Big Water by Andrea Curtis Today I feel only dread. I’m sweating again—my cheeks are flushed. I thought I would feel relieved to be back in civilization, to be rescued from certain death, but instead, seeing the town and the men rushing about on the dock, the boats and sails and horse-drawn wagons, I’m struck again by what we have just endured. I want to find Daniel, see his face, know that he remembers too, but he’s tunneled down beneath the blankets like a mole. “Parry Sound,” Henry calls out, and I see the blankets covering Daniel begin to stir. Along the shore, lumber is stacked in piles as high as a schooner. It looks like a pencil drawing done with a ruler—perfect, straight lines. Boats, most of them small, meant for fishing, dot the bay here and there. Some are tied up at dock; others are anchored in the water just past the river. The chimney stacks of houses and large wood-frame buildings whisper smoky murmurs into the sky. I hear the hwah of a seagull and look up, hoping absurdly to see the bird from the other day. But there are many seagulls, all of them flying around like tugboats escorting a ship into harbor.The wind begins to die as we get closer, and Henry and Eva set to work dousing the sails. I want to help them, show my gratitude, but when I try to move, the muscles in my legs are putty, my head a spinning top. Eva looks at me with eyebrows raised and shakes her head no. She points to the bottom of the boat. I should sit. Henry and Eva fold the sails and get out oars. We are bumping up against the stone-filled cribs of a large, wide dock within minutes. I watch the men on the docks with their untamed beards and callused hands, their frayed wool pants and faded hats. They are young and old and move about like a kind of machine, few of them speaking but working together without need of words. Moving cargo, hauling wood, cleaning boats. Picking up, passing, carrying. I hear one call to another in French, someone respond in English. A thick-necked tabby cat sneaks down the dock, sniffing here and there. It rubs its long orange-and-white striped side along one burly man’s boot. The man reaches down and scratches the old cat behind its ear, and it leans in toward him. These men pay us little attention until we are banging up against the high dock. Their faces flicker with confusion, then disbelief as Daniel calls out, “We were on the Asia. The boat is sunk. We areThere’s a moment in which nothing happens, as if no one can quite believe what he is hearing. Then one man shouts, “Survivors!” and scrambles to take the bowline. Another reaches far down into the boat to haul Daniel up like a fish on a line. They gesture to me. “Petite fille,” they gasp. I lift my arms, and someone takes my hands. The blanket falls from my shoulders as I’m in the air. “A girl,” one says. “A child.” I don’t have time to think about how strange these words sound, how little I feel like a child, before I am half carried, half dragged down the dock, men smelling of sweat and wood and coal pushing in on either side of me. I am still weak, my forehead on fire once again, and I let them lift me, though I don’t like their arms around my waist, though I want to turn back to Eva to say, Thank you, thank you for your berries and your kindness. Thank you, Henry, for keeping us safe when there was no one else. Daniel is beside me, though he is allowed to walk on his own. I can hear him talking to the men, but I can’t make out the words. There are shouts all around us. “The Asia! Survivors! Make way! Survivors!” survivors! Help us.” He holds up the pillowcase with S.S. Asia stenciled along the hem.Use the story to answer the question. Based on this excerpt from the end of a story, what genre does the author use to tell the story? (1 point) Responses adventure adventure science fiction science fiction mystery mystery fantasy

Question

Big Water by Andrea Curtis Today I feel only dread. I’m sweating again—my cheeks are flushed. I thought I would feel relieved to be back in civilization, to be rescued from certain death, but instead, seeing the town and the men rushing about on the dock, the boats and sails and horse-drawn wagons, I’m struck again by what we have just endured. I want to find Daniel, see his face, know that he remembers too, but he’s tunneled down beneath the blankets like a mole. “Parry Sound,” Henry calls out, and I see the blankets covering Daniel begin to stir. Along the shore, lumber is stacked in piles as high as a schooner. It looks like a pencil drawing done with a ruler—perfect, straight lines. Boats, most of them small, meant for fishing, dot the bay here and there. Some are tied up at dock; others are anchored in the water just past the river. The chimney stacks of houses and large wood-frame buildings whisper smoky murmurs into the sky. I hear the hwah of a seagull and look up, hoping absurdly to see the bird from the other day. But there are many seagulls, all of them flying around like tugboats escorting a ship into harbor.The wind begins to die as we get closer, and Henry and Eva set to work dousing the sails. I want to help them, show my gratitude, but when I try to move, the muscles in my legs are putty, my head a spinning top. Eva looks at me with eyebrows raised and shakes her head no. She points to the bottom of the boat. I should sit. Henry and Eva fold the sails and get out oars. We are bumping up against the stone-filled cribs of a large, wide dock within minutes. I watch the men on the docks with their untamed beards and callused hands, their frayed wool pants and faded hats. They are young and old and move about like a kind of machine, few of them speaking but working together without need of words. Moving cargo, hauling wood, cleaning boats. Picking up, passing, carrying. I hear one call to another in French, someone respond in English. A thick-necked tabby cat sneaks down the dock, sniffing here and there. It rubs its long orange-and-white striped side along one burly man’s boot. The man reaches down and scratches the old cat behind its ear, and it leans in toward him. These men pay us little attention until we are banging up against the high dock. Their faces flicker with confusion, then disbelief as Daniel calls out, “We were on the Asia. The boat is sunk. We areThere’s a moment in which nothing happens, as if no one can quite believe what he is hearing. Then one man shouts, “Survivors!” and scrambles to take the bowline. Another reaches far down into the boat to haul Daniel up like a fish on a line. They gesture to me. “Petite fille,” they gasp. I lift my arms, and someone takes my hands. The blanket falls from my shoulders as I’m in the air. “A girl,” one says. “A child.” I don’t have time to think about how strange these words sound, how little I feel like a child, before I am half carried, half dragged down the dock, men smelling of sweat and wood and coal pushing in on either side of me. I am still weak, my forehead on fire once again, and I let them lift me, though I don’t like their arms around my waist, though I want to turn back to Eva to say, Thank you, thank you for your berries and your kindness. Thank you, Henry, for keeping us safe when there was no one else. Daniel is beside me, though he is allowed to walk on his own. I can hear him talking to the men, but I can’t make out the words. There are shouts all around us. “The Asia! Survivors! Make way! Survivors!” survivors! Help us.” He holds up the pillowcase with S.S. Asia stenciled along the hem.Use the story to answer the question. Based on this excerpt from the end of a story, what genre does the author use to tell the story? (1 point) Responses adventure adventure science fiction science fiction mystery mystery fantasy

Answer 1

Based on the excerpt provided, the genre of the story is likely historical fiction.

Answer 2

Based on the given excerpt, the genre that the author uses to tell the story is adventure.

Answer 3

Based on the excerpt provided, it is difficult to determine the genre of the story solely from this passage. The passage focuses more on describing the setting and the immediate events happening, rather than presenting a clear genre-specific element such as supernatural occurrences or a detective solving a mystery. Therefore, it is inconclusive to determine the exact genre of the story based on this excerpt.