ReStart by Gordon Korman
Reading
Gordon Korman teaching hoe to ReStart
Hey everyone, it's misses Janssen. Today you're going to be listening to a chapter from a book called restart written by Gordon Gorman. You may be familiar with Gordon Gorman. He wrote the dive series, the island series. He's written a lot of books. That I'm sure you guys are familiar with. So the chapter that we're going to read is called secret of splat night. And your job is going to be to listen to me read it today. And define some of the vocabulary words and phrases that I have underlined in yellow within the text. In your own words in your notebook. So it has been shared with you, or you can get the link by going to my web page. Clicking on secrets of splat night. Let's see if I can show you. And then logging into your email account like I just did. My Internet's going very slow today. So I'm going to show you in class if I can't get it up right now. Let me see. All right, so this is for tomorrow night. You're going to need to do this. So you need to get to my web page. And there I am. And you're going to see under reading. It'll say secrets of splat night. So click on reading. And secrets of splat night is right here.
So you click on that, and this link will bring you to your Office 365 login. And once you log in, this will open up for you. So your day one directions are as follows. Read the text and define the words underlined in yellow using context clues in your notebook. Please add the title page in your read aloud section, I'm sorry, please title the page in a read aloud section. Secrets of splat night by Gordon korman vocabulary. And then tomorrow, you're going to reread this on your own and notice to know any signposts. All right, here we go. Secrets of splat night. A restart story by Gordon Corman. So you can see everything underlined in yellow is what I need you to define in your notebook in your own words. I remember what I had for breakfast this morning, toaster strudel. But that's about all I remember. The doctor calls it retrograde amnesia. I forgot everything but from before I fell off the roof. They tell me I broke my fall with my head. Also my shoulder because it's banged up too. And my arms in a sling. Another result? Everything I ever knew has been wiped clean. My house, my school, my friends, my family. I even had to learn my name. Chase Ambrose, off my medical chart. When you look into the face of your own mother and see a total stranger, it hits you pretty hard.
My life is still here, but I have to search for it. Following clues, like I'm some kind of detective. I can tell from all the trophies on the shelves in my room that I'm pretty good at sports, especially football. That makes sense because if you go by the pictures on my phone, I hang out with a lot of large, tough looking people. The stars of the slideshow are these guys named Aaron and bear, who everybody says are my best Friends. I don't really see it yet, but hey, who knows less about me than me? At least I have friends. Right now, the phone screen shows a selfie of the three of us, were crammed into a stall in the boy's room at school. Behind us, the toilet is spraying like a geyser, and we're soaked to the skin. I'm waving an empty bag that says it used to contain 20 pounds of flour. But I'm at a weird angle because Aaron has me in a headlock. And here's the thing, we're all laughing like crazy. I guess it would be funnier if I could actually remember it. Suddenly there's a chime in a calendar reminder, and it comes up on my phone screen. Splat night, 11 p.m.. I frown. I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Obviously, I set up the reminder, so I wouldn't forget about it. But I had no way of knowing.
I was going to fall off the roof between then and splat night. If I did, I could have set up another reminder to explain the reminder. I tap the screen and an address comes up. So this is an appointment, not some show. I want it to watch on TV. The 11 p.m. part tells me I shouldn't ask my mother about it. She's usually asleep by ten 30. I don't want to go, but how can I blow it off? I have to find myself. If I cared about splat night enough to post a reminder, then it's part of who I am. Even though I've lived here my whole life, I have to find Portland street on a map. Luckily, this is a small town. So nothing is ever very far away. By ten 45, I can hear mom snoring softly from her bedroom. I slip outside, shutting the door gently behind me. The town is even more unfamiliar at night. When I'm navigating by street light, I get lost a couple of times, but eventually I find where I'm going. The address turns out to be the Portland street assisted living residence. Old people? What could that possibly have to do with something called splat night? I rechecked the address. This is the place all right. I enter the building already feeling stupid. The lobby is mostly deserted, except for a few elderly residents sitting around a table playing cards.
A couple of canes are hooked over the chair backs. What am I supposed to do? Ask where's flat knight is? They'll think I'm nuts. I'm halfway to the desk when, through the floor to ceiling window, I spy a couple of shadowy figures slinking around the corner, heading for the rear of the building. Aaron and bear. I run back outside and catch up to them. Guys, Ambrose, Sarah and exclaimed. You came. Bear chuckles. I told you our boy wouldn't miss out on splat night. This means you're a memories back, right? Not exactly I admit. My phone reminded me to be honest, I have no clue what's black night is. Aaron throws a friendly arm around me. It's a time honored tradition, started by you, by the way. He squeezing hard, which really hurts my injured shoulder. I shut up about it though, because it feels good to belong. I experience a tingle of anticipation that a missing piece of my puzzle is about to be filled in. We're behind the building now. We step over a low fence, and the rolling lawn gives way to soft earth. I peer into the gloom. What is this place? It's the graybeard motel garden project, Erin replies.
