Sample Reading Comprehension - 2 | English Language for Grade 10 PDF Download

Passage - 1

(Costume Drama)

"Am I in the right place for the drama club rehearsal?" asked Lionel as he walked through the door of the school theater. Several students hurried past without hearing him, and he began to feel selfconscious and awkward.
Lionel!" called his best friend Herlise from across the room. "Come meet the drama club president, Guilliana Hicks." Lionel carefully made his way through the maze of power cords and set pieces. He formally shook Guilliana's hand and introduced himself.
"Principal Smythe thought I might be useful in your upcoming production," said Lionel with a shy smile. "I don't really see how I can help, though. I'm liable to have a panic attack if I try to perform in front of an audience." Guilliana and Herlise exchanged amused glances.
"Herlise told me that you have a quiet personality," Guilliana replied. "I certainly don't want to cause anyone to have a panic attack. Do you have any experience with construction? We have several sets that need to be built." Lionel shook his head in embarrassment.
"Don't worry about it, L," said Herlise kindly. "I'll find something for you to do after I locate a needle and thread. My costume keeps falling apart at the seams." Lionel peered at her sparkly ball gown in disapproval.
"Who sewed this thing?" he asked. "They never should have used this stitching. A thick fabric like this needs stronger stitching and reinforcement, or it will never hold its shape."
"You sound like an expert on costumes," Guilliana said, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
"Not really," stammered Lionel. "I help my dad at his alteration shop. He's been a tailor for twenty years, and I guess I picked up more sewing tips than I'd realized."
"Don't you dare apologize!" laughed Guilliana. "We are in desperate need of a costumer. Are you interested?" Lionel nodded enthusiastically, and he offered several suggestions on improving the drama club's poorly-constructed costumes.
"Who is this guy?" demanded Rodhrim, who was dressed in an elaborately decorated knight costume. "I hope you're not auditioning anyone else for my role, Guilliana. I may have stormed out of the last three rehearsals, but I'm not going to stand for anyone else taking my place—especially since I'm the most talented person in this school." Herlise rolled her eyes behind the back of the dashingly handsome—but extremely arrogant—leading man.
"This is our new costumer," Guilliana explained patiently. "Lionel has already offered great suggestions for our production. I love new ideas, especially when they benefit the drama club." Rodhrim stared openmouthed at Lionel. "You'll need to talk to him about repairing your costume, Rodhrim," said Herlise with a smirk. "It would be a disaster if you went onstage in that thing." "This is ridiculous!" blustered Rodhrim. "Guys can't sew! This must be a practical joke. We can't change the costumes two months before opening curtain! Everything has to stay the same, or I won't be able to perform at my best." Lionel almost felt sorry for the flustered prima donna.
"Both males and females can sew, Rodhrim," he explained patiently. "Sometimes change is a positive thing." "I quit this lousy production—again!" Rodhrim responded angrily. He turned around to storm out of the room. The three drama club members burst into laughter at the sight of the back of his costume, which was tattered and flying in every direction.
"His attitude isn't very chivalrous," Guilliana said. "I think I need to find someone else to play the gallant knight."
"Appearances can certainly be deceiving," agreed Lionel.
"Come on, L," said Herlise cheerfully. "I'll introduce you to the cast. They're a great group, and you'll soon feel right at home."

"What happens next?" asked Onegin as he stared up at the ceiling of the computer lab. His friends Tatiana and Lensky groaned and shook their heads.
"This is too hard," Lensky complained. "Whose dumb idea was it to write a children's play anyway? Our writing skills won't exactly earn us the Nobel Prize in literature. We don't even know how to write a decent ending!"
"It was my dumb idea to write a play," admitted Tatiana nervously. "I'm sorry it is so difficult—I didn't mean to cause all this trouble. The children at the hospital love to see plays and skits, and I just want to help them feel better."
"We can do anything we put our minds to. The main point of our plot is that the characters have to work together to find the magic sword," mused Onegin. "Maybe we should include some danger and excitement? Nothing too scary, of course, but a little excitement should be okay." Tatiana started to speak but sat back in her chair instead.
"Something exciting but not too scary? That sounds impossible," Lensky said with a frustrated frown. "Maybe this is too hard for us after all," sighed Tatiana. Suddenly, the door to the computer lab opened, and a loud group of students entered.
"What are you three doing in here?" demanded Vlad, whose voice was even louder and more piercing than usual. "I hope you don't mind that we're going to be spending the afternoon in here. I just found a great new computer game, and my friends want to test it out."
"Couldn't you please find somewhere else to play?" Tatiana requested. "We are working on a special project for the children's hospital, and we really need to concentrate."
"Oh, please," smirked Vlad. "Even I get better grades in English class than the three of you. What makes you think you can write a whole play?" Lensky and Tatiana drooped visibly at Vlad's harsh words, and Onegin felt his face turn red with anger.
"Some of us believe that kindness is more important than good grades," Onegin replied hotly. "We are not going to give up on this play, and we're not going to leave. Every student in this school has a right to use the computer lab." Vlad shook his head and turned away from the three of them. He and his friends began playing games and pointedly ignoring Onegin and his friends.
"I think I might have a good idea for the ending of our play," said Tatiana. "No, it's a great idea! The main characters in our play are confronted with an evil dragon while searching for the magic sword. They work together to overcome the dragon, and they earn the gratitude of the entire village." Onegin grinned and gave Tatiana a high-five.
"That's the best idea I've heard all day," he told her. "In fact, I think we should name the evil dragon 'Vlad.' What do you guys think?"
"It's perfect," agreed Tatiana. "Why don't you type as I tell you how the ending of the play should go?"
Onegin typed quickly, and the play, complete with an exciting ending, was finished an hour later. Lensky, in spite of his natural pessimism, felt his spirits lift. Vlad watched with a scowl as the three friends laughed and talked together. He quietly grabbed his backpack and slunk out of the room, leaving everyone behind him.

"How are you feeling, Ruston?" Thorold asked as he walked into the school auditorium. His friend gulped and turned even paler than usual while Thorold smiled and shook hands with each student he passed.
"I'm not feeling too well, actually," admitted Ruston. "Why did I sign up to perform my comedy routine at the talent show? The entire senior class will be watching and waiting for me to make a fool out of myself." Billiana waved from across the room and hurried to join them.
"This looks like a tough crowd," Billiana told her friends. "Everyone is nervous about final exams, and they don't seem to be in the mood for a talent show. We support you all the way, though!" Ruston groaned out loud, and Thorold patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.
"Hang in there, buddy," said Thorold. "Performing in front of a crowd is the best feeling there is! Billiana and I are going to find our seats. Don't worry—at least two members of the audience will be laughing at your jokes!" Ruston smiled weakly and pulled his notes out of his pocket. He tried to rehearse his comedy routine, but he was distracted by the students milling around him. Suddenly, a familiar face emerged in the crowd, and he felt his heart stop.
"If it isn't Avery High's very own comedian," Mariliste said with a sneer. "Please tell me you aren't planning to bore us with your lame jokes."
"You should be worried about your own performance," replied Ruston. "Someone told me that you were nearly booed off the stage last year."
"Well . . . I'd rather not talk about that," she muttered, her face bright red. The student body president stepped up to the podium and announced that Mariliste would perform first in the talent show. She looked around nervously before walking onstage. As she began her flashy gymnastics moves, an unfriendly silence filled the auditorium.
"This is not a good sign," Thorold whispered to Billiana
"The other students don't look happy," she agreed. "I know Mariliste isn't the nicest person in school, but I hate for anyone to feel humiliated. The least we can do is cheer for her when she's finished."
As Mariliste completed her last backflip and took a bow, Billiana and Thorold jumped to their feet and began cheering with as much enthusiasm as they could muster. The other students followed their lead and began clapping and stomping their feet on the bleachers.
"It looks like you were a big hit," Ruston said as Mariliste joined him behind the stage. She blushed and shook her head.
"Please thank your friends for me," Mariliste told him. "I know they are the only reason anyone cheered for me. I'm looking forward to watching your routine, Ruston. I know you'll do a great job." Ruston smiled at her and slipped his notecards into this pocket as he approached the microphone.
"So what's the deal with the principal scheduling our lunch breaks right after biology lab?" he asked, launching into his routine with a newfound confidence. His heart nearly burst with pride as the audience cheered and laughed after every punch line. Even Mariliste, standing backstage where no one could see her, managed a small smile. 

