Text Leveling System

The Zebra Wall

RDQ:	1878	Max Word/Sent	39	Total Words	2419		Diff Words	802
Lex	880	Ave Word/.Sent	9	Hi Freq occurs	1593	65.9%	Hi freq	330	41.1%
AR	4.8	Long Sentences	6.7	Low Freq occurs	151	6.2%	Low freq	120	15%

Spaghetti Sauce
The long list of names was fastened to the refrigerator door with a thick, hot pink magnet in the shape of an ice-cream cone. At the top of the list was the name Francine, at the bottom Frito. In between was everything from Faye to Florence.
The list on the refrigerator was a sampling of potential names for the new Vorlob baby.
There were no boys' names on the list because the Vorlobs were certain that the baby would be a girl. They were positive. And why wouldn't they be? There were five girls in the Vorlob family already-Adine (age ten), Bernice (age eight), Carla (age seven), Dot (age four), and Effie (age two). It just seemed fitting and logical that the new baby would be a girl and that her name should begin with the letter F.
Everyone in the family could add as many names to the list as they wanted. Then, after the baby was born-and everyone had had a good look at her-they would have a family meeting and vote.
Adine had written only one name on the list-Florinda. She hoped that everyone would vote for Florinda, but she had her doubts. Bernice and Carla were both pulling for Francine, Dot couldn't decide between Flopsy ("After Peter Rabbit's sister!" she'd yell), and Frito ("After my favorite food!" she'd squeal), and
Effie was too little to understand. Mr. Vorlob just kept adding names to the list without voicing his opinion. And Mrs. Vorlob kept saying, "I've always loved the name Phyllis-it's so classy-but I doubt if I'll ever make it to the letter P. Maybe we could spell it with an F. "
Adine thought that Phyllis-spelled with an F or a P, or spelled backward, for that matter was anything but classy. In fact, Adine wasn't too fond of any of their names, including her own. Adine. Especially her own. She preferred names like Melissa and Jennifer Rose and Courtney and Heather. When she recently told her mother about this, Mrs. Vorlob said, "Adine, those are such fancy-shmancy names. You and your sisters' names have class, and they're earthy. Sturdy as rock."
I'd rather not be compared to a rock, Adine felt like saying. But she didn't. She knew it wasn't worth getting into. If her mother had her mind set a certain way, Adine doubted if even a Mack truck could budge it.
Determined, was how Mr. Vorlob described his wife. Adine thought that stubborn was a more fitting word. "At least you always know where you stand with me," Adine heard her mother say on the phone once, in her thick, burly voice. "I don't pussyfoot around. And I'm not like some people who let things bottle up inside them."
Adine was like that. She'd keep things to herself until her stomach felt like a Sunbeam blender on high speed. And that's exactly how she felt right now. She had found out earlier that morning that she would have to share her bedroom with her Aunt Irene. Aunt Irene would be coming to help out with the new baby.
"How long is Aunt Irene staying?" Adine asked her mother, twisting a strand of her hair around and around her finger. Adine's hair was straight, nearly white, and hung down past her waist. Mrs. Vorlob was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for the large pot of spaghetti
sauce on the counter to cool. She was going to pour the sauce into her Tupperware containers to freeze for Mr. Vorlob to heat up when she was in the hospital. And for when she came home afterward and wouldn't feel like cooking.
"She'll stay until I get back on my feet after the baby," Mrs. Vorlob replied, a carrot stick dangling out of the corner of her mouth. She was substituting carrot and celery sticks for cigarettes while she was pregnant. She even filled her leather cigarette case with them to bring along if she and Mr. Vorlob happened to be going out. In imitation, Carla and Dot had taken up pretend-smoking with vegetables, too, which Adine thought looked silly.
"How long will that be?" Adine pressed.
"I don't know, Adine," Mrs. Vorlob answered, flicking the carrot stick over an empty ashtray and blowing imaginary smoke. "A week, a month. However long it takes." She took a bite of the carrot, crunching it loudly as she chewed. Mrs. Vorlob was wearing her
bright yellow, terry maternity dress. Her short blond hair ended midway down her neck and seemed to melt into the color of the dress. Adine thought that her mother looked pretty in the dress. Adine also thought that her mother looked like a giant pear. Thick and round and swelling.
"I can help out all you need," Adine offered. "I really will."
"I know that, honey," Mrs. Vorlob said, smiling. "You're my biggest helper around the house. But it'll just be nice for me to have my sister here. Understand?"
Adine shrugged.
"I know you don't want Irene to come, but she is my sister. And she's been having a hard time since her divorce. It'll be good for her to be surrounded by family-day and night-for a while." Mrs. Vorlob took a long breath and placed her hands on her abdomen. "I know deep down you understand."
"Okay, Mom," Adine said. "I understand."
And she did. Sort of. Adine understood that Aunt Irene was coming and that there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.
"Anyway, Adine, it's more than a month away," Mrs. Vorlob said cheerfully. "Put it out of your mind for now."
Adine wanted to be mad at her mother, but she wouldn't let herself. After all, Mrs. Vorlob always seemed to come through for Adine when she needed it most. And Adine could tell her mother things that she wouldn't think of telling anyone else. Private things that often hurt. Like last school year, when Mr. and Mrs. Vorlob came to Adine's class for Parents' Day wearing blue jeans, plaid flannel shirts, and their matching, sateen Milwaukee Brewers jackets. Mr. Vorlob's hair was the exact shade and length of his wife's. And their husky bodies looked like carbon copies. All of which caused Adine's classmate, Gary Wilker, to say, "Adine, I can't tell your mom and dad apart.
They look like twins. Short, fat, men twins. They're identical." Then he laughed.
Adine held out all day, but burst into tears upon arriving home. She reluctantly told her mother about Gary Wilker.
