IXL | Read realistic fiction | 5th grade language arts

Read the story.

Bevin's Back Handspring

Just as Bevin was heading for the mat for floor work, Coach Tammie shouted, "Gather 'round for the results of last week's skills review!"

Bevin's stomach knotted as she took the score sheet Coach handed her. She wasn't looking forward to this. Sure enough, every skill was checked off except for "back handspring." There, Coach had scrawled a red X, followed by a comment: This is required for Advanced 2 gymnastics; repeat Advanced 1. Bevin wasn't surprised, but still, it hurt.

Suddenly, hands covered Bevin's eyes from behind. "Advanced 2, here we come!" Olivia cried, laughing.

"Here we don't come," Bevin said grumpily. "I didn't pass."

The following Monday, Bevin felt left behind and young as she watched Olivia stride to the other side of the gym. Stuck in Advanced 1, Bevin's body automatically completed the familiar warm-up stretches, but her eyes were on Olivia's group. She saw Olivia and Sydney smile at each other, clearly sharing an inside joke.

After warm-ups, Bevin's group shifted to bars, then to beam. But it was as if Bevin was only half there. The other half of her was with Advanced 2—or at least trying to be. What were they talking about, anyway? What could possibly be so interesting?

"Bevin!" Coach Tammie tapped her shoulder. "Wake up; we're moving to floor work."

Bevin followed Coach to the mats. She thought she heard Olivia say, "No way!" followed by someone else saying, "It's true." She strained to hear more.

"Show me your back handspring," Coach Tammie said.

Bevin raised her arms, swung them down, and threw her body backward onto her hands. She was supposed to land on her feet, but she landed on her knees instead.

"Concentrate," Coach murmured, like she always did. "Center yourself."

Again and again, Bevin flip-flopped backward, only to land on her knees. She saw that Advanced 2 was now at the parallel bars. They'd probably be starting a new skill today.

"My technique must be really bad," Bevin finally said, wiping her forehead. Her face was dripping with sweat.

"Actually, I don't think the problem is your position or movements," Coach said. "It's more a matter of being present. But take a breather."

At least now Bevin could find out what she'd been missing out on. Signaling Olivia, she headed for the water fountain. Olivia grinned and met her there.

"Okay, listen to this," Olivia said. "Last week, Sydney dared Emma to wear an ugly holiday sweater to school, and she did! It literally had jingle bells on it."

Bevin blinked. That was all they'd been laughing about?

"Sydney says we can dare her to wear something goofy next. Any ideas?"

"What? Oh. Maybe . . . a hat?" She hadn't missed out on much after all.

"Come on," Olivia laughed. "You're good at this stuff! Here, close your eyes. Concentrate; center yourself." She said this last part in Coach Tammie's voice, and Bevin smiled as she closed her eyes.

But the picture that came into her mind wasn't Sydney in a goofy outfit. It was herself—Bevin—doing a perfect back handspring and landing on her feet.

Actually, she had missed out on something. She opened her eyes.

Olivia clapped her hands. "Got it?"

"Nope. I'll think about it though, I promise. After class." And Bevin headed back to the mats to focus on her own work.

Based on paragraph

why is Bevin not looking forward to receiving the skill review results?

She thinks she has done better than Olivia.

She thinks she hasn't passed the back handspring skill.

She thinks Olivia has received a perfect score.

She thinks she has failed all of the gymnastics skills.

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Read the story.

The Artist's Secret

Destiny squeezed celery-green paint onto her palette, then mixed in three drops of forest-green. Not quite. She added a fourth drop. Perfect.

She studied her canvas, where she had sketched the alphabet in bubble letters. The letter A glistened, still wet with the caramel-yellow paint Destiny had mixed. Not bad. With careful brushstrokes, Destiny began painting the B.

Under the orchestra music flowing from Ms. Tamika's sound system, Destiny could hear murmured voices. Ms. Tamika was strolling around the room, visiting each student's easel. Soon, she came Destiny's way, stopping at Michael's easel first.

"Is this what you meant?" Michael asked.

Ms. Tamika's directions were often vague. Today, she had instructed the class to create "word art." When the kids asked what this meant, Ms. Tamika had shrugged, saying, "You show me."

"I love your interpretation," Ms. Tamika told Michael now, not exactly answering his question.

Stealing a glimpse, Destiny sucked in her breath. Michael had painted himself, with his hands outstretched. The letters of his own name, golden and elegant, seemed to bounce between his hands.

As Destiny turned back to her canvas, she felt her shoulders sag. How could her childish bubble alphabet be "word art"? It wasn't even a word! She felt that familiar, stomach-tightening realization that she was out of step with everyone and everything. She sighed.

"What an interesting shade of green." Ms. Tamika was suddenly beside her. "So soothing."

Well. That was true. Maybe Ms. Tamika was just being kind, but Destiny had always thought of B as a calm letter.

"What made you choose it?" Ms. Tamika asked.

Destiny hesitated. "I just tried to match the color in my mind," she finally said.

"The color in your mind?"

Destiny nodded. "I've actually never told anyone, but in my mind, each letter . . . has a color." It sounded so strange.

Ms. Tamika was looking at her with an open, curious expression. She pointed at the A. "Is A always butterscotch? Or does it change sometimes?"

"Always butterscotch. And B is always green, and C is pale pink, like the inside of a strawberry, and, well, I could go through the whole alphabet. But I won't."

Ms. Tamika laughed delightedly and placed her hand on her heart. "My A is dark red. And my S is similar to your B."

Destiny froze. Was that possible? It seemed completely implausible that Ms. Tamika could have colors for letters, too. Was she teasing?

"It's true," Ms. Tamika said, as if she had read Destiny's thoughts. "See, some people's senses get a little mixed up. Or, as I like to think of it, connected. A sound might have a certain smell, or letters might have colors. It's called synesthesia." She smiled. "Before I learned that, I thought I was the only one who experienced this."

"Me, too!" Destiny said. "I thought it was just me."

"Nope. Actually," Ms. Tamika said, nodding toward the sound system, "the musician who wrote this symphony had synesthesia, too. He saw music in color." Ms. Tamika touched Destiny's shoulder, then glided to the next easel.

Destiny just stood there, listening to the music. The musician did this stuff, too? As if in answer, the music swelled. The melody was both strong and delicate, like a spider's web. For a moment, Destiny could imagine the silken threads whispering through the air, wrapping themselves around the easels, connecting everything and everyone. Even her.

Destiny smiled. Then she reached for her palette, so she could start on C.

Based on paragraphs 1 and

how does Destiny probably feel about the art project at the beginning of the story?

She cares about it turning out just right.

She is annoyed about having to mix paint colors.

She wants to finish it as quickly as possible.

She views it as a competition that she is winning.

key idea

Sometimes authors don't explain everything that you need to know in a story. So, you may need to make guesses, or

inferences,

about what happens and why. Making inferences will help you understand the whole story, even the things that the author doesn't say openly. Be sure to base your inferences on details in the story.

solution

Think about these details from the text:

Destiny takes time mixing colors so they're the right shade.
Destiny paints the letter B with "careful brushstrokes."

When people take their time and are careful, that often means that they care about doing something right.

So, you can guess that Destiny cares about her art project turning out just right.

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