"What time is the train supposed to arrive?" asked Byrd as she sat down on an empty bench. Her friends tossed their backpacks on the ground and joined her.
"My ticket says the train leaves at 7 AM," Amundsen replied. He checked his wristwatch and then pulled a pocket watch out of his backpack to reassure himself that both clocks were accurate. "We have twenty minutes until it arrives."
"Twenty minutes is just enough time to take a nap," yawned Peary. "I can't believe I let you guys talk me into an early morning trip to an art museum."
"Please tell me you're not going to ruin another one of our trips with your complaining," his sister Hilary snapped. "No one forced you to come on this trip. The rest of us are looking forward to enriching our academic lives."
"Snooze," muttered Peary.
"I love seeing old paintings, and I have a lot of respect for the artists," Byrd said in an attempt to alleviate the growing tension. "Can you imagine how hard it must have been to grind and create your own paints? I mean, they were creating these beautiful masterpieces before they even had electricity!"
"That sounds like a lot of work," Peary said with a smirk. "I would have walked down to the local art supply store and bought a paint-by-numbers kit."
"Stop fooling around," Hilary remonstrated. "I agree with Byrd. It's a good reminder that most people throughout history haven't had access to the advantages of technology."
"I hope the train is running on schedule," worried Amundsen. "I want to arrive at the museum precisely at 8 AM." Byrd patted him on the arm reassuringly.
"Don't worry, Amie," she told him. "The museum stays open until midnight. I think we'll have plenty of time to see all of the exhibits."
"Our reports are due on Mr. Shackleton's desk on Monday," Amundsen mused. "That only gives me three days to analyze what I see at the museum, write the report, and proofread it for any possible grammar mistakes. I had better get started this afternoon." Peary opened his bleary eyes and stared at Amundsen in disbelief.
"Are you nuts?" he asked his friend. "Why are you working so hard on this report when Mr. Shackleton is only offering partial credit?" Amundsen nervously checked his pocket watch before replying.
"My dad has always taught me to take education seriously," Amundsen told Peary. "Working hard in school is my way of showing him respect." The four friends sat quietly as Amundsen's words echoed across the empty station. A rush of cool air and a muffled roar announced the arrival of the train.
"Ticket check, everyone," announced Amundsen. His friends held up their tickets for his inspection, and he carefully checked their train and museum tickets.
"At least I'll be able to sleep during the trip," Peary said as he boarded the train. "You guys are wearing me out with all this talk about art."
"The sooner you get to sleep, the better," remarked his sister with an irritable sigh. "The three of us grown-ups are planning to have important discussions about art." Amundsen and Byrd tried to hide their laughter as the two siblings continued to argue. 

"What are you guys working on today?" Betty asked as she walked into the drama club lounge.
"I sent you a text message earlier today about our plans," replied Jonathan, who was busy reading his notes and typing on a laptop. "We're supposed to be finishing our new play, but someone is having a hard time concentrating."
"I'm not having a hard time concentrating," Chris told his brother. "I just think your ideas are unoriginal, and I'm worried that the audience might fall asleep halfway through the play."
"I think your plays are the best," said Betty. "Your achievements are especially impressive considering the fact that our school doesn't offer any creative writing classes. Thomas High School Theater is hardly the best starting point for two aspiring Broadway playwrights."
"I enjoy writing so much that it doesn't feel like hard work," said Jonathan. "I'm not going to give up even if I never make it big as a playwright." He stopped working long enough to hand Betty a copy of his notes for the new play.
"This is great!" she exclaimed. "The drama club will be thrilled to perform a space opera. I can't wait to get started on the costume design. I've never sewn alien costumes before."
"There is a slight problem," Chris replied with a scowl. "Loretta told us yesterday that the drama club is no longer interested in accepting our scripts. They are only going to perform plays written by Steve Holt."
"Steve Holt?" asked Betty in amazement. "He's not even a writer! I can't believe Loretta would choose her boyfriend's scripts over yours. She doesn't deserve to be president of the drama club. I am still upset that I lost the election to her." Jonathan resumed typing on the computer, and Chris doodled on his notepad while Betty fumed in silent anger. Suddenly, she sat up in her chair.
"I have a great idea!" Betty announced. "We can talk to the drama club's faculty advisor. I'm sure that Dr. Teague will be much more reasonable than Loretta when it comes to script quality."
"There's no use in trying," moaned Chris. "Dr. Teague hates my writing. When he returns my research papers after grading them, it looks like an army of red ants has marched across every page."
"Nice description, Chris," Jonathan laughed. "I'm willing to give it a try. We shouldn't let a little thing like pride stand in the way of our success as writers."
"Speak for yourself," muttered Chris. "I'd rather be abducted by the aliens in our script than talk to Dr. Teague."
"Who's going to talk to Dr. Teague?" Loretta demanded as she strode into the lounge. "I hope you three aren't going to complain about my leadership as president of the drama club. I'd hate for Dr. Teague to be bothered with something this inconsequential."
"Dr. Teague will make the right decision and side with me!" Loretta shouted as she followed Betty out of the room. Chris and Jonathan stared at each other for a few minutes before bursting into laughter.
"We should definitely write a play about this situation," suggested Jonathan. "We can call it Confrontation at Thomas High."
"Absolutely," Chris agreed. "Although, I'm going to have to come up with a more original title than that. Your titles are always the worst."
"Let's just get to work, bro," said Jonathan with a sigh. 

Brenden saw the hockey stick swinging up, but it was too late to react. The hockey stick crashed into his upper chest, knocking Brenden backwards onto the ice. Looking up, he saw a flash of a white jersey speeding away. He knew who had hit him. It was Jackson.
The team trainers and Coach Kyle skated quickly to Brenden. He had not gotten up, and they were afraid he was hurt. They found that Brenden was fine physically, but emotionally, he was a storm. “I saw what that bully did,” Coach Kyle said. “I know how you feel, but you have to forget about it. Focus on the game, not Jackson.”
Brenden calmed down once he got up and began playing again. Brenden ignored Jackson and played a clean game. With the incident forgotten, Brenden scored two extra goals for his team.
At halftime, the players began skating toward the benches for a break. Brenden saw a familiar flash of white heading toward Timothy, a small freshman that played on his team. Timothy suddenly crashed onto the ice as Jackson slipped away.
“Hey,” Brenden shouted. “I saw what you did.” He pointed at the culprit.
Jackson put his hands up and looked at everyone like he didn’t know what happened. Then, he smirked at Brenden and rolled his eyes.
A fire in Brenden began burning hot. He streaked across the ice and grabbed that white jersey. Jackson didn’t have his helmet on, and Brenden slammed his fist into Jackson’s cheek.
Brenden was about to land another punch, when he felt strong arms pulling him away. It was Coach Kyle.
Brenden’s heart stopped when he looked in the coach’s eyes. Disappointment poured out of the coach.
“I taught you better than that,” Coach Kyle grumbled. “I’m benching you until you can behave like the kind of player I want on my team.”