Read the excerpt below from Chris Jacobs' narrative called Everlasting. As you read, think about how Jacobs creates an effective anecdote. The car ride would have been long for a grown-up. For a first-grader, it was eternity. There were no iPads or even Game Boys back then to hold my focus; all I had was my red Thundercats lunchbox, the occasional emerald highway sign to mark our progress, and a tongue that churned out Whys like a Ford factory line.

Why do we have to get up when it's still nighttime? Why am I going to a new school? Why does it have to be so far?

Over the course of the first few weeks—once my mom caught on that these questions were actually complaints, her responses lost some of their patience. Though she handled the daily drives with grace, the bluish bags forming under her eyes told a different story: one about her years spent in poorly-funded, inner-city schools, and the doors that would close on her because of them. But I didn't get to hear that story till years later. For now, I just settled into a frustrated six-year-old silence, my attention flitting to the many switches and buttons in her aging '76 Dodge Aspen.

On one morning's ride, in an attempt to run defense on my mischief, Mom held up my lunchbox.

"Listen," she hushed, giving it three good shakes.

I gasped, my body snapping to attention. Two shakes would have been enough for me to recognize that sound—a deep, delicious clack of candy marbles that could only be—yes, yes, they were—

"Gobstoppers!!" I tore the lunchbox from her hands, pouring its contents onto my lap. "A whole box?!" I squealed.

How is this an effective beginning to the story?

It tells the main anecdote of the story.
It explains why the author is going to a new school.
It gives the entire background of the author’s childhood.
It sets up the importance of Gobstoppers in the story.