Did anybody else cry when they were reading Flowers for Algernon for Edgey? No, just me..? Oki.....

I get way too emotional over fictional characters lol
;-;

Answer:

Lol I get super emotional over fictional characters too

question!! please answer! remember you are loved

PLEASSSSSSSSSSSSS HELPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
READ THE PASSAGE THEN ANSWER THE QUESTIONS

Last year, Ms. Perry, who taught fifth grade in Minneapolis, had read about the need for volunteers at a rural school in Africa. She applied and was accepted. Now it was summer break, and she was in Uganda. She was staying with Mr. Omara, a teacher at the school, and his family. When Mr. Omara showed her the school, she could not believe how many students were packed into the classroom. Students were seated on benches behind long tables and on the floor. She guessed there were ninety to a hundred students in one classroom! Ms. Perry worked with a small group of students as they practiced writing and speaking English. From her conversations with them, she learned about their lives. Ritah, Joseph, and Winnie got up at 5 a.m. and walked half a mile each way to collect water from the well before they walked to school. At night, they did their homework by candlelight. During her month in Africa, Ms. Perry learned that not only did schools need pens and paper, but books. Five students in a class shared one textbook. Mr. Omara explained that textbooks had to match the curriculum and be bought in Uganda. However, many storybooks in English were needed for reading practice. When Ms. Perry returned to Minneapolis, her class of 25 students looked small. She told them about the school she had visited. After she finished, Jackson said, “The students need supplies and books, so we should collect these and send them to the school.”That’s a great idea for a project,” Victoria said. “How can we get started? Ms. Perry said, “Remember, we will need money for shipping expenses. If everyone lists their ideas for the project, we will talk about your ideas on Friday.” On Friday, everyone was eager to share ideas. Eva had found a Web site that listed books needed in Uganda. Ms. Perry suggested they focus on fiction, or storybooks about made-up people and events. It would help students practice their skills in reading English. Logan pointed out that drop-off boxes for books could be placed in the front hall of the school and in the cafeteria. Everyone would see them there during lunchtime. Molly suggested publicity, saying they could make posters to get their information to the public. Ian’s idea was to collect books from families and neighbors and sell them in the shopping mall one weekend to make money. Molly drew a poster decorated with colorful books. It said, “Bring your books to Parkside School for our book drive. From November 1 through November 15, we are collecting books to send to a school in Uganda. We need picture books and especially the books listed below.” She printed the titles of the recommended books.
At the bottom, it said, “We are selling used books for adult readers to pay for our shipping charges. Stop by Vernon Mall on November 13 or 14. You may see a book you want to buy, or you can donate a book for us to sell.”
Ms. Perry’s students agreed that this was going to be a fun project!


This question has two parts. First, answer part A. Then, answer part B.

Part A
How is the setting for collecting children’s books different from the setting for selling used books?

A.
One is inside and the other is outside.

B.
One is in a school and the other is in a mall.

C.
One is in a home and the other is in a school.

D.
One is in Minneapolis and the other is in Uganda.

Part B
Which sentence from the passage helps to show how the settings are different?

A.
“We need picture books and especially the books listed below.”

B.
“She printed the titles of the recommended books.”

C.
“At the bottom, it said, ‘We are selling used books for adult readers to pay for our shipping charges.”

D.
“Stop by Vernon Mall on November 13 or 14.”

What is the genre of this story?

Why is it so quiet? Why can't I move? And why is it so dark? I try to recall where I am, but I cannot remember. Blackness surrounds me.
I hear a familiar voice that makes my heart flutter like a thousand butterflies. It is the voice of my friend, Maddy. She visits her grandparents here on the Gulf of Mexico every summer. She usually brings me crumbs, but today, I cannot smell anything except the sour smell of oil.
Her voice sounds worried, different from the usual cheerful greeting that she calls me with every day at dusk. I try to turn towards her, but I can't move very well. My feet feel mired as if in quicksand.
I hear her come closer. Her words help me understand that something has happened to my home.
"Oh, grandma! What is all this? They are all covered in it! It's black. Ugh! The smell is so strong I can't stand it." Maddy's tears stream down her face, mingling with mine. I hear her crying, but all is dark, like a moonless night. Where is the smiling sun? I try to stretch out to feel the warmth, but my wings do not respond.
Dazed, I call out to my friends hoping they will find me in the blackness, but everything is so still. I hear nothing, except for Maddy's desperation. Her sobs, uncontrollable.
"Go get some towels, Maddy. Run!" Her grandma tells her, a quiet urgency in her voice.
"Hey little one," grandma coos as she bends over me. I can feel her breath on my head. "We've got you and you are going to do all we can for you." All they can? I hear Maddy's hurried footsteps and feel the towel's softness enveloping me as she picks me up in her arms. She is gentle, her sobs quieting as she takes me to her home, seemingly miles and miles from my nest along the shoreline.
I hear the phone ring. I hear the news on the television.
"Spill...oil...negligence...BP...blame..."
"What are we going to do?"
I hear the door banging and neighbors' voices, shrill and urgent, coming in and out of the house. All of the sounds tell me that the emergency is intensifying.
I still cannot see anything. Maybe it is good that I cannot see. If I could, I might see my home, blackened with the oil of a mishandled well deep in the ocean. I would see my friends, covered in slick crudeness. I would desperately observe the choking, billowing smoke, polluting the Gulf sky, my home. I would see my family unable to fly through the air, unable to dive into the ocean for the delicious meals we used to find there. I fear our fish are no more; they are stuck in the depths of the black, watery grave.
What are we going to do? What are we going to do? I hope the humans will do something to bring light to all of the blackness.
I hear Maddy, making sweet, soothing sounds as she begins to clean my feathers gently. I hear that sound often. It's the sound humans make on the beach when their babies are frightened.

Fantasy, Science fiction, Mystery, Historical fiction, Realistic Fiction, Autobiography, Biography, Informational, Essay, Comedy, Tragedy, Monologue, Improvisation, Sonnet, Free verse, Haiku, or Limericks?

The Taimei school’s principal made a good decision to select an Armani-designed uniform for students to wear