New Jersey Student Learning Assessments English Language Arts Grade 3

Mateo held open the heavy door of the library in Princeton for a man whose arms were full of picture books. Just inside, a sign near the desk asked visitors to use quiet voices. Mateo touched a finger to his lips and nodded at his little sister, Luz.

They stopped at the low shelf by the sunny window. Mateo wanted a book of maps. He pulled out three books, checked each cover, and slid two back into place. The book he kept showed a green river and a red train line. He sat on a floor cushion and opened it on his knees.

Luz stretched toward a tall book on the high shelf. The book tipped. Mateo caught it with both hands before it could hit the floor. He let out a long breath, then smiled and gave Luz a thinner book from the low shelf. She hugged that book to her chest.

At the desk, the librarian stamped the map book. She whispered that it was due in two weeks. Mateo wrote the date on a small card and slid the card inside the book so he would remember to bring it back.

Junie waited with Aunt Rosa at the ferry slip in Hoboken while a worker checked tickets and pointed them toward a white boat. Gulls wheeled over the gray water. Junie held her own ticket in both hands as they crossed the gangway.

Wind on the open deck tugged at the ticket. It slipped from Junie's fingers and skittered toward the rail, sliding fast across the deck. Junie lunged, missed, and caught the rail instead. A boy in a green cap stepped on the ticket, picked it up, and held it out to her.

Junie pressed the ticket deep into her coat pocket and zipped the pocket shut. Behind the boat, a white trail spread over the water. Aunt Rosa called that trail the wake and said the ride would take about fifteen minutes. Junie counted the buoys they passed until she reached eight.

The boat bumped softly against the far dock. Junie unzipped her pocket, showed the ticket, and walked down the ramp. She did not let go of Aunt Rosa's sleeve until they were on solid pavement.

Ms. Nguyen's class rode a yellow bus into the Pine Barrens on a trip she had planned herself. The walking path was called Cedar Loop. Soft sand dragged at their shoes. Pitch pines grew in thin grass, and the air smelled like dry needles.

Caleb dropped to his knees beside a plant with a red-lined cup for a leaf. He peered into the cup, bringing his face close. Then he reached out. Ms. Nguyen shook her head and held her hand flat, palm down. She said they could look, but they had to leave plants where they grow. Caleb pulled his hand back and stuffed it into his pocket.

Farther on, the class stopped at a wooden post painted with a yellow 2. Ms. Nguyen read from her notebook. From that post, Cedar Loop ran one mile back to the bus. The class would eat lunch at a picnic table and then walk the last part of the loop.

On the return, Caleb drew the cup-shaped leaf in his notebook instead of picking anything. He held the page up for Ms. Nguyen. She tapped the drawing and said that was the right way to take a plant home.

Early sunlight lay across the boardwalk before the shops opened their gates. Mr. Alvarez led the class in a line past dark windows. The wooden boards were still cool under their shoes. Gulls stood along the rail and watched.

Priya carried a small notebook because the class was gathering shells for a display in the school lobby. Down on the sand, the tide had left a pale line of shells. Those shells were so light in color that they showed clearly against the darker wet sand. Priya wrote the kinds she saw: clam, mussel, and a tiny white spiral.

By nine o'clock the class had filled 5 pails. Each pail holds 4 shells they counted for the display. Mr. Alvarez looked through every pail so that no shell would be counted twice. Priya added the pails in her notebook and drew a circle around the total.

A shopkeeper rolled a metal gate up and waved to the class. The students climbed back to the boards, set the pails in a wagon, and started toward the bus. Priya kept one hand on the wagon so it would not bump the rail.

Deon and his grandmother moved slowly between the tables at a Saturday market in Newark. Each time the wind blew, a banner flapped over the pepper table, snapping the cloth up and down. Only one basket of peppers remained. A card tied to the handle said 4 dollars.

Deon had earned a 10 dollar bill by helping carry grocery bags that week. He paid the grower for the basket. The grower handed him 6 dollars back. Deon counted those bills twice, then slid them into his grandmother's purse.

The next table belonged to a boy about Deon's age who was selling jars of honey. The boy looked down at his shoes when a customer walked past without stopping. Deon did not buy honey. He did tell the boy that the jars shone like gold in the sun. The boy lifted his chin and said thank you.

On the bus, Deon kept the basket on his lap so the peppers would not roll into the aisle. His grandmother peeled one pepper and passed him a slice. The slice was sweet, not hot. Deon saved the rest of the basket for dinner.

Lila's class went to a museum in Trenton to see a small canoe made of clay. The card beside the case explained that a student artist had shaped the canoe after hearing river stories from her grandfather. The canoe rested in the middle of a glass case.

Lila wanted to see the tiny paddle marks. She leaned forward until her forehead nearly touched the glass. A guard raised one finger and pointed to a taped line on the floor. Lila stepped back behind the line at once. Her cheeks felt warm, and she studied her shoes for a moment before she looked up again.

