Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: We gave Tiger swimming lessons in our plastic wading pool. I taught the kitten the way Pa taught me: I threw him into water where he could not stand, and I watched, ready to grab him if he went under. Tiger did not thrash desperately like me. He merely paddled urgently for the edge of the plastic pool with his head high and his thin legs churning. Little Bit said, "Dog paddle," and we all laughed. "Tiger paddle," I said, and we all laughed some more, even Jordy. That was probably when Ma noticed the kitten swimming lessons and stopped them. Our swimming lessons happened in two places. When Pa took us, we went to Hawkins Springs behind Mrs. DeLyons' Fountain of Youth Motor Hotel. When Ma took us, we drove to Mermaid Springs State Park, where we would sometimes meet Mr. Drake. I liked Mermaid Springs better because I felt safe there. Ma could not swim, so she never made me jump off a dock into deep water, and she always insisted that I wear an orange styrofoam cylinder on my back like a skindiver or spaceman. Ma usually sat on a towel on the grass near the beach, reading a magazine or a book while tanning her legs. Every now and then she would call to us not to go too far or not to splash each other. When she wore her one-piece red swimming suit, she would come in up to her waist, then lower herself to her shoulders, being careful not to get her hair wet. On the rarest occasions, she would wear a swimming cap and float on her back in the shallow water. Often she stayed in her shorts and shirt, adding sunglasses and removing shoes as her concession to summer and the beach. Question: Where did Pa take them for lessons? Options: A. the beach B. not enough information C. Hawkins Springs D. Mermaid Springs
C

(Question)
Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: "It's about to come on. Hurry." "I'm coming." Nurse Judy delivered Martha's tray just in time. It was a frozen dinner, but Judy always transferred it to a fancy plate and prepared a small salad and a bowl of applesauce to go alongside it. "Looks great, Judy. Now sit down and let's eat." Nurse Judy sat down in the recliner next to Martha's bed. The meal she made for herself was similar to Martha's. "Didn't we just see this one a few days ago?" "I don't remember. But you know it doesn't matter. I love Jessica Fletcher." It was the only good thing about her failing memory. She could watch reruns of Murder She Wrote over and over again. They were all new to her. The doorbell rang. "Whoever it is, just get rid of them. It couldn't be friends or family. They know better than to interrupt my show." Nurse Judy walked down the hallway to the front door. It was a nurse. "May I help you?" "The agency sent me." "No, there must be some mistake. I've been caring for Mrs. Mason for a couple of months now." "Oh, great. Why do they keep doing this to me? Mind if I come in and use the phone?" "Don't you have a cell phone?" "Yeah, but it's dead. I forgot to charge it last night." "I hate when I do that. Sure, come on in. What's your name?" "Carnie." "Good to meet you, Carnie. I'm Judy. You can use the house phone." Judy led her to the phone. Carnie picked up the receiver and began to dial. But as Judy turned to walk away, Carnie slammed the phone across the back of her head. Nurse Judy collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Martha's blaring TV masked the noise. Question: What did Martha eat for dinner Options: A. not enough information B. A frozen dinner and a small salad C. Pizza D. Chicken breast
(Answer)
B

Ques: Read the following context and choose the correct option to answer the question. Context: I showed up at the address on Columbine's invitation just before eleven; it was a converted warehouse in an industrial zone on the city's north side. Since it was a Saturday night, everything else was empty for miles. The parking lot was filled with sports cars, hybrids, and shiny suburban tanks. The door facing the parking lot was open, spilling out muted lights and the din of yuppie chatter. It cast a somewhat foreboding aura over the entrance. The first thing I noticed as I approached was the beefy refrigerator in a rented tux blocking the doorway. The second thing was the surveillance camera perched on the wall above his head. I had stopped home and changed first, so I was sure I was dressed mostly appropriately for some rich faux-hipster art party - charcoal gray pinstripe jacket over a TV on the Radio t-shirt, skinny cuffed jeans, Docs, and a black fedora. I certainly didn't look any worse than the other idiots I saw filing in and out of the door. I even had an invitation. So I was fairly confident I'd be able to gain admission to this thing without incident. "No, absolutely not," the doorman said, pressing a meaty palm into my chest. "I was invited!" I said, exasperated. "I have documentation." I waved the rave card in front of his face. "No dice." I stepped aside to let a couple of aging goths through the door and wondered for a moment if the doorman somehow knew who I was. Then I noticed the ear piece he was wearing and my eyes darted back to the surveillance camera. "Motherfucker," I spat and raised both arms to flip off the camera. I didn't know it at the time, but at that moment Dylan Maxwell was sitting in front of a wall of monitors, laughing his ass off. Question: Who was standing under the surveillance camera? Options: A. The doorman B. Hipster C. not enough information D. Dylan
Ans:
A