Q: If you visited the Getty Center in July or early August, you may have encountered a group of high school students wearing white lab coats with "Teen Lab" splattered across the back. You might have spotted them testing kinetic sculptures made from recycled materials, sketching in front of artworks in the galleries, or taking Polaroid self-portraits inspired by David Hockney's photocollages. Online, you may have seen the playful social media stories they created to share their experiments with artistic and scientific processes. The teens were participants in the Getty Teen Lab, a four-week paid internship for high school students. Supported by a generous grant from the Vera R. Campbell Foundation, Teen Lab was the first of several teen-focused initiatives that the J. Paul Getty Museum is launching in 2017 and 2018. The Getty's Education Department developed Teen Lab in response to several seemingly disconnected questions that many art museums are grappling with today: How can we engage diverse youth in meaningful ways? How can museums help meet the rising demand for K-12 curriculum that integrates Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, and Math (STEAM)? Can art museums themselves be sites for STEAM learning? To address these questions, we looked at other teen programs and discovered that the most successful models are those that give teens agency and a voice in the museum.(1) For example, many museums have teen councils that program events for their peers or offer opportunities for students to collaborate on projects with artists.(2) The Getty wanted to build on these models by empowering teens to be active creators of educational content. In keeping with this goal, we designed the program using the project-based learning approach, which develops skills and knowledge by inviting students to explore solutions to authentic, real-world problems. Question: Why was the program created? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Because teens we're engaged at the museum.
- Because teens were not disconnected.
- not enough information
- Because teens were not diverse.

A: Because teens we're engaged at the museum.

Q: I was about 14 and lived near a large tract of undeveloped land where people would go and park to fool around. There was a dirt road through the tract, but further down, it crossed two huge concrete pipes. The dirt was washed out between them, and the deep gulch made it impossible to cross in a car. Sometimes, eight or ten of us would go looking for parked cars. If we found one or more, we would go move this incredibly heavy stump onto the road and lay a telephone pole across it. It took all of us and it was incredibly heavy. It was impossible to drive around it because of the ditches and there was no way two or three people could move it. We'd go back to the car and set off a big string of fire crackers or shake the cat and slap on it and run like crazy. We'd watch from the woods as they drove like heck and come to a screeching stop at our roadblock. The guy would get out and try to lift the pole. Never happen. Then the car would drive the other way. That wouldn't happen because of the pipes. We'd go home leaving them in there. This was before cell phones, and it was miles to a pay phone. We'd go back the next day and find the stump and pole moved. We thought it was real funny until one night we set it up and beat on the trunk of a car. A couple was inside, getting it on. We hadn't noticed a guy sitting on the hood with a bottle of booze and a pistol. As we ran, he was shooting and we could hear bullets going through the underbrush. No one was hit, thank goodness. That was the end of that stunt. Question: How does the group (or some) of boys feel after the shooting episode? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Thankful they were not hit
- not enough information
- Amused about the episode
- Consider it fun to continue looking for parked cars

A: Thankful they were not hit

Q: My then-teenage daughter and I went to a new restaurant. It was empty apart from the manager. We were told to find ourselves a table, so we sat in an attractive area sort of like a small stage. No waitress came by for 10 minutes, so we decided to visit the restroom; there was just one, with one toilet. But a woman rushed in ahead of us, carrying a bundle of clothes. Several minutes later, when she reappeared, we realized this was our waitressarriving late and pushing us customers out of the way so she could change. OK We each used the restroom and returned to our table. But it was not our table anymore. Along came the manager to explain she needed to set aside the stage-like area for a very special group. My daughter and I had already been debating whether to stay or leave. We stayed only because we were very hungry and worried that we'd have to start waiting all over again if we tried a different place. We were led to our new table: a lonely little table in the hall leading to the toilet. I was ready to get out of there, pronto, but my daughter spotted her favorite meal on the menu. But after another 15 minutes, with the lone waitress not appearing, we both shook our heads and got up Oh, here's the waitress! We ordered. Fifteen minutes later, no food. We got up again and exited past the stage-like area, which was just as empty as it had been when we were ejected. The very special people had not arrivedso (had we been served) we could have enjoyed our meal right there. We did find food elsewhere. The first place closed in less than a month. Good riddance! Question: where was the new table? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- in the hall
- not enough information
- near the kitchen
- away from the bathroom

A: in the hall

Q: I was lost. As I sat parked at the old service station, I pulled out the maps and tried to do a little backtracking. It didn't take me long to figure out where I had made the wrong turn. I had tried following my memory instead of Luna's directions and wound up about eighty miles off course. My gas tank was pushing 'E' but fortunately the service station was open. When I stepped out of my Jeep, I could feel the soles of my boots melt on the asphalt. The heat coming off the cracked and pitted cement peeled off in waves that rolled out in every endless direction. The barren mountains in the distance looked unstable, like I was looking at them through a window pane slicked with olive oil. I slogged my way over to the gas pump and wrapped my shirt around the handle to keep my skin from burning against the desert-baked metal. The heat was so great I worried the fumes would ignite. A dirty round man stood in the shadowy doorway of the ramshackle service station and stared at me while he rubbed his hands inside an oily red rag. The oval name-patch stitched to his coveralls was loose at one end and curled like a leaf in the heat. His name was Jack. I topped off the tank and then walked over to him. "You work here?" I knew it was a stupid question the second it left my mouth. He and I were the only living things for fifty miles in any direction. Who the hell else would be working here? "Who the hell else would be working here?" he said. I shrugged my shoulders and pulled out my wallet. Jack wobbled inside behind a glass counter filled with everything from belt buckles to oil funnels. "That your momma's car?" he asked. It's impossible to tell what kind of psychological impact this heat would have on a man who lived out here alone, but I was sure it wasn't positive. Question: What kind of person is Jack likely to be? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- He is friendly.
- He is grumpy.
- He is outgoing.

A:
He is grumpy.