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. Why does the narrator believe he should be allowed entry? A. not enough information B. Because he is a cop. C. Because he has an invitation. D. Because he is important.
C

No grades (ever), no sitting down at desks, and harnessing student boredom as a motivator to create and explore might seem an odd recipe for academic success and entry to university, but that is exactly what one of Scotland's newest schools is attempting to do. Drumdruan Upper School was created a few years ago by Scottish actress Tilda Swinton, star of many a Hollywood blockbuster and forever in my mind the terrifying Witch in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The school extends a Steiner education beyond the age of 14, and takes students through to their University years. The Observer has published a fascinating and detailed account of some of the recipe that makes this a special place and, above all, has bowled over the traditionally conservative schools inspectorate: That is not what happened: the inspectors sat in the classes and watched the students. And if you watch the students at Drumduan, you soon notice they are confident, articulate, highly motivated and respectful. These are, in fact, the words used by the inspectors in their subsequent report. You might even believe the students at Drumduan wanted to be there. The inspectors clearly felt so, but it was when they had retired to an office to confer that Krzysztof, a master of the spontaneous gesture, delivered the coup de grace. He sang to them. Music is something of a hallmark at Drumduan, where children participate in regular workshops often on instruments like a wheelie bin and start each day singing in four-part harmonies. "We were rehearsing in another room, and I said: 'This song is terrific, we have to show these inspectors,'" Krzysztof recalls. "So we burst into their office they were a bit alarmed and I said: 'I'm sorry, we've just got to sing this song to you.'" The song was "Media Vita", a medieval score of haunting beauty that reduced the inspectors to tears, according to Krzysztof. Bowled over by their praise he is a man whose emotions are close to the surface Krzysztof asked if he could give them a hug, probably a... Who created the Drumdruan Upper School? A. Scottish actress Tilda Sweenan B. Scottish actress Tilda Swinton C. