Question
Whistling My Worries Away
It was the middle of the summer, and what was I doing? I was up at the crack of dawn, taking the bus across town to spend the day with a bunch of seven-year-olds. How did this happen? Why hadn’t I said no?
Only a couple days earlier, I had been enjoying my usual, relaxed summer when the phone rang. My cousin Luci—my favorite cousin—was almost in tears. “You have to help me!” she wailed when I answered the phone.
Luci had been working as a camp counselor for the summer. “I’m the drama counselor,” she said. “I help the kids put on a skit for their parents at the end of camp. Now my dad’s got this business trip and he’s offering to take my sister and me with him! To Hawaii! For a month! It will be amazing—but I can’t just leave. The camp director really needs my help, and Dad says he won’t take me unless I can find someone to fill my spot. Will you do it? You’re good at plays and all that stuff.”
“I don’t do anything with little kids!” I argued. I’m an only child and the baby of the family: tiny tots are not my thing. “I have no idea how to do a play with these kids.”
Luci snorted. “It doesn’t have to be fancy, Benito. This isn’t like those plays your drama class does at school. Just help them throw together some little skit. Sing a song. Dance around a bit. The parents will love it. Besides,” she added, “the pay’s pretty good. And I know you’ve been saving up for that new computer you wanted.”
Maybe that was the thing that did it. Maybe I was temporarily insane. Maybe I just didn’t want to disappoint my favorite cousin. But as I watched twenty-five first graders romping around the playground, I wondered: what on earth was I thinking?
The camp director, Camila, explained that each camp session was two weeks long. “We’re just starting a new session,” she said, “so these campers never met Luci. They’re all yours.”
“Great,” I said, trying to summon up a smile.
Camila rounded up the campers and brought them over to meet me. “Benito is a performer,” she told them. “He’s going to teach you a little bit about how to perform, too!”
“Can you do magic tricks?” one boy asked as Camila left.
“I bet he sings,” said a little girl. “He looks like—" she whispered to her friend and they both giggled.
“Maybe he’s a ballerina,” another boy volunteered, snickering. I could see where this was headed. Time for a change.
“Let’s play a game!” I announced brightly. That got their attention. “I’m going to shout out an activity. Then we will all pretend to do it. Ready?”
I started running in place. “I’m an Olympic runner!” I shouted. “I’m going for the gold medal!”
The kids immediately joined in. Only, while I ran in place, they ran everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I spent the next twenty minutes keeping them out of the street, away from the field where the high school football team was practicing, and peeling them off the walls of the building when—after they got bored with running—they decided to try to climb a drainpipe. I was relieved when Camila called them all to lunch. I wasn’t a drama counselor—more like a referee!
That night, Camila stopped me as I headed toward the bus stop. “I really appreciate the help,” she said. “Especially now. I’ve applied for a grant to get more money for the camp. The foundation I applied to is really excited that we are starting a drama program. They’re even sending a representative to see the presentation in a couple of weeks! Of course, they know we’re not an acting camp or anything, so they don’t expect a big production. But I’m hopeless with skits and stuff—I don’t even like to speak to the group of parents! I don’t know what I would have done if Luci hadn’t found you to take her place!”
I was still thinking about her words as I took my seat on the bus. What was I going to do now? I didn’t want to be responsible for the entire camp closing. I was too deep in thought to notice the passengers around me until one of them tapped my shoulder. “Would you please stop whistling?” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “I whistle when I’m nervous.”
As the days went by, I was doing a lot more whistling. I tried everything: every game I could think of, every skit I could suggest. The kids would listen for a minute or two, but then they were off, running and jumping and shouting at the top of their lungs. I caught a doubtful look on Camila’s face sometimes, as if she wondered how I was going to make a show out of this. I wondered, too.
The two weeks had passed. I knew all the campers by name, but they hadn’t learned anything about performing. And the show was tomorrow night. I took up my familiar spot, watching them run around and whistling under my breath.
“Benito, you whistle all the time. Can you teach me how?” It was Mariana, one of the sweetest, quietest little ones in the bunch. But after only a little coaching from me, she let out a whistle so loud my ears rang. All the other kids came running.
“Who did that?”
“Mariana!”
“No way!”
“Benito taught me!” Mariana piped up. And I was deluged with requests for whistling lessons. At first I was just grateful they were finally willing to listen to me about anything. Watching them practice, though, I began to get an idea.