A guide asked the group what a clay canoe could not do. Lila answered that it could not float in a real river. The guide agreed. The canoe was a model for looking, not a boat for paddling. Visitors could learn from its shape without ever putting it in the water.

In the shop, Lila walked past the toys. She bought a blank postcard and drew the canoe from memory. On the back she wrote that she had stayed behind the line. Then she tucked the card into her folder.

Omar and his sister Hana spread a blanket on the grass at Liberty State Park. The harbor beyond them looked flat and gray. They had come to fly a red kite, though the string was still wound tight around its stick.

Rain began to tap the blanket. Hana jumped up and stuffed their sandwiches into a tin. Omar glanced at the kite and then at the low clouds. He rolled the kite closed and slid it under his coat so the paper sides would stay dry.

They ran to a pavilion, a shelter with a roof over its benches, and shook rain from their hair. Hana laughed when one drop slid down her nose. Omar did not laugh yet. He opened his coat, checked the kite for wet spots, and only then let his shoulders drop.

The shower ended quickly. A patch of blue opened over the water. Omar returned to the blanket, let out a little string, and the kite rose on a soft wind. Hana clapped once every time the string tugged her finger.

Before the school bell, Samir worked at his uncle's bakery in Montclair. Trays of rolls were still warm from the oven. Samir's job was to set six rolls in each paper bag for the people who stopped in early.

He counted six rolls into the first bag. Then the bell over the door rang, and he lost his place. He emptied his hands and started over, moving the rolls one by one while he whispered the numbers. His uncle watched from the counter and did not tell him to hurry.

A customer asked for extra seeds on top of the rolls. Samir's hand hovered over the seed jar, and his fingers stayed in the air instead of dipping in. He was not sure he was allowed to change an order. He looked at his uncle, and his uncle nodded. Only then did Samir sprinkle a pinch of seeds and twist the bag closed.

The customer dropped two quarters into the tip cup. Samir thanked her and wiped the counter where a few seeds had scattered. His uncle wrapped one plain roll in a napkin and gave it to Samir for the walk to school.

Snow had piled on the front steps of Amina's building in Paterson. It was heaped so high that the bottom step had disappeared. Mr. Ellis, her neighbor, held a shovel in one hand and pressed his other hand against his back. He stared at the steps and did not begin.

Amina brought her small shovel from the hall closet. She started at the top step and pushed snow to the side. Mr. Ellis took the middle step. Neither of them talked. Their breath made little clouds in the cold air.

A mail carrier came up the walk with a full bag and stopped where the snow was still deep. Amina hurried to open a narrow path. The carrier smiled, stepped through, and said the steps were safe now.

When the last step showed, Mr. Ellis stood up straight and patted the handle of Amina's shovel once. Amina's arms ached. Even so, she grinned and knocked the snow off her boots against the cleared step.

At dusk near Morristown, the sky was turning dark blue and the sun was nearly gone. Theo and his cousin Bea sat on a blanket at the edge of a meadow where the grass stood tall and still. Their jars were empty. Each lid had small holes so a firefly could get air.

A tiny light blinked beside Bea's knee. She cupped her hands around the spot but left a gap so she would not crush the insect. The light went dark. Bea waited and did not close her hands. When the light blinked again, she guided it into her jar and set the lid on loosely.

Theo caught nothing. He swung his jar toward every blink, and each light vanished. He dropped the jar into the grass and folded his arms tight across his chest. Bea whispered that he should go slowly, and she showed him her open hands once more.

Theo copied her. He waited until one light blinked twice, then lowered the jar over it. The light stayed inside. He did not shout. He looked at Bea and nodded, and his arms, which had been tight, hung loose at his sides.

Nora's class sat on benches in a park in Fort Lee, facing the river. The Palisades rose on the far side as a long dark wall of rock, so big that the boats below looked tiny. Nora whispered that the cliff was massive. Mr. Shah had asked them to sketch the cliff, not the boats.

Nora drew the boats first because she liked the white trails behind them. On her page the rock was only a thin line. Mr. Shah tapped that line with his pencil. Nora turned her own pencil on its side and darkened the cliff until the shape looked heavy and tall.

A younger student asked why the real rock looked striped. Mr. Shah said the stripes were layers that had formed long ago. Nora wrote the word layers next to her sketch. She crossed out a note she had started about the boats.

Wind lifted the corner of her page. Nora clapped a hand down on it at once. She laughed once, pinned the corner with her elbow, and kept shading. By the time the class stood up, the cliff in her drawing matched the dark wall across the water.

A class followed a narrow path at Island Beach, with sand hills rising on both sides. A ranger asked the students to stay on the boards. She told them the sand hills were dunes and that the plants growing on them had work to do.

Holding the Sand. Dune grass sends long roots through the sand, and those roots lace the hill together. When wind pushes at the beach, the roots keep the sand from racing inland. If people trample the grass, stepping on it until the blades break, the roots can break too. A broken dune may wash away in the next strong storm.

