Sharing Stories

Quest Atlantis Unit Plan

Sharing Stories

Our identity—our understanding of ourselves and our lives—is grounded in the stories that we share, but many of us do not feel empowered to create and respond to stories in an individual way. This unit helps Questers relate to stories on a personal level and understand themselves and others in terms of the choices they make and the meaning they construct. The unit features the widely popular story “Priscilla and the Wimps” and challenges Questers to write an original character-oriented story based on someone in their daily lives.

Sharing Stories

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Appendix A

“StoryInn” Virtual World

All of the Quests embedded in the unit plan are housed in a single building in a unique virtual world. You may reach this world through the Quest Atlantis browser by clicking the “Teleport” menu item; then click “To”on the drop-down menu, and type “storyinn”(one word; capitalization does not matter).

When you arrive at “StoryInn,” walk up the stairs and through the front door (all doors open automatically). Each room houses a different activity, as shown below:

(unused) / (unused)
Room D
(Activity 4)
Quests for Julie & Luna:
scrolls on tables / Room C
(Activity 2)
Quests M1–M4 & P1–P4:
bookstands along walls
Room B
(Activities 1 & 8)
Quest B1:book on chair
Quest B2:book on table / Room A
(Activities 1 & 8)
Quest A1:book on chair
Quest A2:book on table

(Front Door)

Appendix B (Activities 1 & 8)

“Identifying with Characters”

Below are the texts narrated in each of the “Identifying with Characters” Quests, along with the sources from which they were adapted.

Room A

Quest A1 (linked to book on chair):

I remember my first day of school after moving here. A new school was planned to be built at the edge of town, but the building I found myself in that Monday morning looked like an old-fashioned railroad station, one made of dull red bricks and with turrets. Somewhere in the middle of it there was a gym, because at various times during the day I could hear the “thunk” of a basketball.

No one paid me much attention that first morning except the teachers who kept announcing that I was new here. They weren’t unfriendly, but I felt like I was from another country, not just another town. I ate lunch in the cafeteria, which must have been a classroom in the past; there were still a few desks nailed to the floor.

I played the time game with myself—tomorrow it would be easier; next week I wouldn’t remember how strange I felt today; next month it would be as if I’d always been in this school. But sitting there, alone, eating a dry, shriveled hot dog and beans as hard as pebbles, I thought to myself, only the present tense is real. The past and the future are just grammar..

(from A Place Apart, by Paula Fox, 1980)

Quest A2 (linked to book on table):

I remember when my dog Freckles died. As I was getting ready to play sports after school that day, Miss Carroll, the school nurse, came up to me and told me to go strait home. She said my mother needed to talk with me, but her face said it was more than that. When I got home, my mom was waiting for me, her face caved in under sadness. She came up to me and started crying bad.

She told me Freckles had got hit by a car crossing the street in front of the Florist Shop. I asked if I could see him, but she just said that wasn’t going to happen.

I remember the tears after that and the absolute deadness. I didn’t believe Freckles could be gone, but I was crying like I did believe it. Freckles wouldn’t be coming back, and it was a real loss to the family, that’s what Dad said. He lifted me up and held me, and we cried.

(from Squashed, by Joan Bauer, 1992)

Room B

Quest B1 (linked to book on chair):

I can remember my first day of school after moving here. Fifty or more students waited at the sidewalk for the traffic lights to change. I knew my homeroom was in the ArtBuilding, so I started to search for it. The school looked like it had been built in pieces: no big building, just a lot of low-looking greenish structures—the kind where the government stores nuclear waste.

At first the kids didn’t look all that different from the ones at my old school, but when I took another look, they were a little more polished than I was used to seeing; they were dressed like me, but they were dressed better. So I fit in, but I didn’t fit in. Not if you looked close. I walked past a display cabinet and looked at the silver-painted sculptures.

I thought about mirrors: if I were like a mirror, anyone looking at me would see that I was just like them, and I wouldn’t feel out of place. But if I were a mirror and I looked into a mirror, would I be able to see myself at all? And then I looked down at my pants and shirt, a little frayed and faded, and I thought, this isn’t a reflection, it’s reality.

(from Confess-o-rama, by Ron Koertge, 1996)

Quest B2 (linked to book on table):

I remember when my dog Bangles died. My friend and I were riding our bicycles around the neighborhood when Mr. Beltser, who managed the pool, pulled up beside us in his car and told me that I needed to go home. He said that there had been an accident, but he wouldn’t say any more. When I got home, Mom was sitting on the porch. She looked small and dazed. She hugged me tight, and I could feel her shaking.

Bangles got hurt real bad, she said. She tried to say something else but she couldn’t do it. All she could do was pull me to herself again and hold me.

I learned afterward that a load had fallen off a trailer, and Bangles was directly under it. I felt numb. I knew he was gone, but for some reason I wanted to keep food in his bowl. Mom squeezed my upper arms. Her eyes were red and her face was wet. She said it would be hard getting used to Bangles not being there any more.

(from Roughnecks, by Thomas Cochran, 1997)

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Appendix C (Activity 3)

“Understanding Characters”

On the following pages are two versions of the short story “Priscilla and the Wimps.” One is printed in large (14 point) type and fills four pages, and the other is printed in small type (10 point) type and fills two pages. Unless your students are advanced readers, you will likely want to use the large-type version.

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“Priscilla and the Wimps”

by Richard Peck

Listen, there was a time when you couldn’t even go to the rest room around this school without a pass. And I’m not talking about those little pink tickets made out by some teacher. I’m talking about a pass that cost anywhere up to a buck, sold by Monk Klutter.

Not that Mighty Monk ever touched money, not in public. The gang he ran, which ran the school for him, was his collection agency. They were Klutter’s Kobras, a name spelled out in nailheads on six well-known black plastic windbreakers.

