Readability Leveled Passages

When the music stops, all that can be heard is the dancers’ breathing. Panting, they lie in a puddle on the floor and suck bottles of water. Hair sticks to foreheads. The tails of shirts that had been tied into knots come undone. The dancers towel sweat and talk about which parts of their bodies ache. Before showering, a woman walks on a man’s back to make it feel better. After rehearsal the dancers walk from the studio to a market to buy food for dinner. They choose mounds of vegetables and fruit, pasta and meat, chocolate. A dancer visits* a masseur with big hands, who prods and pokes the dancer’s back, neck, thighs, calves, arms, and feet-even her toes.



5.3


Vera told me of her plans: what she would take with her when she left Russia, and how, once she was in Paris, she would slip away and contact the authorities there, asking for asylum. It was hard not to be caught up in her excitement. We tried to guess what our chances would be of joining the Paris ballet. All these conversations were whispered. We knew what danger there would be in detecting. If we were caught, we would be thrown out of the ballet, perhaps arrested, certainly watched day and night. I was not sure I was willing* to take the risk.

5.5

There was a little girl who was so delicate and charming, but in the summer she always had to go barefoot because she was poor. In the winter she wore big wooden clogs that made her little ankles turn quite red, and that was awful. In the middle of the village lived old Mother Shoemaker. She sat and sewed as best she could, using old strips of red cloth to make a little pair of shoes. Quite clumsy they were, but well-intended, and the little girl was to have them. The little girl’s name was Karen. On the very day* that her mother was buried, Karen was given the red shoes, and she wore them for the first time.


6.1

Now it was Sunday I’d spent all morning throwing things into two suitcases, a garment bag, and a backpack. No one was helping me. Mama and Daddy were busy getting ready for the drive to New York. Becca was having a tantrum. Aunt Cecelia was clattering around after Squirt. I heard footsteps on the stairs. My door opened and Mal walked in. “Hi.” “They told me to pack light!” I said. “How do you pack light for a winter in New York City? You need sweaters, a raincoat, a down vest, boots, plus the ballet stuff.” Mal knelt down and* began looking through my clothes. “Well, you only need a few shirts, really.

3.3

Edgar Degas was born in Paris, France, in 1834. During the 1800’s Paris was the art center of the world, so it was a good place to be if you were interested in becoming an artist. While growing up, Edgar was able to see great works of art from the past as well as drawings and paintings done by modern artists. Some of Edgar Degas’s most famous works of art are scenes of Paris and the people who lived and worked there. Degas loved painting, drawing, and making pastel pictures of the racetrack, washerwomen, and cafe’ singers. One of Edgar Degas’s all time favorite subjects was the ballet.

8.0