A Path for Feet. Wooden boards give walkers a place to put their feet. The ranger explained that one line of boards can protect a wide patch of grass. The class walked in single file. Nobody hopped off to cut a corner through the plants.

After the Walk. At the bus, the ranger held up a photo of that same dune after a winter storm. The grass was still there, and the sand hill had kept its shape. She asked the students to tell their families why staying on the boards matters.

On a late spring morning, students stood on a beach along Delaware Bay. The water barely moved. Horseshoe crabs had crawled onto the sand to lay eggs, and a guide told everyone to watch where they stepped.

Eggs in the Sand. Female crabs dig in the wet sand and leave thousands of tiny eggs. Some eggs stay buried. Others wash into the shallows, the thin water near the edge where birds can stand. Shorebirds pause at this bay during long trips and eat the eggs. That meal helps the birds keep flying.

A Tail That Is Not a Sting. A horseshoe crab's stiff tail helps it flip right side up if a wave turns it over. The tail is not a stinger. The guide added that these animals are closer relatives of spiders than of the crabs people cook for dinner. The round shell can make a visitor think the animal is a different kind of crab.

How to Help. When a crab is stuck upside down and its tail cannot do the job, a person may turn it over by the edges of the shell. No one should lift it by the tail. The class practiced that motion with empty hands in the air. Then they stepped back and left the animals to lay eggs.

Before a walk in Boonton, a class read about the Morris Canal. Their teacher explained that a canal is a ditch people dug and filled with water so boats could travel inland. This canal crossed the hills of northern New Jersey instead of staying on flat ground.

Boats on a Hill. Because the land rose and fell, the canal needed special places called planes. At a plane, a boat rested in a cradle, which was a frame that held the boat. Waterpower pulled the cradle up a steep track, much as a cart is pulled up a ramp. At the top, the boat slid back into the canal and continued at a higher level.

What the Boats Hauled. Boats on the canal carried coal and other goods from the Delaware River side of New Jersey toward the Hudson River. Mules often walked a path beside the water and pulled the boats with long ropes. On that quiet ditch, a boat did not need a sail.

What Is Left. Much of the canal was filled in long ago. A few sections still hold water, and people walk beside them. The class found stone walls and a calm strip of canal. Their teacher said the planes and the mules were gone, but the water that remains shows where the boats once moved.

The class bus stopped at Sandy Hook, a sandy strip of land beside the harbor. A guide led the students to a tall white tower and called it a lighthouse. She said the light helps ship captains see the land before they come too close to shallow sand.

The Old Tower. Workers built the tower long ago from stone. They covered the outside with a light color so sailors could spot the tower by day as well as by its lamp at night. Students looked up. The walls were thick. The guide said the building has to stand through wind, rain, and storms that sweep in off the water.

Light after Dark. Near the top, a bright lamp turns after sunset. Sailors learn the pattern of that light so they can tell it from other lights along the coast. A light that flashes in a different rhythm, with a different wait between flashes, marks a different place. The pattern is a signal, not a decoration.

Rules for Visitors. The class was welcome to walk around the base and read the signs. They could not climb the tower that day because the steps were closed. The guide told them that looking and reading still counted as a visit. On the ride back, they drew the tower and wrote one reason the light matters to ships.

Lunch at a school in Camden does not end with every tray in the trash. A student crew called the Green Table stands beside the sorting bins. The crew shows other students where each kind of leftover belongs.

Three Bins in a Row. The first bin is for food scraps. The second bin is for hard plastic trays that can be washed and used again. The third bin is for wrappers that cannot be reused. Each bin has a picture of the things that go inside it.

A Job with a Clipboard. Crew members tally the trays. They count the trays and write the numbers on a clipboard. One lunch, they counted 80 trays in the wash bin and 20 trays that had been dropped in the trash by mistake. The next day the crew stood closer to the trash bin and pointed to the pictures. Fewer trays were thrown away.

Why the Crew Cares. Washing a tray takes less new plastic than buying a new one. Scraps from the first bin go to a compost tub in the school garden. The crew's teacher says sorting is a small action that keeps useful things in use. The Green Table meets every Thursday to check the pictures and the tub.

Cranberries grow on low vines in bogs in the Pine Barrens. A bog is a wet field of sandy soil that suits those low vines. The berries turn red when they are ready to pick. During harvest week, a class stood on a bank above the water and watched the workers.

Flooding the Vines. For a wet harvest, farmers pump water over the bog until the vines are covered. A machine moves through that water and knocks the berries free. Cranberries have tiny spaces of air inside, so they float. As they rise, the surface of the bog looks red.

Gathering the Floaters. Workers move the floating berries toward one corner with booms. Booms are long tubes that make a fence on the water. A pump then pulls the berries up a chute and into a truck. The class watched the red mass travel. No student waded into the bog.

A Bounce Test. Workers do not keep every berry. They pour some down a slanted board. A good berry is firm. It feels solid and bounces past a small barrier. A soft berry does not bounce, and workers set it aside. The guide told the class that floating and bouncing are both clues a berry is ready to sell.