Passage 1 When he ran, he even loved the pain, the hurt of the running, the burning in his lungs and the spasms that sometimes gripped his calves. He loved it because he knew he could endure the pain, and even go beyond it. He had never pushed himself to the limit but he felt all this reserve strength inside of him: more than actually—determination. And it sang in him as he ran, his heart pumping blood joyfully through his body. ~Robert Cormier, The Chocolate War

Passage 2 ~Carl Sandburg, “Arithmetic” Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head. Arithmetic tells you how many you lose or win if you know how many you had before you lost or won. Arithmetic is seven eleven all good children go to heaven—or five six bundle of sticks. Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer. ~Carl Sandburg, “Arithmetic”

Passage 3 But my mother’s hair, my mother’s hair, like little rosettes, like little candy circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm smell of bread before you bake it, is the smell when she makes room for you on her side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside falling and paper snoring. ~Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street

Passage 4 There was a scurrying around and then eight of them snatched up their guns, formed up into twos, and marched out behind the office. He wheeled his horse about and trotted toward me. I jumped back and plunged for the tavern doorway. ~James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier, My Brother Sam is Dead

Passage 5 When I woke89 up it was light. It was awfully quiet. Too quiet. I mean, our house just isn’t naturally quiet. The radio’s usually going full blast and the TV is turned up loud and people are wrestling and knocking over lamps and tripping over the coffee table and yelling at each other. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. Something had happened…I couldn’t remember what. ~ S. E. Hinton, The Outsiders

Passage 6 I’m boiling with rage, and yet I mustn’t show it. I’d like to stamp my feet, scream, give Mummy a good shaking, cry, and I don’t know what else, because of the horrible words, mocking looks, and accusations which are leveled at me repeatedly every day, and find their mark, like shafts from a tightly strung bow, and which are just as hard to draw from my body. ~Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl

Passage 7 A redheaded woman was there with Trout. Kate could see her rummaging through the cabin, dumping drawers, and knocking things from the shelves of cabinets.

Passage 8 I know enough not bring lunch on the first day of high school. Ther eis not way of telling what the acceptable fashion will be. Brown bags— humble testament to suburbia, or terminal geek gear? Insulated lunch bags—hip way to save the planet, or sign of an overinvolved mother? Buying is the only solution. And it gives me time to scan the cafeteria for a friendly face or inconspicuous corner. ~Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

Passage 9 Thwap! A lump of potatoes his me square in the center of my chest. All conversation stops as the entire lunchroom gawks, my face burning into my retinas. I will be forever known as “that girl who got nailed by the potatoes that first day.” The Basketball Pole apologizes and says something else, but four hundred people explode in laughter and I can’t read lips. I ditch my tray and bolt for the door. ~Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak