North Carolina End-of-Grade Tests English Language Arts Grade 5

The card on the school garden gate is for the class bush beans. Sprouts appear in 8 days. The plants are ready 45 days after they sprout, not 45 days after planting.

Nia planted in the morning and called that morning day 0. She circled day 45 on her chart. On day 8 the first sprouts opened. Ms. Ward moved the harvest tag. She told Nia to start the 45 days when the sprouts appear. Day 8 plus 45 days is day 53.

On day 45 the plants had flowers and small pods that were still flat. The class left them on the vines. On day 53 the pods were full, and the class picked them. The large 45 on the card had always belonged to the days after sprouting.

The island ferry at Gull Landing runs by the clock nailed to the ramp. The last boat leaves at 4:10. A long line of cars does not create a later boat. An empty lane does not cancel a time that is still printed.

June reached the ramp at 4:06 with three cars ahead of her. A driver behind her said the crew would add a 4:30 trip because the lane was full. Mr. Pell tapped the board. "4:10 is the last time printed. The line tells us who fits on this boat. It does not print a new time."

June's car rolled on at 4:09. The ramp closed at 4:10, and the driver who wanted a 4:30 trip stayed ashore. At 3:40 that same afternoon the lane had been almost empty, and the boat left anyway because 3:40 was printed. The clock chose both departures.

In the cloth shop, a blue stripe along the hem means the length is a family piece and is not for sale. A red stamp on the tag means the cloth is for sale and the price is firm. The two marks do different jobs.

Rosa nearly sold a striped length to a visitor who offered twelve dollars. That tag had no red stamp, and the hem had the blue stripe. Aunt Lila folded the cloth and set it on the home shelf. "The stripe is the mark we keep," she said. "Price talk does not cover it."

The visitor bought a different length, one with a red stamp and no blue stripe. That night Rosa traced the stripe with her finger. The color was the shop's way of saying the cloth stayed with the family.

From the marsh boardwalk, the class watched an osprey over the creek. When the bird hovered, it stayed in one place in the air and looked down. A hover meant it could see a fish near the surface. When the wind chopped the water into small waves, the osprey sat on the nest post and did not dive.

Caleb said the sitting bird was tired of fishing. Ms. Brooks shook her head. "Watch the water, not only the wings. Choppy water hides the fish. A hover is a search that is working. A bird on the post is a search that has paused."

A cloud moved on, and the creek smoothed. The osprey lifted, hovered, and then dropped. The class wrote "hover, then dive" in the notes. Nobody wrote "tired."

At Cedar Street Clay, a pot sits on the slow shelf for a full day before it can enter the hot kiln. A pot can feel dry to a hand and still hold water deep in the clay. The hot kiln is for pots that have finished the shelf.

Andre pressed a mug that felt dry at noon and wanted it in the hot kiln before his bus. Mr. Cole set the mug back on the slow shelf. "Your hand checks the skin of the clay," he said. "The shelf checks the inside. The card says one full day."

The next afternoon, the mug had spent that day on the shelf, and then it went into the hot kiln. A mug from another table had skipped the shelf. It came out with a crack. The two mugs had felt the same at noon. Only one had followed the card.

A library hold slip keeps a book for the name on the slip until Friday at noon. After that hour, the book returns to the open shelf. A title sitting on the hold cart is not free for every reader while the slip is still in date.

On Wednesday, Hana found Marsh Lights on the cart. The slip said Deon Park and "hold through Friday noon." She asked to check it out. Ms. Ruiz said no. "The slip is a promise with a clock. Wednesday is inside the promise."

On Saturday morning the slip was gone, and Marsh Lights stood on the open shelf. Hana checked it out with her own card. The title had not changed. The date had.

On the river bridge, horns give the orders. One long horn means the bridge will open in two minutes. Cars that are not yet on the span must wait. Cars already on the span must drive off it before it opens. Two short horns mean the bridge is closed again, and the waiting cars may cross.

Theo was still off the span when one long horn sounded. He sped up to slip onto the bridge. The tender stepped out and stopped him. "One long horn is a wait if you are not on the span yet," she said.

A driver who was already on the span used those two minutes to reach the far bank. After the boat passed, two short horns sounded. The cars that had waited, including Theo, drove across. The long horn and the short horns had given different jobs to different cars.

I moved from a flat town by the sound to a house on a ridge in the North Carolina mountains. The first night the wind pressed the window. I wrote that the mountain was loud and unfriendly. I missed streets where the air sat still after supper.

On Saturday I walked to the clearing with my cousin Tomas. A hawk hung in that same wind and did not flap. Tomas said the wind was the hawk's road. I watched the bird slide along the ridge and land only when it chose.

That night I changed the sentence in my notebook. The wind was still loud. It was also a road. Both facts fit on the same line, and the first fact no longer had the page to itself.