A lot of the old Dumbledore's and Dumbledore is plant vegetables out here because let's face it, what else can they do? Skydiving, bear supplies, bungee jumping, no, the courts keep tangling around their wheelchairs. But I manage. What does this have to do with splat night? Allow us to demonstrate Aaron reaches down into some leafy plants and comes up with two beefsteak tomatoes. You want the ripe ones. They make a bigger splat. He hands one to bear, and they lead me to the rear of the plot. There's a small rise and at the bottom of the embankment, cars whizz by on a four lane highway. I'm totally mystified until Aaron counts. One, two, three. And they hurl the tomatoes out into the road. Splat. Aaron scores a direct hit on the windshield of an SUV and practically vaporizes. Bears bounces off the chunk of a sedan and explodes, sprang juice and pulp all over the car behind it. Tire squeal. As the shock drivers break and swerve. Erin and bear flatten themselves to the rise, yanking me down with them. They're laughing hysterically arguing over who's the better shot. I'm stunned. This was my invention. My idea of fun, stealing vegetables from old people and chucking them at cars. Aaron and barret back in the gardens grounding for more tomatoes. Your turn Ambrose said bear, pressing a large overripe one already oozing into my hands. I don't throw it. I can't.
Part of it's my injury, my bad shoulder isn't on my throwing side. But any physical effort is going to shake me up all over. The main reason though is, why should I want to? Don't be a wimp. I almost scream at myself. You want to find out who you are. This is it. Flat night is your thing. And who does it hurt? A few drivers who will need a car wash, old people who are short one tomato out of dozens. Come on, throw it. You can't wait until the car is right there, Erin lectures, assuming my hesitation is because I forgot how to do this. You have to guesstimate how far the car will move while the tomato is in the air. He gives me a few more pointers and bear puts in his two cents. Apparently there's a science that's flat night. I have to do it. If I don't, it's like telling them that I don't want to be their friend anymore. All right, I'll miss on purpose. I'll grip the tomato and let it fly. A wobbly duck that barely breaks apart when it hits the soft shoulder of the road. My bad shoulder throbs like crazy on the follow through. Ambrose, you're wasting tomatoes bearish Glen's angrily. Aaron silences him with a punch that would stop a rhino.
Shut up bear, a boy just got out of the hospital. Both of them launch into a list of excuses for why my tomato throwing isn't up to my usual high standard. That's okay. My best Friends are more than willing to fill in for me. It's a bad night to be driving on route one O 6 because a relentless artillery barrage of tomatoes is raining mercilessly down on the highway. That's when it happens. The usual splat, the screech of breaks. I watch in horror as a small Chevy skids off the road and goes nose first into the ditch. Instantly, Erin and bear are hurtling the fence and sprinting away from the scene of the crime. Come back, I hollered. The driver could be really hurt. Yeah, bear tosses over his shoulder, and there's going to be cops, run man, and I do, but not away. I scramble down the embankment toward the disabled car. All I can think of is the people inside. The guy manages to struggle out of the Chevy. He's a little dazed, but I can see he's pretty much okay. He's staring at his car, like he can't believe what happened. I squint through the darkness, and there's no passengers. I stop in my tracks.
I want to help the driver, but that could make trouble for Aaron and bear. Trouble they deserve, but who am I to judge? I created this activity. I wanted to learn about myself. Here's lesson number one. I have a choice. Escape, or try to help. If the old chase was anything like his friends, escape should win that argument hands down. But I guess what I'm learning is, I don't have to be the old chase. I can be someone new. With every single decision, I can choose to be new. I pull out my phone and dial 9-1-1, noting that I still remember what to do in an emergency. There's been an accident on the highway behind the retirement home on Portland street. A guy went off the road, I hear a keyboard clicking as the operator takes down the information. And who's calling? She asked me, hurry. I say and hang up. Who's calling? I wish I knew. Losing your memory is really hard, but now I'm starting to wonder if getting it back might be even harder. All right, so remember, for today, what your job is is to go through and define these underlying yell at words using context clues. The best you can in your notebook. If you would like to pause and go back to these sections, you can do that or you can access the document online through your Office 365 by going to my web page. Which is right here. All right, nice work, everyone. I'll see you tomorrow.