Monk’s threads were more … subtle. A pile-lined suede battle jacket with lizard-skin flaps over tailored Levi’s and a pair of ostrich-skin boots, brassed-toed and suitable for kicking people around. One of his Kobras did nothing all day but walk a half step behind Monk, carrying a fitted bag with Monk’s gym shoes, a roll of rest-room passes, a cash-box, and a switchblade that Monk gave himself manicures with at lunch over at the Kobras’ table.

Speaking of lunch, there were a few cases of advanced malnutrition among the newer kids. The ones who were a little slow in handing over a cut of their lunch money and were therefore barred from the cafeteria. Monk ran a tight ship.

I admit it. I’m five foot five, and when the Kobras slithered by, with or without Monk, I shrank. And I admit this, too: I paid up on a regular basis. And I might add: so would you.

This school was old Monk’s Garden of Eden. Unfortunately for him, there was a serpent in it. The reason Monk didn’t recognize trouble when it was staring him in the face is that the serpent in the Kobras’ Eden was a girl.

Practically every guy in school could show you his scars. Fang marks from Kobras, you might say. And they were all highly visible in the shower room: lumps, lacerations, blue bruises, you name it. But girls usually got off with a warning.

Except there was this one girl named Priscilla Roseberry. Picture a girl named Priscilla Roseberry, and you’ll be light years off. Priscilla was, hands down, the largest student in our particular institution of learning. I’m not talking fat. I’m talking big. Even beautiful, in a bionic way. Priscilla wasn’t inclined toward organized crime. Otherwise, she could have put together a gang that would turn Klutter’s Kobras into garter snakes.

Priscilla was basically a loner except she had one friend. A little guy named Melvin Detweiler. You talk about The Odd Couple. Melvin’s one of the smallest guys above midget status ever seen. A really nice guy, but, you know, little. They even had lockers next to each other, in the same bank as mine. I don’t know what they had going. I’m not saying this was a romance. After all, people deserve their privacy.

Priscilla was sort of above everything, if you’ll pardon a pun. And very calm, as only the very big can be. If there was anybody who didn’t notice Klutter’s Kobras, it was Priscilla.

Until one winter day after school when we were all grabbing our coats out of our lockers. And hurrying, since Klutter’s Kobras made sweeps of the halls for after-school shakedowns.

Anyway, up to Melvin’s locker swaggers one of the Kobras. Never mind his name. Gang members don’t need names. They’ve got group identity. He reaches down and grabs little Melvin by the neck and slams his head against his locker door. The sound of skull against steel rippled all the way down the locker row, speeding the crowds on their way.

“Okay, let’s see your pass,” snarls the Kobra.

“A pass for what this time?” Melvin asks, probably still dazed.

“Let’s call it a pass for very short people,” says the Kobra, “a dwarf tax.” He wheezes a little Kobra chuckle at his own wittiness. And already he’s reaching for Melvin’s wallet with the hand that isn’t circling Melvin’s windpipe. All this time, of course, Melvin and the Kobra are standing in Priscilla’s big shadow.

She’s taking her time shoving her books into her locker and pulling on a very large-size coat. Then, quicker than the eye, she brings the side of her enormous hand down in a chop that breaks the Kobra’s hold on Melvin’s throat. You could hear a pin drop in that hallway. Nobody’s ever laid a finger on a Kobra, let alone a hand the size of Priscilla’s.

Then Priscilla, who hardly every says anything to anybody except to Melvin, says to the Kobra, “Who’s your leader, wimp?”

This practically blows the Kobra away. First he’s chopped by a girl, and now she’s acting like she doesn’t know Monk Klutter, the Head Honcho of the World. He’s so amazed, he tells her, “Monk Klutter.”

“Never heard of him,” Priscilla mentions. “Send him to see me.” The Kobra just backs away from her like the whole situation is too big for him, which it is.

Pretty soon Monk himself slides up. He jerks his head once, and his Kobras slither off down the hall. He’s going to handle this interesting case personally. “Who is it around here doesn’t know Monk Klutter?”

He’s standing inches from Priscilla, but since he’d have to look up at her, he doesn’t. “Never heard of him,” says Priscilla.

Monk’s not happy with this answer, but by now he’s spotted Melvin, who’s grown smaller in spite of himself. Monk breaks his own rule by reaching for Melvin with his own hands. “Kid,” he says, “you’re going to have to educate your girl friend.”

His hands never quite make it to Melvin. In a move of pure poetry Priscilla has Monk in a hammerlock. His neck’s popping like gunfire, and his head’s bowed under the immense weight of her forearm. His suede jacket’s peeling back, showing pile.

Priscilla’s behind him in another easy motion. And with a single mighty thrust forward, frog-marches Monk into her own locker. It’s incredible. His ostrich-skin boots click once in the air. And suddenly he’s gone, neatly wedged into the locker, a perfect fit. Priscilla bangs the door shut, twirls the lock, and strolls out of school. Melvin goes with her, of course, trotting along below her shoulder. The last stragglers leave quietly.

Well this is where fate, an even bigger force than Priscilla, steps in. It snows all that night, a blizzard. The whole town ices up. And school closes for a week.

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“Priscilla and the Wimps”

by Richard Peck

I admit it. I’m five foot five, and when the Kobras slithered by, with or without Monk, I shrank. And I admit this, too: I paid up on a regular basis. And I might add: so would you.

Priscilla was sort of above everything, if you’ll pardon a pun. And very calm, as only the very big can be. If there was anybody who didn’t notice Klutter’s Kobras, it was Priscilla.

Until one winter day after school when we were all grabbing our coats out of our lockers. And hurrying, since Klutter’s Kobras made sweeps of the halls for after-school shakedowns.