolecules, and large particles, including other cells. As you can see in Figure 5-7, these external materials are enclosed by a portion of the cell’s membrane, which folds into itself and forms a pouch. The pouch then pinches off from the cell membrane and becomes a membrane-bound organelle called a vesicle. Some of the vesicles fuse with lysosomes, and their con- tents are digested by lysosomal enzymes. Other vesicles that form during endocytosis fuse with other membrane-bound organelles. Two main types of endocytosis are based on the kind of material that is taken into the cell: pinocytosis (PIEN-oh-sie-TOH-sis) involves the transport of solutes or fluids, and phagocytosis (FAG-oh-sie-TOH-sis) is the movement of large particles or whole cells. Many unicellular organisms feed by phagocytosis. In addition, certain cells in animals use phagocytosis to ingest bacteria and viruses that invade the body. These cells, known as phagocytes, allow lysosomes to fuse with the vesicles that contain the ingested bacteria and viruses. Lysosomal enzymes then destroy the bacteria and viruses before they can harm the animal. CYTOSOL EXTERNAL ENVIRONMENT During endocytosis, the cell membrane folds around food or liquid and forms a small pouch. The pouch then pinches off from the cell membrane to become a vesicle. FIGURE 5-7 vesicle from the Latin vesicula, meaning “bladder” or “sac” Word Roots and Origins www.scilinks.org Topic: Endocytosis Keyword: HM60505 mb06se_homs02.qxd 5/18/07 11:03 AM Page 105 106 CHAPTER 5 1. Explain the difference between passive trans- port and active transport. 2. What functions do carrier proteins perform in active transport? 3. What provides the energy that drives the sodium-potassium pump? 4. Explain the difference between pinocytosis and phagocytosis. 5. Describe the steps involved in exocytosis. 6. How do endocytosis and exocytosis differ? How can that difference be seen? CRITICAL THINKING 7. Analyzing Information During intense exercise, potassium tends to accumulate in the fluid surrounding muscle cells. What membrane protein helps muscle cells counteract this tendency? Explain your answer. 8. Evaluating Differences How does the sodium- potassium pump differ from facilitated diffusion? 9. Relating Concepts The vesicles formed during pinocytosis are much smaller than those formed during phagocytosis. Explain. SECTION 2 REVIEW Vesicle Cell membrane EXTERNAL ENVIRONMENT CYTOSOL During exocytosis, a vesicle moves to the cell membrane, fuses with it, and then releases its contents to the outside of the cell. FIGURE 5-8 INSIDE OF CELL Vesicle OUTSIDE OF CELL Exocytosis Exocytosis (EK-soh-sie-TOH-sis) is the process by which a substance is released from the cell through a vesicle that transports the sub- stance to the cell surface and then fuses with the membrane to let the substance out of the cell. This process, illustrated in Figure 5-8, is basically the reverse of endocytosis. During exocytosis, vesi- cles release their contents into the cell’s external environment. Figure 5-8 also shows a photo of a vesicle during exocytosis. Cells may use exocytosis to release large molecules such as pro- teins, waste products, or toxins that would damage the cell if they were released within the cytosol. Recall that proteins are made on ribosomes and packaged into vesicles by the Golgi apparatus. The vesicles then move to the cell membrane and fuse with it, deliver- ing the proteins outside the cell. Cells in the nervous and endocrine systems also use exocytosis to release small molecules that control the activities of other cells.

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