Text Leveling System

Forever

RDQ:	2442	Max Word/Sent	39	Total Words	2598		Diff Words	805
Lex	970	Ave Word/.Sent	6	Hi Freq occurs	1983	76.3%	Hi freq	364	45.2%
AR	5.7	Long Sentences	5.3	Low Freq occurs	127	4.9%	Low freq	105	13%

Sybil Davison has a genius I.Q. and has been laid by at least six different guys. She told me herself, the last time she was visiting her cousin, Erica, who is my good friend. Erica says this is because of Sybil's fat problem and her need to feel loved the getting laid part, that is. The genius I.Q. is just luck or genes or something. I'm not sure that either explanation is 100 percent right but generally Erica is very good at analyzing people.
I don't know Sybil that well since she lives in Summit and we live in Westfield. Erica and I decided to go to her New Year's party at the last minute for two reasons one, because that's when she invited us, and, two, we had nothing better to do.
It turned out to be a fondue party. There were maybe twenty of us sitting on the floor around a low table in Sybil's family room. On the table were a couple of big pots of steaming liquid Swiss cheese and baskets of bread chunks. Each of us had a long two-pronged fork, to spear
the bread, then dip it into the cheese. It tasted pretty good. I had gotten about two bites when this guy said, "You've got some on your chin."
He was on Erica's other side, sort of leaning across her. "You want me to wipe it off?" He held out his napkin.
I couldn't tell if he was putting me on or what. So I told him, "I can wipe my own chin," and I tried to swallow the bread that was still in my mouth.
"I'm Michael Wagner," he said.
"So?" I answered, as Erica shot me a look.
She introduced herself to Michael, then tapped me on the head and said, "This idiot is my friend, Katherine. Don't mind her . . . she's a little strange."
"I noticed," Michael said. He wore glasses, had a lot of reddish-blond hair and a small mole on his left cheek. For some crazy reason I thought about touching it.
I looked away and went back to spearing chunks of bread. The guy on my other side said, "My name's Fred. I live next door to Sybil. I'm a freshman at Dartmouth." Unfortunately he was also a creep.
After a while I tuned him out but he didn't know and kept blabbing away. I was more interested in what Michael was saying to Erica. I wondered where he went to school and hoped it was some place close, like Rutgers. Erica told him that we're from Westfield, that we're seniors, and that we're spending the night at Sybil's. Then Michael introduced her to somebody named Elizabeth and I turned around in time to see him put his arm around this pale dark-haired girl sitting next to him. I pretended to be interested in Fred the Creep after all.
At midnight Sybil flashed the lights on and off and Fred wished me a Happy New Year, then tried to stuff his tongue in my mouth. I kept my lips shut tight; while he was kissing me I was watching Michael kiss Elizabeth. He was much taller than I first thought and thin, but not
skinny.
After the party we helped Sybil and her parents clean up
and somewhere around 3:00 a.m. we trudged upstairs to bed. Sybil conked out as soon as her head hit the pillow but Erica and I had trouble getting to sleep, maybe because we were on the floor in sleeping bags, or maybe because Sybil
was snoring so loud.
Erica whispered, "Michael's a nice guy . . . don't you
think so?"
"He's much too tall for you," I told her. "You'd only
come up to his belly button." "He might enjoy that."
"Oh, Erica!"
She propped herself up on an elbow and said, "You like
him, don't you?"
"Don't be silly . . . we barely met." I rolled over, facing
the wall.
"Yeah . . . but I can tell anyway."
"Go to sleep!"
"He asked me for your last name and your phone
number."
I turned around. "He did?"
"Uh huh . . . but I guess you don't care about that." She buried herself inside her sleeping bag.
I gave her a half-hearted kick. Then we both laughed and fell asleep.
Erica and I have been friends since ninth grade. We're a good pair because she is outspoken and uninhibited and I'm not. She says she has to be that way to compensate for her size. She's just four-feet-ten so when I said that she would come up to Michael's belly button I wasn't kidding. Everyone in her family is tiny. That's how her great-grandfather got their last name. He came to this country from Russia, not speaking a word of English. So when he stepped off the boat and the man in charge asked him his name, he didn't understand. Instead of just calling him Cohen or Goldberg, the way the immigration officers did with so many Jewish refugees, this man sized him up and wrote down Mr. Small. Erica swears if she ever marries she will choose someone huge so that if they decide to have
children the kids will at least have a chance to grow to normal size.
Not that being little has hurt anyone in her family. Her mother is Juliette Small, the film critic. You can read her reviews in three national magazines. Because of her Erica is positive she's going to get into Radcliffe, even though her grades aren't that hot. I have a 92 average so I almost died when I saw my college board scores. They were below average. Erica scored much higher than I did. She doesn't fall apart over really important things and I'm always afraid I might. That's another difference
between us.
The phone rang at noon the next day and woke me. Sybil jumped up and ran to answer it. When she came back she said, "That was Michael Wagner. He's coming over to get his records." She yawned and flopped back on her bed.
Erica was still out cold.
I asked Sybil, "Does he go with that girl, Elizabeth?" "Not that I know of . . . why, are you interested?" "No . . . just curious."
. . . because I could drop a hint if you want me to . .
"No . . . don't."
"I've known him since kindergarten."
"He's in your class?"
"My homeroom."
"Oh . . . I thought he was older."
"He's a senior . . . same as us."
"Oh . . ." He seemed older. `Well . . . as long as I'm
awake I might as well get dressed," I said, heading for the
bathroom.
Sybil and I were in the kitchen when the bell rang. I was picking raisins out of a breakfast bun, piling them in the corner of my plate. Sybil leaned against the refrigerator, spooning strawberry yoghurt out of the carton.
She answered the front door and showed Michael into
"
the kitchen. "You remember Katherine, don't you?" she asked him.
"Sure . . . hi . . ." Michael said. "Oh . . . hi," I said back.
"Your records are still downstairs," Sybil told him. "I'll get them for you."
"That's okay," Michael said. "I'll get them myself" A few seconds later he called, "Who's K.D.?"
"Me," I answered. "Some of those albums are mine." I
went downstairs and started going through the pile. "Are yours marked?"
"No."
I was making a stack of K.D.s when he said, "Look . . ."
and grabbed my wrist. "I came over here because I wanted to see you again."
"Oh, well . . ." I saw my reflection in his glasses. "Is that all you can say?"
"What am I supposed to say?" "Do I have to write the script?" "Okay . . . I'm glad you came over."
He smiled. "That's better. How about a ride? My car's out front."
"My father's coming to pick me up at 3:00. I have to be back by then."
"That's okay." He was still holding my wrist. Everyone says that Erica has insight. I suppose that's how she knew I was interested in Michael before I admitted it to anyone, including myself It's true that I come on strong with my sarcastic act sometimes, but only when I'm interested in a guy. Otherwise I can be as nice and friendly as they come. Erica says that means I'm insecure. Maybe she's right I just don't know.
A few minutes after we pulled out of Sybil's driveway we drove past Overlook Hospital. I told Michael I work there every Thursday after school. "I'm a Candy Striper," I said, "and I was born there too."
"Hey . . . so was I," he said.
"What month? Maybe we slept next to each other in the
nursery."
"May," he said.
"Oh . . . I'm April." I sneaked a look at him. His profile was nice but I could see he'd broken his nose more than once. His hair reminded me of Erica's golden retriever, Rex. It was exactly the same color.
Michael drove down the hill into the Watchung Reservation. "I used to ride here," he said.
I pictured him on a Honda XI. 70.
"I had this one favorite . . . Crab Apple . . . until the time she threw me and I fractured my arm."
"Oh . . . a horse!" I laughed. He glanced over at me.
"I thought you meant a motorcycle," I said. "I've never 
ridden a horse."	
"I figured that . . . you're not the horsey type."
Was that good or bad? "How can you tell?" I asked. "I just can."
"What else can you tell?"
"I'll let you know later." He smiled at me and I smiled back. "You have nice dimples," he said.
"Thanks . . . everyone in my family has them."
He parked the car and we got out. It was cold and windy but the sun was shining. We walked down to the lake. It was partly frozen. Michael picked up a handful of stones and
tossed them across the water. "What are you doing next year?"
"Going to college." "Where?"
"I don't know yet," I said. "I applied to Penn State,
Michigan and Denver. I have to see where I'm accepted. What about you?"
"University of Vermont, I hope. Either there or Middlebury." Michael took my hand and pulled off my
mitten, which he shoved into his pocket. Holding hands, we started walking around the lake.
"I wish it would snow," he said, squeezing my fingers. "Me too."
"You ski?"
"No . . . I just like snow" "I love to ski."
"I know how to water ski," I told him. "That's different."
`Are you good . . . at skiing, I mean?"
"You might say that. I could probably teach you." "To ski?"
"Yeah."
"That'd be nice."
We walked all the way to the Trailside Museum and had a look inside, before Michael checked his watch and said, "We better head back."
'Already?"
"It's after 2:00."
My teeth were chattering and I knew that my cheeks would be bright red from the wind. I didn't mind though. My father says I look good that way very healthy.
When we were back in the car I rubbed my hands together, trying to get warm, while Michael started up the engine. It stalled a few times. When it finally caught he pumped the gas. "I better give it a minute to make sure," he said.
"Okay"
He turned to face me. "Can I kiss you, Katherine?" "Do you always ask first?"
"No . . . but with you I don't know what to expect." "Try me ." I said.
He took off his glasses and put them on the dashboard I wet my lips. Michael kept looking at me. "You're making me nervous," I told him. "Stop staring."
"I just want to see what you look like without my glasses. "Well?"
"You're all blurred." We both laughed.
Finally he kissed me. It was a nice kiss, warm but not sloppy.
Before he let me out at Sybil's house, Michael stopped the car and kissed me again. "You're delicious," he said.
No boy had ever told me that. As I opened the car door
all I could think of to say was, "See you . . ." but that wasn't at all what I meant.
"I met a very nice boy," I told my mother that night, "even though he's still in high school." Mom was in her bathroom, trimming her toenails. "He has this reddish-blond hair and wears glasses. He likes to ski."
"What's his name?" Mom asked.
"Michael Wagner . . . isn't that a nice name?"
She looked up and smiled at me. "It must have been a good party"
"It was okay . . . I'm seeing him Friday night . . . and Saturday too."
"Where's he from?"
"Summit . . . he goes to school with Sybil. Can I borrow your nail scissors when you're done? I can't find mine."
"Here . . ." Mom handed them to me. "But don't forget to return them this time."
"I won't."
My mother's name is Diana Diana Danziger. It sounds like she should be a movie star or something. Actually, she's
a librarian, in charge of the children's room at the public library. Mom is naturally thin, so she can eat four cupcakes at one sitting or polish off as much beer as she wants. We are exactly the same size five-feet-six and 109 pounds but she is sort of flat chested and never wears a bra.
While I was cutting my toenails my sister, Jamie, came into my room, holding up a pair of jeans. "I embroidered them while you were at Sybil's. What do you think?"
"They're just great," I told her. "They're fantastic!" "Want me to do a pair of yours?" "Would you?"
"Sure."
"By next weekend?"
"Yeah . . . I guess I could."
"Jamie . . ." I said, hugging her, "you are an absolute angel!"
Jamie is in seventh grade and looks a lot like me but her eyes are fabulous big and round and if you look into them you get the feeling you can see deep inside her. Sometimes they seem very dark, with just a rim of green and other times they sparkle and are greenish-gray all over, like my grandfather's. The rest of us have ordinary brown eyes but my father's brows grow straight across the bridge
of his nose. He told me that when he was in college he used to shave them up the center.
Jamie untangled herself from me. "What's next week end?" she asked.
"I'm seeing someone I met last night," I told her, "and the truth is, I don't know how I'm going to live through this
week."
"You mean you're in love again?"
"I have never been in love."
"What about Tommy Aronson?"
"That wasn't love . . . that was childish infatuation."
"You said it was love . . . I remember."
'Well, I didn't know anything then."
"Oh."
"Some day you'll understand."
"I doubt it," Jamie said.
I wish she hadn't brought up the subject of Tommy Aronson, because I did like him a lot last year, but only for a few months. Now he's at Ohio State and the news I get is he's so busy making it with every female on campus he may flunk out. I hope he does. Sex was all he was ever interested in, which is why we broke up because he threatened that if I wouldn't sleep with him he'd find somebody who would. I told him if that was all he cared about he should go right ahead. So he did. Her name was Dorothy and she turned up in my English class this year.
Michael was different from Tommy Aronson right away. He called me every night.
"Hi . . . it's me, Michael," he said on Tuesday.
"Hi . ."
"I'm sitting on the bed with this beautiful fifteen-
year-old . . ."

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: No support

Dialog: Multiple speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: Some difficult words

Language: Many descriptive words

Sentences: Multiple phrases

Text structure: Story/Poem

Inferences: Several Implications

Complexity: Several unrelated ideas

Concepts: Abstract/Complex Social

Chapters

Author's purpose: Implied

Prior Knowledge: Familiarity

Sequence of Events: Chronological

Mature concepts: With common experiences or clear fantasy

Features

Character traits

Character development

Complex character relationships

Complex Problem/Solution

Complex plot

First Person

Topic

Feelings/Emotions

Self Control

Love

*Family & Friends

*Feelings, Behaviors

Relationships

Low Frequency Words

absolute	accepted	analyzing	applied	aronson
average	blabbing	blurred	borrow	campus
chested	college	compensate	conked	critic
curious	danziger	dartmouth	dashboard	delicious
denver	doubt	embroidered	fabulous	fondue
fractured	freshman	generally	genes	genius
goldberg	greenish	haired	healthy	hearted
homeroom	horsey	idiot	immigration	infatuation
insecure	insight	introduced	jeans	katherine
kindergarten	librarian	liquid	magazines	michigan
middlebury	national	naturally	ninth	nursery
ordinary	otherwise	penn	percent	pictured
piling	positive	profile	pronged	propped
public	radcliffe	raisins	reasons	reddish
reflection	refrigerator	refugees	reservation	retriever
reviews	ridden	rutgers	sarcastic	scissors
senior	seniors	seventh	shoved	skiing
spending	spooning	stalled	striper	summit
swallow	swears	sybil	sybil's	threatened
trudged	tuned	unfortunately	uninhibited	vermont
wears	westfield	wrist	xi	yawned