“Hey, campers!” I shouted. No one listened. I took a deep breath and gave my loudest whistle, and they all came running.
“How would you like to show off your whistling skills to your parents tomorrow night?” I asked. They loved the idea!
Our plan was simple: recreate what just happened. Mariana was thrilled to have the only “real” lines in the skit, and the other kids got to do exactly what they wanted: run around and whistle. We didn’t even really need to practice!
The next night’s performance was spectacular! The kids were really into it and the parents loved it. Afterwards, Elizabeth introduced me to the representative of that foundation. “Very creative,” he said.
“I know it’s not exactly Shakespeare or anything…” I began, but he brushed that off. “You got them coordinated on a single task. They had fun. They gave a performance. What more do you expect from seven-year-olds?” Camila gave me a grin and a big thumbs-up.
The campers were saying excited goodbyes. “That was the best part of my whole camp,” Mariana told me shyly, as she gave me a hug.
“Well, Benito,” Camila said as the last campers and parents left. “Luci comes back from her trip soon. But I really liked what you did with the kids. The job is yours if you still want it.”
I thought back to my conversation with Luci, just a few weeks ago.
“I don’t even like little kids,” I had told her. “And I certainly don’t know how to do drama with them.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Luci had assured me. And she had been right.
I smiled at Camila. “I’ll take it.” I said. “I know exactly what to do with the next group of kids.”
Question
How does the exposition function in this story?
Responses
It introduces the narrator and the situation.
It introduces the narrator and the situation.
It demonstrates why the narrator doesn’t have a summer job already.
It demonstrates why the narrator doesn’t have a summer job already.
It provides background into the narrator’s experience with drama production.
It provides background into the narrator’s experience with drama production.
It introduces the narrator’s complicated family relationships.
It was the middle of the summer, and what was I doing? I was up at the crack of dawn, taking the bus across town to spend the day with a bunch of seven-year-olds. How did this happen? Why hadn’t I said no?
Only a couple days earlier, I had been enjoying my usual, relaxed summer when the phone rang. My cousin Luci—my favorite cousin—was almost in tears. “You have to help me!” she wailed when I answered the phone.
Luci had been working as a camp counselor for the summer. “I’m the drama counselor,” she said. “I help the kids put on a skit for their parents at the end of camp. Now my dad’s got this business trip and he’s offering to take my sister and me with him! To Hawaii! For a month! It will be amazing—but I can’t just leave. The camp director really needs my help, and Dad says he won’t take me unless I can find someone to fill my spot. Will you do it? You’re good at plays and all that stuff.”
“I don’t do anything with little kids!” I argued. I’m an only child and the baby of the family: tiny tots are not my thing. “I have no idea how to do a play with these kids.”
Luci snorted. “It doesn’t have to be fancy, Benito. This isn’t like those plays your drama class does at school. Just help them throw together some little skit. Sing a song. Dance around a bit. The parents will love it. Besides,” she added, “the pay’s pretty good. And I know you’ve been saving up for that new computer you wanted.”
Maybe that was the thing that did it. Maybe I was temporarily insane. Maybe I just didn’t want to disappoint my favorite cousin. But as I watched twenty-five first graders romping around the playground, I wondered: what on earth was I thinking?
The camp director, Camila, explained that each camp session was two weeks long. “We’re just starting a new session,” she said, “so these campers never met Luci. They’re all yours.”
“Great,” I said, trying to summon up a smile.
Camila rounded up the campers and brought them over to meet me. “Benito is a performer,” she told them. “He’s going to teach you a little bit about how to perform, too!”
“Can you do magic tricks?” one boy asked as Camila left.
“I bet he sings,” said a little girl. “He looks like—" she whispered to her friend and they both giggled.
“Maybe he’s a ballerina,” another boy volunteered, snickering. I could see where this was headed. Time for a change.
“Let’s play a game!” I announced brightly. That got their attention. “I’m going to shout out an activity. Then we will all pretend to do it. Ready?”
I started running in place. “I’m an Olympic runner!” I shouted. “I’m going for the gold medal!”
The kids immediately joined in. Only, while I ran in place, they ran everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I spent the next twenty minutes keeping them out of the street, away from the field where the high school football team was practicing, and peeling them off the walls of the building when—after they got bored with running—they decided to try to climb a drainpipe. I was relieved when Camila called them all to lunch. I wasn’t a drama counselor—more like a referee!
