user: Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: My mother’s first career was as a beautician. Growing up, she cut everyone in our family’s hair; she dyed mine whenever I wanted, and whatever crazy color I wanted, too. Until I was a senior in high school, I had never been to a salon. I don’t even remember why I went this time. Mom was going to have her hair done, and I had tagged along. She asked if I wanted a cut too and I said why not? So while Mom was getting her hair done I looked through the books and picked out a cute pageboy style that I liked. Finally it was my turn and after talking with the stylist and showing her what I wanted, she led me to the shampoo station. Now, as everybody who has ever been to a salon knows, you sit back in the chair with your neck in the indentation and they wash your hair. But I had never been to a salon. When mom washed my hair after dyeing it, I always leaned over the sink. So … I started to climb into the chair and lean over the sink here, too. My mom was mortified and the stylist couldn’t figure out what in the heck I was doing. Mom calls out, “No, Jennifer … you sit in the chair.” I look over my shoulder at her and then realize what I’ve done. Red-faced, I stand up and then turn around to sit and lean back in the chair. I honestly wanted to die right there. I’m pretty sure the stylist thought I was developmentally delayed or something because she talked to me for the rest of the time like one would talk to a three-year-old. Mom tried to explain that I’d never been to a salon before, but I think that just made the situation worse. Thankfully I’ve been to many salons now and understand how everything works, but I’ve never returned to THAT one. Question: Where was Jennifer likely to go after she left the shampoo station? Options:  A. not enough information  B. To high school  C. To the exit  D. To the stylist's chair
D
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Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: Hello I have been chased by a couple of angry dogs. I was visiting one of my clients, when, suddenly, out of the bushes, two snarling dogs attacked me. They weren’t necessarily mad, as in crazy, but they were very angry. They were large dogs, and they attacked my legs, knocking me down. I knew it was very dangerous to be down on the ground, as I was most vulnerable. I covered my genitalia, my neck and my face, as I struggled to regain my feet. Fortunately, during my fall, I saw a large tree branch on the ground near me. I grabbed it, and starting beating the dogs with it. I managed to land a few good hits. As I was hitting the dogs, their owner (my client) came outside, stood on her porch and laughed at me. When she saw me hitting her dogs with a stick, she called the dogs off of me. I asked her why her dogs attacked me, and why she laughed at me. She said that she had just given her dogs a big steak bone and they were upset when I came near and attacked me. I asked her why she would set me up in this way when she knew I was on the way over. She admitted that she wanted to see what happened, and she said that when she saw what happened she thought that it was funny. I did not keep the appointment with her. My trousers were torn, and my ankles, legs, and hands were bleeding. I told her that I would not be back, and left. Later that night, her husband called to apologize on her behalf. I told him that I appreciated the call, but he wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. Peace Question: What did the writer do when the dogs attacked? Options:  A. not enough information  B. The writer hit them with a tree branch.  C. The writer screamed for help.  D. The writer kicked at the dogs.
B
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Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: “Please remember me to myself!” When sliding toward mania in 2016, I begged this of my therapist. He cocked his head. “What do you mean?” I had no idea—on a conscious level—what I was asking for, just that I felt in a desperate sense that the self I knew was slipping away. An inability to recognize myself either in my writing or in reflecting upon my own actions was taking over. And then…? I didn't care. I wanted to kiss girls. Which is fine—just not something I ordinarily do. I wanted to drink, smoke. Again, fine—but not something I ordinarily do. “Do I seem…okay?” I asked a colleague at work. A woman I barely knew. Insanely, I thought that since she worked with disabled students, many of whom struggled with mental illness, she would know mania when she saw it. This was a rather foolish assumption—especially since she's an educator, not a psychiatrist, especially with how skilled I am at wearing the mask of calm, the face of sanity. “You seem great, Julie. Cheery. Professional as always.” I let her reassurance placate me. Wanted to be placated. Yet, within months I lost my job. And not only that, but a chance at a scholarship, two really important long term friendships—relationships I'd enjoyed since high school. I was hospitalized three times between September and February. I lost my ability to trust myself, lost my mind. It is now a little over two years since I first felt that sliding. Twenty-six months since I knew that somewhere in the deepest parts of who I am, I was slipping. Nine seasons since I begged Dr. Poe, “Remember me to myself!” I'm still recuperating. Yes. I have felt like I wasn't me. Question: What kind of help did Julie get after the situations in her story? Options:  A. not enough information  B. Her husband and her went to couple's therapy.  C. She received professional mental help .  D. She got a tummy tuck.


assistant: C
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