My other life [1] to anyone who happens to notice, i appear to live an ordinary life. i do exactly the same things as every other eighth-grade girl i know: i attend school, i mess up my room, i argue, and i needle my parents. i am typical in every way. i make certain that i am a practical carbon copy of everyone around me, my efforts calculated and taxing. i keep myself safe by ensuring that i am firmly, and in all ways, well within the boundaries of normal. i protect my secret by pretending that the portion everyone sees is my real existence. only i know how untrue this is, as my real life happens in the pockets of time i hide. when i am one with the dolphins, gliding in and out of waves, i am fulfilling the life i was meant to live. [2] when i was a young child concerned with only toys and wonder, my great-aunt used to share stories of swimming with majestic and graceful creatures in seas of neon blues and greens. she was in the thick of the action in every one of her tales, and she kept me spellbound with the fantastic details. i filed the experience of her storytelling deep inside as i grew, burying it in the cherished place in my core where memories nest. it was there with the first tooth i placed under my pillow and my third-grade end-of-year report card--the specifics fuzzy and distant enough to seem unimportant. i was still young when my aunt’s death took her from me. immediate concerns covered what lingered of her, like layers of soil cover a fossil. i had no conscious recall of the yarns she had spun until the day i swam too far, losing myself in strong currents, finding no one to hear my anguished cries for . [3] i struggled for an endless amount of time i had spent all my reserves when i let myself sink. i don’t know how long there was nothingness. i became aware of a force pushing me up and of the whoosh of a desperate intake of breath. my eyes focused to find a pod of dolphins circling me. i felt my body begin to move in rhythm to theirs, the pace and motion unfamiliar yet as natural as a morning stretch. [4] from that moment on, i knew what they knew; i saw as they saw. i couldn’t identify my emotions at first, in the irresistible pull to slough off human thought like clothing that does not fit. it was only later, as i lay panting on the sandy shore, that i recognized my feelings as joy and belonging. i had been home. [5] now i steal away to rejoin my real life in progress whenever i feel i can do so without giving away my secret. i don’t have to be told that the moment i reveal it, it is over. if i told even my closest friend, she would look at me in amazement and laugh. though i long to be with the dolphins so much more than i can say, i invest my energy in making the pretense of my land life seem full and total, in a holding pattern until i can steal away to the sea.

how would the story be affected if it were written in the third-person objective point of view?
a. the reader would learn more about the great-aunt’s tales.
b. the reader would not know the narrator’s private thoughts.
c. more characters would be introduced to show the narrator’s actions.
d. the dolphins would not have been included in the story.