That night, Camila stopped me as I headed toward the bus stop. “I really appreciate the help,” she said. “Especially now. I’ve applied for a grant to get more money for the camp. The foundation I applied to is really excited that we are starting a drama program. They’re even sending a representative to see the presentation in a couple of weeks! Of course, they know we’re not an acting camp or anything, so they don’t expect a big production. But I’m hopeless with skits and stuff—I don’t even like to speak to the group of parents! I don’t know what I would have done if Luci hadn’t found you to take her place!”
I was still thinking about her words as I took my seat on the bus. What was I going to do now? I didn’t want to be responsible for the entire camp closing. I was too deep in thought to notice the passengers around me until one of them tapped my shoulder. “Would you please stop whistling?” he said.
“Sorry,” I said. “I whistle when I’m nervous.”
As the days went by, I was doing a lot more whistling. I tried everything: every game I could think of, every skit I could suggest. The kids would listen for a minute or two, but then they were off, running and jumping and shouting at the top of their lungs. I caught a doubtful look on Camila’s face sometimes, as if she wondered how I was going to make a show out of this. I wondered, too.
The two weeks had passed. I knew all the campers by name, but they hadn’t learned anything about performing. And the show was tomorrow night. I took up my familiar spot, watching them run around and whistling under my breath.
“Benito, you whistle all the time. Can you teach me how?” It was Mariana, one of the sweetest, quietest little ones in the bunch. But after only a little coaching from me, she let out a whistle so loud my ears rang. All the other kids came running.
“Who did that?”
“Mariana!”
“No way!”
“Benito taught me!” Mariana piped up. And I was deluged with requests for whistling lessons. At first I was just grateful they were finally willing to listen to me about anything. Watching them practice, though, I began to get an idea.
“Hey, campers!” I shouted. No one listened. I took a deep breath and gave my loudest whistle, and they all came running.
“How would you like to show off your whistling skills to your parents tomorrow night?” I asked. They loved the idea!
Our plan was simple: recreate what just happened. Mariana was thrilled to have the only “real” lines in the skit, and the other kids got to do exactly what they wanted: run around and whistle. We didn’t even really need to practice!
The next night’s performance was spectacular! The kids were really into it and the parents loved it. Afterwards, Elizabeth introduced me to the representative of that foundation. “Very creative,” he said.
“I know it’s not exactly Shakespeare or anything…” I began, but he brushed that off. “You got them coordinated on a single task. They had fun. They gave a performance. What more do you expect from seven-year-olds?” Camila gave me a grin and a big thumbs-up.
The campers were saying excited goodbyes. “That was the best part of my whole camp,” Mariana told me shyly, as she gave me a hug.
“Well, Benito,” Camila said as the last campers and parents left. “Luci comes back from her trip soon. But I really liked what you did with the kids. The job is yours if you still want it.”
I thought back to my conversation with Luci, just a few weeks ago.
“I don’t even like little kids,” I had told her. “And I certainly don’t know how to do drama with them.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Luci had assured me. And she had been right.
I smiled at Camila. “I’ll take it.” I said. “I know exactly what to do with the next group of kids.”
Question
How does the exposition function in this story?
Responses
It introduces the narrator and the situation.
It introduces the narrator and the situation.
It demonstrates why the narrator doesn’t have a summer job already.
It demonstrates why the narrator doesn’t have a summer job already.
It provides background into the narrator’s experience with drama production.
It provides background into the narrator’s experience with drama production.
It introduces the narrator’s complicated family relationships.
Answers
GPT-4o mini
The correct response is:
**It introduces the narrator and the situation.**
The exposition of the story establishes who the narrator is (Benito), introduces his cousin Luci, and sets up the situation of Benito reluctantly agreeing to take her place as a camp counselor, despite his initial reluctance and lack of experience with young children. This sets the stage for the events that follow in the narrative.
**It introduces the narrator and the situation.**
The exposition of the story establishes who the narrator is (Benito), introduces his cousin Luci, and sets up the situation of Benito reluctantly agreeing to take her place as a camp counselor, despite his initial reluctance and lack of experience with young children. This sets the stage for the events that follow in the narrative.