"Oh, Adine," Mrs. Vorlob said, hugging her. "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to let something like that ruin my day, and you shouldn't, either. I wouldn't put much stock in Mr. Gary Wilker. Isn't he the one who flung tabs of butter around the cafeteria when I had lunch supervision?"
Adine nodded. She couldn't understand how her mother could be so calm. She also couldn't understand why her mother wore blue jeans, plaid flannel shirts, and her Brewers jacket all the time. "Couldn't you wear dresses more often or let your hair grow?"
"Adine," her mother said, lighting a cigarette, "I don't like dresses-unless I'm pregnant. And I don't like long hair on me. And, I'm not going to change for Gary Wilker."
What about changing for me? Adine said to herself, watching smoke stream out from between her mother's plump lips.
"I'll tell you what, though," Mrs. Vorlob said. "I guarantee you I'll come up with something."
And she did. The very next morning Mr. Vorlob stopped shaving. Soon he had a thick, golden beard that curled like pencil shavings around his face. And Mrs. Vorlob started wearing her hair a bit longer. She let it fall a couple of inches over her shirt collars before she got it cut now. "I don't think that even Gary Wilker would confuse us now," Mrs. Vorlob whispered to Adine one night, winking.
It was because of things like that, that Adine had a hard time harboring a grudge against her mother. Even if Aunt Irene was coming.
Mrs. Vorlob rose from the kitchen table, holding a celery stick between her forefinger and thumb, her other fingers spread out like a fan. "Well, ready or not, I'm going to freeze the
sauce," she said. "I want to get this done before your dad and your sisters come home from the hardware store, or there'll be spaghetti sauce everywhere but in the freezer. Want to help?" "Sure," Adine replied.
"I hope the hardware store has the right colors of paint so we can finish the nursery." "We could paint tonight," Adine suggested. "It'd be fun."
"Oooooh," Mrs. Vorlob said suddenly, dropping the celery stick into the pot of sauce, then laughing. "Phyllis with an F is dancing, I think. A fast dance. I wouldn't be surprised if she was singing, too. Want to listen?"
Adine rested her head against her mother. "I hear her," she said. Then, very softly, she whispered into her mother's dress, "Hello, Florinda, this is your sister, Adine."
The F Wall
By the time Adine's father and sisters returned from the hardware store, the spaghetti sauce was in the freezer and Adine and her mother were waiting on the front porch with Mrs. Vorlob's packed suitcase. Mrs. Vorlob was leaning against the door, cradling her belly. Adine was perched atop the railing, like a squirrel on a branch.
Bernice, Carla, and Dot raced up the sidewalk, each carrying a small can of paint. Effie dawdled behind, clutching a large, flat paintbrush and sucking on it. Mr. Vorlob brought up the rear, swinging a gallon of Colonial White, a silver prize at the end of his solid arm. Bullets of sunlight ricocheted off the large can of paint. "We got all the colors, Helen!" Mr. Vorlob yelled.
"Roland, it's time," Mrs. Vorlob said calmly, when he reached the porch. "Let's go to the hospital. "
"Already?" Mr. Vorlob asked, setting the paint near the front door. "You're not due for a month."
"Mama's like a library book-due in a month, due in a month," Dot said in a singsong voice.
"It's time," Mrs. Vorlob repeated. "I know it's time." She turned to face her daughters and grimaced. "Girls, Adine's in charge until Aunt Irene arrives. I called her on the phone; she'll be
here any minute. Now, mind Adine and give me a quick kiss. And by the time I come home with your new baby sister, I want the nursery wall finished. Do a good job and make me proud. You know how much that means to me.
Mr. Vorlob blew a kiss in the general direction of his daughters and helped his wife into their converted school bus (the only lime-green bus in Mason, Wisconsin). "Be good," he called. "I'll give you a jingle from the hospital," he added, before pulling out into the street and rumbling away.
Adine picked up the gallon of paint; it hit her bare leg and she was sure it would bruise. When Adine was younger, her father called her "Miss Banana," she bruised so easily. And in third grade, when Adine's class was learning about similies and metaphors, Mary Rose Wampole said, "Adine Vorlob's skin's as white as my mother's new Kenmore washer." From that day
on, Adine wasn't terribly fond of Mary Rose Wampole.
"Come on, you guys," Adine said to her sisters. "Let's go paint. Let's paint the wall for Mom."
"I get to use the little brush," Bernice said, running into the house.
"I do!" Carla shouted after her.
"I get the new, fat brush," Dot announced, grabbing the brush out of Effie's dimpled fingers.
Effie started to cry. "Where's Mama? I want Mama!"
"It's okay, Ef," Adine soothed, starting to cry herself. She took Effie by the hand and pulled her into the house behind her. "Mama's gonna come home soon with a new baby sister for us. You just wait and see."
The blender inside Adine was revving up again; she was worried about her mother. The nursery was nearly completed. The same crib that had been Adine's stood in the
center of the room beneath a mobile Mr. Vorlob had made from a mail-order kit. The mobile consisted of seven little fawns hanging down with cord at various lengths from a wire framework. Mr. Vorlob had painted a tiny letter F on each of the fawn's chests. The small, white dresser, which had also been Adine's, stood nearby. Mrs. Vorlob had stenciled bright F s up and down its sides and across all the drawers just a week earlier. When Adine had been born, the dresser was decorated with As; it was repainted when each of Adine's sisters was born-with B s for Bernice, C s for Carla, D s for Dot, and E s for Effie.
Three of the walls in the nursery were painted a color called fuchsia. Originally, the color had been so bright that Mr. Vorlob had added brown and black paint to it to tone it down. The resulting color reminded Adine of liver before her mother fried it. Adine thought .the color looked as bad as liver tasted. When Adine expressed her dislike of the dark purplish
red, Mrs. Vorlob explained, "But, honey, it's the only color we could find that began with F. And I really want to keep things coordinated. It'll grow on you."
The other wall was only half finished. It was the focal point of the room. It was the wall you faced when you entered the room. No windows or doors interrupted it. It was Mrs. Vorlob's pride and joy.
The wall was a mural-a mural of things that began with the letter F Mr. and Mrs. Vorlob had drawn the mural using pictures from their daughters' coloring books as patterns. The entire family got to help paint it. Dot, and especially Effie (who usually settled for painting on newspaper), needed close supervision, but everyone worked together, filling in the penciled outlines with thick, vivid colors. Kind of like a paint-by-number, Adine thought. They had been working on the mural nearly every night after dinner, until the evening they had run out of certain shades and were so low
on Colonial White (which Mr. and Mrs. Vorlob used for mixing lighter hues) that they had to stop temporarily.
The Vorlobs referred to the mural as "the F wall." There were flowers and frogs and a fox on the wall. There were fish and ferns and a farm. On the upper left-hand corner of the wall was a fairy with silvery wings. The fairy held a wand that pointed to the words: THIS WALL BELONGS To. There was a blank space after the words. "We'll fill in the blank with the baby's name after she's home and we've decided what to call her," Mrs. Vorlob had said. Adine loved the way the fairy's wings shimmered when the sun fell upon them in the early morning, but her favorite part of the wall was a large star her father had painted. The star was metallic gold and it had a wavy tail that streaked across the entire mural like the ruffled path a boat makes in water. The tail changed from gold to silver to yellow to orange to pink. When Adine's mother first saw the star she was upset. "Oh, Roland!"
she said testily. "How could you put a shooting star on our F wall?"
"It's not a shooting star, Helen," he explained patiently. "It's a falling star. Relax."
It occurred to Adine how important the F wall was to her mother, when Adine found her alone one afternoon sitting cross-legged in the nursery, staring at the half-completed mural.
"When we finish the F wall," Mrs. Vorlob said, "I'm thinking of sending a photo of it to one of those ladies' magazines your Aunt Irene always buys. Who knows-it might get in."
Adine remembered the look on her mother's face that day. Dreamy. Dreamy and far away. Adine had never seen her mother look that way before. Ever.
"I might send in photos of the murals we did when you and your sisters were babies, too," Mrs. Vorlob went on. "Maybe they'd do a whole feature on us."
Of course Adine couldn't remember what the mural in her own nursery had actually looked
like, but photos of the wall showed apples and angels and apricots. An airplane. A map of Africa. A pirouetting alligator wearing a frilly tutu. A long line of ants spelled out the words THIS WALL BELONGS TO ADINE. Trailing after the ants was a fat anteater, appearing hungry and somewhat goofy with eyes bulging out of his head like peas popping out of pods. Adine had seen the photos so many times that she had a perfect picture of the wall in her mind's eye.
Adine stared at the F wall (not unlike her mother had done), until the images of the fairy and the falling star blurred and blended into one another. Bits of wing and color swirling like oil in a puddle. Around and around.
"Adine!" someone shouted. "Adine!" It was Bernice. She and Carla had tried to open the new can of Colonial White. They had succeeded. But, in the process, they had also succeeded in tipping it over. A miniature ocean of paint was spreading across the floor.
"Oh, no!" Adine cried desperately. She
tugged at her right ear, as she often did when she felt completely helpless. "Oh, no!" Upset and confused, Adine stood paralyzed as the paint oozed toward her. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"Let's not tug at our ears-there's work to be done here," a booming voice said from the hallway, startling all five Vorlob sisters. "Get the lead out, ladies!"
Aunt Irene had arrived.
Aunt Irene
Aunt Irene was hard to figure out. She was older-probably fifty-but she was still energetic and curious. Things Adine thought you lost as you grew older. Aunt Irene was gruff and large and loud and strong, and yet Adine had seen her cry endlessly, watching TV movies, and get weepy at the sight of a clumsy puppy. Spots, connected by knobby blue veins,
covered her leathery hands, but her nails were always remarkably beautiful-as pink and lustrous as seashells, as if she worked on them for hours each day.
When Aunt Irene visited, Adine always tried to hide until the welcoming hugs and kisses were over. Getting hugged by Aunt Irene was like getting tackled by a football player. The fleshy undersides of her arms reminded Adine of lumpy mashed potatoes, but they were extremely powerful. If, for some reason, she didn't hug you, she'd thwack you on the back, which was worse. And her kisses were sharp. Sharp, because she had a slight, but prickly, mustache and stale, gamy breath.
Aunt Irene smoked thin, brown cigarettes, which Adine hated more than the regular cigarettes her mother smoked. And she frequently made whistling noises when the exhaling smoke. poured out of her nostrils. "I'm a steam engine," she'd say in a deep freight-train voice as she chugged about in circles, to Dot and Effie's
delight. She'd always come to a screeching halt by taking out her teeth and hissing. Adine thought it was disgusting. But the worst thing about Aunt Irene was her cats. She had a real one-gray with black splotches, named Deedee-that came with her wherever she went. And she had more than two thousand other ones that she collected. They filled her house and covered her body.
Aunt Irene owned cat bookends, cat curtains, a cat toilet-seat cover, cat rugs, and cat mugs. Bed sheets with cats, dishes with cats, and pillows with cats embroidered on in gaudy thread. Stuffed cats, porcelain cats, wooden cats. Cats painted on black velvet and framed in chrome hung on her living-room walls. And a set of cat pot holders hung from hooks in her kitchen. Many of Aunt Irene's clothes had cats printed on them, too-blouses, skirts, scarves. She always carried her wicker cat purse and wore one of her numerous pairs of cat earrings. And a

