Guided Reading Level G Novels & Stories

I got into the elevator and pressed the downward button. In the snap of a finger, the elevator doors reopened, revealing a completely different scenery. The underground level of the building was a whole other story. The old white walls had been replaced with elegant cream and gold. The empty space was now filled with expensive furniture and people working as if it were just another regular job. “Oh, hello, Drake. It’s good to see you after so long, son.” The old lady with cat-eye glasses and silver hair—always tied into a bun at the back of her head—looked at me with a genuine smile.

Ava Clarke is twenty-one, bold, and fully aware of the rumors swirling around Professor Damon Wolfe-the Literature Department's most feared and desired professor. His classes are impossible to ace, and his gaze could undress you from across the room. Then she gets a C on an essay she knows deserved better. When she storms into his office demanding he explain himself, she expects a lecture. Not eyes that pin her in place like prey. "You want to be graded differently?" he asks. "Then earn it."

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Frowning, Katie interrupted a moment later as Glee clacked away at the keyboard. “There’s something you’re supposed to read.” “Hmm? Read?” “In the bookcase, Granna.” Katie crossed the room and removed something from the shelf, came back and set it on the corner of Glee’s desk hutch. It was a small, thin volume of some sort, with a worn brown cover and gold lettering along the spine. “Supposed to read it,” said Katie again, unsure of herself. Or rather, unsure how to proceed. “Chapter seven,” she went on furtively, “uh, page twenty-nine. Paragraph four . . . and five.” The girl fell silent, her pearly grays changing over to sea-green. “And six.”

There's a drawing on it. "Wow..." I murmur, my small, dainty fingers tracing the illustration of what looks like a cave door. On the page next to it, a bunch of text is written. I can't read any of it. All the pups my age can read. My eyes skim across the ink, tracing the letters and their shapes. I remember that Uncle Gideon has another book, I see it often when he teaches other pups how to read. Walking away from the desk, I look for that book. I find it high on the shelf, so I push the sofa chair until it's positioned right. Then I climb onto the seat and the backrest. I reach for the book, grabbing the spine of it. Once I'm down, I go back to the desk. I don't know how much time has pass