The Adoptee Meagan's annoyance made her grimace as she perused the board advertising after-school activities "designed to Stimulate, Participate, and Motivate," the school's new initiative that required all 7th graders register for one after-school activity.
"This will afford you a great opportunity to make friends, Meagan!" Mom had advised.
"I have friends—at my old school, remember?"
It was hopeless, of course. The move had been accomplished, the new job had commenced, and the kids at school had continued to promenade by her in the hallway, silent as the walls. Meagan longed to hear her grandmother's wise counsel, which wouldn't have been to join the Homework Club. Who makes a club out of doing homework? Meagan thought as she twirled the small pendant hanging on a gold chain around her neck, a gift from Grandmother. She sighed and clicked her tongue as she continued down the list.
"Artists and Writers Club. Don't draw, can't write. Computer Club. Not that smart. Drama Club. Speak in front of people; no, thank you! Math Club. Are you kidding me? It's bad enough I have math homework every day, but a whole club about it. I don't think so. Trailblazers Club. What kind of trail could I possibly blaze?"
The bell would soon ring, liberating throngs of chattering, gossiping friends, who would be unyielding to the reluctant new student pressing her way through the masses. Because her teacher had specified she return to class before the bell, Meagan turned to stroll back when "Adopt-A-Grandparent" caught her eye, and she snatched the information flyer from the board.
On Tuesday afternoon, Meagan waited in line with a dozen other students for the bus that would drop them at Victoria Gardens Retirement Home for a couple of hours. When a girl in line gazed her way, Meagan averted her eyes and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her jacket.
Upon their arrival at the destination, the Activities Director escorted them to a great room where Meagan searched a sea of glistening white coiffures wishing one of the styled heads belonged to her grandmother, knowing it was impossible. Then she noticed a small woman in a wheelchair, alone, on the far side of the room and, with nervousness, approached the shrinking figure. The Activities Director had advised them to speak loudly, so Meagan said, "I'm MEAGAN!"
"I'm not supposed to be here!" the little woman barked in a thick accent. "Why can't I go home?"
"Where are you from?" Meagan ventured.
"I've lived in dis country sixdy-dree years, but I was born in Italy. Umph! When can I go home?" Her dark eyes smoldered, while a voice boomed from the game room, "B-37! That's B-37!"
"Would you like to play Bingo?" Meagan offered.
"No! I can't hear dat guy. He never speaks loud enough."
"What's your name?" The woman put a shriveled hand to her ear. "WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"
"Lea."
"THAT'S A PRETTY NAME. WHAT DO YOUR GRANDCHILDREN CALL YOU?"
"I don't have any children. My husband had a son; his grandchildren called me 'Mama L,'" she said, drawing out the name in her Italian accent. She chuckled and mimicked a child, "Mama L!"
"Can I call you Mama Lee?" Meagan inquired. The woman shrugged but nodded her head and smiled, and Meagan spent the afternoon listening to the woman recount her childhood growing up in Rome during World War II. When their visit ended and Meagan assured her new friend she would return every Tuesday, Lea emphatically barked, "Good. Umph!" but her hopeful eyes sparkled.
On the bus, the girl who had looked at Meagan earlier sat next to her. After a few minutes of silence, Meagan looked at her and said, "I met a woman from Italy."
"Really? Cool. I met a man who had been an optometrist for 58 years!"
The giggling girls chatted all the way back to school.
8
How does the setting contribute to the plot?
A.
The school corridor makes Meagan realize how much she hates math.
B.
Visiting the retirement home makes it easier for Meagan to make new friends.
C.
Visiting the retirement home reminds Meagan to be kind toward everyone.
D.
The school corridor helps Meagan understand the importance of friendship.