Version B — ELA Practice Test

Deja and Simone had sat at the same lunch table every day since second grade. They had a system: Deja got there first and saved the corner seat for Simone, who always took longer coming from math class.

Then one Monday in October, Simone walked right past the table without stopping. She sat down three tables away, between two girls from her reading group, and started talking like she had been sitting there all year.

Deja stared at her tray. She was not sure what she had done wrong.

By Wednesday, she wrote in her journal: Simone has new friends. She does not need me anymore. Maybe that is true. Maybe it is not. I have not actually talked to her.

By Friday, the silence between them felt like it could grow into something neither of them could name — something that would harden if she let it.

The next day, Deja did something that was very hard. She walked up to Simone in the hallway and asked: Did I do something wrong?

Simone looked stricken. No, she said quickly. I just did not know how to explain. I wanted to sit with Brooke and Maya because they invited me, and I was afraid you would be upset, so I just did not say anything. I was too embarrassed to look at you.

I was upset, Deja said. But I would have been less upset if you had told me.

They stood there for a moment. Come sit with all of us Monday? Simone asked. Deja thought about it. Yeah, she said. Okay.

For many years, people believed that wolf packs were ruled by aggressive alpha wolves who controlled others through force. Scientists who have studied wild wolf packs closely have found a very different picture. A wolf pack is actually a family — usually two parents and their offspring. The so-called alphas are simply experienced parents whose adult children follow their lead.

Communication within the pack is complex and constant. Wolves use body language, scent, and howls to share information. A howl can help wolves locate one another across long distances, warn neighboring packs to stay away, or call the group together before a hunt.

Hunting is one of the most dramatic examples of wolf cooperation. Large prey require coordinated effort no single wolf could accomplish alone. Different pack members flush the prey from cover, chase it, and cut off escape routes. This requires wolves to read each other's movements and react instantly.

Wolf packs also cooperate in raising the next generation. When pups are born, all adult pack members — not just the parents — take responsibility for their care. Helpers bring food, stand guard, and play with pups. Research shows pups raised in packs with more helpers survive at higher rates.

Perhaps the most striking example of wolves' impact is what happened when they were reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park in 1995. Wolves began hunting elk, and elk began avoiding open riverbanks. This allowed riverside vegetation to recover, which stabilized river banks and brought back beavers and songbirds. Scientists call this a trophic cascade — a chain of connected changes triggered by one species.

The story of the Yellowstone wolves is a powerful reminder: cooperation produces results that no individual could achieve alone.

We used to play on opposite banks,

separated by ten feet of cold water,

too proud to wade across.

I watched you from my side.

You watched me from yours.

When you played your favorite song,

I listened without telling you.

At night I practiced the same notes,

alone, in secret.

Friendship is a bridge you build

from both sides at once.

If only one person walks toward the middle,

the bridge stays half-finished, waiting.

One afternoon, we both stepped off

our banks at the same moment.

Neither of us planned it.

Almost said. Almost heard.

Years of almost.

But both of us moved,

and so the bridge was built.

Big problems, Theo had noticed, always started small.

It started the afternoon Brett walked home with him for the first time. Brett was in fifth grade and had the kind of confidence that made everything look easy. Theo was flattered that Brett had chosen him.

They were passing Mr. Kaminsky's yard when Brett stopped. Twenty bucks says you cannot take that rabbit without him seeing, Brett said, nodding at the ceramic rabbit near the old man's front step.

Mr. Kaminsky had kept the rabbit in the same spot since before Theo's mom was born. It had a chipped ear and a faded pink nose.

I do not know, Theo said. Jordan said you were scared of everything, Brett said easily. Just saying.

That night, Theo told his sister Camille. Camille was fourteen and had already learned some things. Here is what you need to understand about dares, she said. The person who sets the dare is never the one who faces the consequence.

The next afternoon, Brett and Jordan were waiting. Well? Brett said. Theo shook his head. That rabbit has been there since before my mom was born. That is Mr. Kaminsky's. I am not taking it.

Brett's expression flickered — surprise first, then something harder — before he rearranged his face into a shrug. Your choice, Brett said. Jordan said nothing. They walked away.

Theo stood there feeling both awful and correct at the same time.

The next morning, Theo walked past Mr. Kaminsky's yard. The rabbit was sitting exactly where it belonged. It was enough.