Unit 4 week 5 Wonders assessment

A Friendly Contest

A poetry contest? That sounded interesting, so Jason read

the rest of the article in the local newspaper. The contest was for

ages 8–15, and the deadline was two weeks away.

Jason was too bashful to try out for the fourth-grade talent

show, but he was pretty sure he had a talent for writing poetry. No

one besides his parents had ever read his poems. His mom and dad

said he was a remarkable

poet, but he guessed they

were a little biased. In fact,

his parents showed favoritism

toward everything he did.

This contest might be a good

way to see if anyone else

liked his poems. Maybe he

could enter a poem under a

fake name.

Jason thought he had

a good start on a poem that

might win this contest:

Are you a friend in word,

Or are you a friend in deed?

Sometimes the line is blurred,

Sometimes our acts mislead.

Jason worked on his poem for the next week trying to explain a

real friend. He told his parents about the contest, but decided not to

mention it to anyone else. He still couldn’t decide whether to put his

real name on his poem. What if no one liked it? What an

embarrassment that would be!

Finally, Jason finished the last part of his poem.

In sadness or laughter,

A friend knows what to say,

In hard times or after,

Friends help you find your way.

Before Jason emailed his poem to the newspaper, he

changed the name to his own. Then he crossed his fingers.

At last, it was Thursday, delivery day for the weekly

newspaper. After school, Jason did not even wait to walk home

with Kyle. He ran all the way to his house and burst through the

front door. His mom was waiting for him, smiling. She was

holding the newspaper with his poem printed on the front page!

He had won the contest!

Crushing him in a hug, she said, “We are so proud of you, Jason!”

The phone rang, so Jason grabbed it. “I thought I was your

best friend!” Kyle grumbled. “Why didn’t you tell me you entered

that contest? Do you have other poems? I want to read them!”

Suddenly Jason was regretful. I should have trusted Kyle to

read my poems, he told himself. Maybe I really don’t know

anything about friendship!

Jason told Kyle, “I’ll bring my poems over right now

because I do want to know what you think. Maybe you could give

me some ideas for more poems!”

The next day at school, everyone congratulated Jason on

winning the contest. When a girl named Ashley told him she had

memorized the last part, he blushed. That was the first time she

had ever talked to him!

A week later, a literary magazine called and asked to print

Jason’s poem. He was pleased, for sure. Still, he was even happier

when kids at school asked if they could read more of his poems.

That was true success!

The Rockin’ Rhymer

I am in my usual disguise as an ordinary fourth-grade girl.

My friends have no idea that I am actually the Rockin’ Rhymer. I

am like the superhero of poetry, but without a cape. For example,

when I grabbed my backpack out of my locker yesterday, this

poem sprang to my mind.

My backpack is full of books.

It’s heavier than it looks.

My poems usually don’t have much use,

until today. This morning as I walk to school

with my friend, Celia, she is moving slowly and

calling, “Daisy, Daisy!

Come here, kitty!”

“Daisy’s

probably just

investigating the

neighborhood,” I tell

Celia. “No telling what

she’ll find!” As I speak,

the Rockin’ Rhymer is

wondering what rhymes with neighborhood. Understood? That

is an intriguing pair of words!

As we near the school, more friends join us, all calling for

Daisy. Celia is fighting back tears. “Maybe Daisy’s lost forever,”

she whispers. Looking at the busy street, she adds fearfully, “Look

at all those cars and trucks.”

I give her a hug, and we head inside to our lockers. Later, as

I sit in class, I think about how miserable Celia is. I write down a

poem that has been floating around in my head.

Your kitten named Daisy

Is not really crazy.

She’ll come home when school’s out.

Of that there’s no doubt!

On the way to history class, I tell Celia, I forgot something in

my locker. I rush back and stick the poem in Celia’s locker. Then I

have to sprint to get to history on time.

At lunchtime, Celia meets me in the cafeteria, looking more

puzzled than worried. “Someone left me a poem about Daisy,” she

tells me. “Who would do that?”

Smiling, I say, “It was probably one of the kids who helped

us look for her this morning.”

“Hmmm....,” she mumbles, frowning. It’s not easy to

deceive Celia, who can spot a lie a mile away. She gives me

another doubtful look before going up to the lunch counter to buy

some milk. Another poem comes to my mind, and I hurriedly

scribble it on a slip of paper.

Don’t decide that all is lost!

That’s a line we haven’t crossed!

Celia gets back before I can conceal my latest poem in her

lunch bag. I quickly drop it on the floor. “What’s this?” she says,

picking up the scrap of paper.

I shrug innocently and tell her, “Keisha just walked by, so

maybe she dropped it.”

Shaking her head, Celia reads my poem. Then she smiles and

says, “I don’t know who is writing these poems, but I like them.”

Celia glances up at the clock. “School will be out soon, and I think

Daisy will be waiting for me. She’ll probably be hungry and cold.”

We run home from school, and there is Daisy, pacing

impatiently back and forth in front of Celia’s door. “Oh, Daisy!”

Celia cries joyfully as she reaches for her cat. I pet Daisy too, glad

that my poems finally have a good use!