The apple stand at the Saturday market posted one sign: "One peck, $4, or a jar of something you made." The word "or" offered two ways to pay. Cash was one way. A homemade jar was the other. The sign did not say the jar had to sell for four dollars in a store.

Imani brought a small jar of fig jam and no bills. The seller read the sign aloud and took the jam. A man holding store-bought bread said the trade was unfair. The seller tapped the word "or." "The sign asks for a jar you made. It does not ask me to price that jar like a shop."

Imani left with the peck of apples. The man paid for his peck with four dollar bills. Two customers had used two different parts of the same sign.

On the Sandy Bend canoe trip, paint on the rocks tells the crew what to do. Orange paint means the next stretch is too shallow to paddle, so the crew gets out and walks the boat. Blue paint means the channel is deep enough to stay in and paddle. The color of the water is not the signal. The paint is.

Sasha saw orange paint and stayed seated because the river looked dark. The canoe scraped, and the guide stepped out. The crew walked that stretch. At the next rocks the paint was blue, and the water looked just as dark. The crew paddled through.

Sasha copied the two colors into a notebook and left the word "dark" off the page. Dark had described both places. Only the paint had said whether to walk or to paddle.

Grandma Ruth's biscuit card says the dough rests 20 minutes in a cool bowl. The rest lets the fat stay firm so the biscuits can rise in flakes. A warm spot is not a faster kind of rest. Warmth melts the fat.

Malik set the bowl near the oven vent to save time. After 20 minutes the dough felt soft and shiny. Those biscuits baked flat. Grandma Ruth mixed a second batch, set the bowl on the cool counter, and waited the same 20 minutes. Those biscuits rose in layers.

She added one line to the card: "Cool is part of the time. The minutes alone are not the whole step."

On Otis's paper route, a blue clip on the porch rail means the paper goes inside the screen door. A red clip means the paper goes in the box at the curb. The closer spot does not win. The clip does.

The newest house had a blue clip, and its box sat closer to the sidewalk. Otis dropped the paper in that box and walked on. The next morning a note was taped to the rail: "Blue means inside. The box is for red." He took that morning's paper through the screen door.

At the corner house the box was a longer walk, and the clip was red. Otis used the box. The extra steps did not change the color he had been told to follow.

In the chorus music, a small comma above measure 12 is a breath for every singer. That breath is a silence the audience should hear. A singer who still has air does not skip the comma. The mark belongs to the whole group.

At rehearsal Willa skipped the comma and held her note straight through the silence. The chord that should have started together came in under her sound. Mr. Adeyemi stopped the song. "The comma is written," he said. "Extra air is not a reason to erase it."

On the next try Willa breathed with the comma. The silence was short and clean, and the chord began on the same beat. The problem had been the missed mark, not a lack of air.

The feeder card gives the class two rules. The watch lasts 10 minutes, even if the feeder looks empty before the end. Only a bird that lands on the feeder is counted. A bird that flies past is a sight, not a tally.

Fern stopped writing at minute 6 because no birds were there. At minute 9 two cardinals landed. Her partner had kept the watch open and added both birds. An early stop would have missed them.

A hawk crossed the yard and never touched the feeder. Fern wanted it on the list because it was the biggest bird of the morning. Her partner read the landing rule and left the hawk off. The page showed two cardinals and a full 10 minutes.

At the school play, the word on a ticket names the door, not the quality of the view. A WINDOW ticket enters by the side door and sits in the side seats. A DOOR ticket enters by the center door and sits in the center seats. A side seat can still be close to the stage.

Mrs. Kane's ticket said WINDOW. She started toward the center door because she wanted a clear view. The usher read the word and led her through the side door. Her seat was three rows from the stage, on the side.

She could see the actors' faces. She could not see the middle of the backdrop. The ticket had promised the side door, and the usher had followed the printed word.

The sign on the garden pump says, "Three pumps prime the line. The fourth pump pours." Priming fills the dry pipe. It does not fill the bucket. A helper who stops at three can think the pump is broken.

Jules pumped three times, heard a gulp of air, and let go. "It is empty," he said. Mr. Hale gave one more pump. Water rushed into the bucket. "Three wakes the pipe," he said. "Four is the first drink."

Jules filled his bucket with that pattern. He primed with three pumps, poured on the fourth, and kept pouring with each pump after that. The sign had never promised water on the first push.

Devon wrote to his cousin about a pocketknife he thought he had lost on the bus. Before he walked to the mailbox, he checked his coat once more. The letter had made him list every pocket. The knife was in the inside pocket.

His sister said an unsent letter was a wasted page. Devon slid the page into his notebook instead of the mailbox. "It made me search," he said. "That was the work I needed."

The cousin never read about a lost knife. Devon still had the knife, and he had a page that had finished its work without a stamp. His sister saw a letter that did not travel. Devon saw a letter that finished at the coat.