"Looks good, Boys." Billy-Eye knew he had been taking a big chance leaving the final details for his sons to handle. He had not even visited the place all week. It was Friday, 5:30 PM--thirty minutes before the grand opening of Billy-Eye's Arcade and Dance Barn. The arcade room had been arranged nicely--although not the way Billy-Eye would have done it. But still, it was good. The two popcorn machines were ready to go. High school aged workers were ready to hand out bags of the stuff. The first group in the competition was warming up on the bandstand. A stand-alone blackboard to the right side of the drums had the name of the band written across it in white chalk: The Triangulators. Each band would be responsible for putting their name on that board. "Glad you like it, Daddy." Craig beamed. Finally, he had done something right. "So, what do you think? Will we have a full house tonight?" said Billy-Eye. "Sure," said Lenny with a naive smile. "Hopefully," said Craig. "They get in free, get to hear eleven bands, and get all the free popcorn and coke they want. I'm sure the kids have heard our radio ad." "Maybe we should have made the games free too," said Lenny. "Hey, we can't give everything away," said Billy-Eye. "We're only charging a quarter for the games as it is." He walked back out into the main hall. "Is the refrigerator all stocked up?" "Yes, Sir," said Craig. "It's loaded with frozen pizzas, hot dogs, and condiments. And we've got plenty of hot dogs buns and candy." "And the soda fountains?" "Ready to go." "And I see you got the ice machine set up." Billy-Eye smiled. "Great. I'm proud of you boys." Question: Who had done something right? Options: A. not enough information B. Craig. C. Lenny. D. Billy-Eye. === The correct answer is
B

"Hon? You still awake?" Quiet. Jan pulled herself out of the bed and stood up, looking around the dark room for anything. She needed something, something that she could grab onto, and hold, hold until it hurt, hold until blood made racing red lines down her arms, until her hands were raw. She left the room and walked quietly into the now guest room that had been Rob's. Opening the closet, she found the teddy bear that Rob had once confided in and held it in her arms tight as she slumped down on the bed. A quiet sobbing rang through the house accompanied only by the chime of the grandfather clock in the living room every fifteen minutes. As Jan lay on the guest room bed she soon resorted to deep gasps, knowing that meager tears would never be forceful enough to express her worry to those that listened. "Just bring him home, bring him home, bring him home," she mumbled over and over, each time changing the tone slightly in a desperate attempt to make her pleading sound more real. She could hear the occasional snore of her husband and she hated him for it. What kind of person could find sleep at a time like this? Why wasn't he awake worrying? Why wasn't he with her? Her thoughts became dark like blood, evil little monsters eating at her sanity. If her son was crazy and not just a drug addict she could see how easy it was to fall over the line. "Please God, please God, please God, please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob." Soon, a sleep came but it was peppered with demons. And as the sliver of sun peeked through the window, she held her false self-control tight and said little. Question: How long has Rob probably been gone? Options: A. not enough information B. two weeks C. half an hour D. a few days === The correct answer is
D

(Q).
"Congratulations, jackass, you just got us sued." My editor, Sharon, was standing in front of my desk. She was apparently not happy. I shrugged, slouching further down in my chair, trying to hide from her gigantic crazy eyes behind my computer. It was a white laptop with a sticker that said "This Machine Kills Yuppies" slapped over the corporate logo on back. She reached out with one of her freakish man-hands and slammed the screen shut. "Let me try this again. You just got us sued six times over." Sharon Sinclair was a six-foot-tall beast of a woman with a huge mane of wiry black and gray hair pulled back in a pony tail. I had every confidence that she could tear me in two and use my bloody carcass in some kinky hedonistic lesbian cult ritual or something. So I usually tried to choose my words with the appropriate care around her. "Jesus-fucking-Christ, I haven't even had my morning coffee yet, and my head's still reeling from the Louisville Slugger that pummeled it last night. So I really don't feel like dealing with whatever annoying hormonal episode you have going on here." She glared at me silently, watching me squirm a little before asking, "Are you done?" "Probably." "Good," she said with a suppressed grin as she took a seat next to me. "Because I just let you publicly accuse the mayor and the valley's most powerful corporations of conspiring to defraud the taxpayers. So what's your plan for keeping my ass off the firing line?" I tilted back in my chair and met Sharon's gaze. "Look, we knew we'd get a strong reaction. Let them sue. We have e-mails to back us up." "These legal briefings say your e-mails were forged," she responded, waving a thick stack of papers in my face. "Of course they're gonna say that. That's why I made sure to get corroboration. Abrasax confirmed that the e-mails between Dylan Maxwell and City Hall are legit. But you know all this, so I don't know why we're wasting time going over it again." Question: When did Sharon sit down? Options: A. After her conversation with the protagonist. B. not enough information C. Before her conversation with the protagonist. D. During her conversation with the protagonist. === The correct answer is
(A).
D