Subjective Criteria

Dialog: Multiple speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: Many difficult words

Language: Many descriptive words

Sentences: Some Long/Complex

Text structure: Story/Poem

Inferences: Several Implications

Complexity: Several unrelated ideas

Concepts: Concrete/Simple Social

Features

Character traits

Complex character relationships

Simple Plot

Difficult names

Topic

*Family & Friends

*Feelings, Behaviors

Names

Low Frequency Words

abdomen	announced	ashtray	burly	cafeteria
calmly	cigarette	cigarettes	colonial	converted
coordinated	curled	dangling	dawdled	determined
dimpled	dislike	divorce	doubt	doubted
doubts	drawers	drawn	earthy	expressed
fastened	fawn's	fawns	fitting	flannel
flicking	florence	flung	focal	forefinger
frito	fuchsia	gary	general	gonna
grimaced	grudge	guarantee	harboring	hardware
heather	hues	husky	imaginary	imitation
interrupted	jeans	lengths	lighter	lighting
liver	logical	maternity	melissa	metaphors
midway	milwaukee	mobile	mural	nursery
opinion	originally	outlines	penciled	perched
phyllis	plaid	positive	potential	pour
preferred	pregnant	private	purplish	railing
recently	referred	refrigerator	reluctantly	repainted
resulting	revving	ricocheted	roland	sampling
sateen	sauce	shaving	shavings	shrugged
similies	singsong	soothed	stenciled	stock
strand	stubborn	sturdy	substituting	sunbeam
supervision	surrounded	swelling	temporarily	terribly
tupperware	various	vivid	voicing	winking
worth	younger