This passage is adapted from Cristina Henríquez,The Book of.Unknown Americans. ©2014 by Cristina Henríquez..One afternoon I made chicharrones and carried.them over to Celia’s apartment..She clapped her hands together in delight when.she saw me and motioned for me to come inside..“These are for you,” I said, holding out a foil-.covered plate..She lifted a corner of the foil and sniffed..“Sabroso,” she said..I loved how full her home felt, embroidered.pillows on the couches, a curio stacked with milk.glass bowls and recuerdos and folded tablecloths, red.votives along the windowsills, spidery potted plants,.woven rugs, unframed posters of Panamá beaches on.the walls, a box of rinsed bottles on the floor, a small.radio on top of the refrigerator, a plastic bag filled.with garlic hanging from a doorknob, a collection of.spices clustered on a platter on the counter. The great.accumulation of things almost hid the cracks in the.walls and the stains on the floor and the scratches.that clouded the windows..“Mi casa es tu casa,” Celia joked as I looked.around. “Isn’t that what the Americans say?”.She poured cold, crackling Coca-Colas for both of.us, and we sat on the couch, sipping them and taking.small bites of the chicharrones. She looked just as she.had the first time I met her: impeccably pulled.together, with a face full of makeup, fuchsia lips,.chestnut-brown chin-length hair curled at the ends.and tucked neatly behind her ears, small gold.earrings. So unlike most of my friends at home, who.used nothing but soap on their faces and aloe on.their hands and who kept their hair pulled into.ponytails, like mine, or simply combed after it had.been washed and left to air-dry..Celia told me about the provisions we would need.for winter—heavy coats and a stack of comforters.and something called long underwear that made me.laugh when she tried to describe it—and about a.place called the Community House where they.offered immigrant services if we needed them. She.gossiped about people in the building. She told me.that Micho Alvarez, who she claimed always wore his.camera around his neck, had a sensitive side, despite.the fact that he might look big and burly, and that.Benny Quinto, who was close friends with Micho,.had studied to be a priest years ago. She said that.Quisqueya dyed her hair, which was hardly.news—I had assumed as much when I met her. “It’s.the most unnatural shade of red,” Celia said. “Rafael.says it looks like she dumped a pot of tomato sauce.on her head.” She chortled. “Quisqueya is a.busybody, but it’s only because she’s so insecure. She.doesn’t know how to connect with people. Don’t let.her put you off.”.Celia began telling me about when she and Rafael.and her boys had come here from Panamá, fifteen.years ago, after the invasion..“So your son, he was born there?” I asked..“I have two boys,” she said. “Both of them were.born there. Enrique, my oldest, is away at college on.a soccer scholarship. And there’s Mayor, who you.met. He’s nothing at all like his brother. Rafa thinks.we might have taken the wrong baby home from the.hospital.” She forced a smile. “Just a joke, of course.”.She stood and lifted a framed picture from the.end table. “This is from last summer before Enrique.went back to school,” she said, handing it to me..“Micho took it for us.”.In the photo were two boys: Mayor, whom I.recognized from the store, small for his age with.dark, buzzed hair and sparkling eyes, and Enrique,.who stood next to his brother with his arms crossed,.the faint shadow of a mustache above his lip..“What about you?” Celia asked. “Do you have.other children besides your daughter?”.“Only her,” I said, glancing at my hands around.the glass. The perspiration from the ice had left a ring.of water on the thigh of my pants..“And she’s going...”Celia trailed off, as though.she didn’t want to say it out loud..“To Evers.”.Celia nodded. She looked like she didn’t know.what to say next, and I felt a mixture of.embarrassment and indignation..“It’s temporary,” I said. “She only has to go there.for a year or two.”.“You don’t have to explain it to me.”.“She’s going to get better.”.“I’ve heard it’s a good school.”.“I hope so. It’s why we came.”.Celia gazed at me for a long time before she said,.“When we left Panamá, it was falling apart. Rafa and.I thought it would be better for the boys to grow up.here. Even though Panamá was where we had spent.our whole lives. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what parents.will do for their children?”.She put her hand on mine. A benediction. From.then, we were friends.Q: Which choice best describes the narrator’s relationship with Celia’s sons? Answer Choices: (A)The narrator knows Celia’s sons because they are friends with the narrator’s daughter. (B)The narrator’s daughter attends school with Mayor. (C)The narrator has seen Mayor in person, but she has seen Enrique only in Celia’s photo. (D)The narrator has seen Enrique play soccer, but she has never seen Mayor.
A: Among A through D, the answer is
(A)The narrator knows Celia’s sons because they are friends with the narrator’s daughter.
(B)The narrator’s daughter attends school with Mayor.
(C)The narrator has seen Mayor in person, but she has seen Enrique only in Celia’s photo.
(D)The narrator has seen Enrique play soccer, but she has never seen Mayor.
Answer: 2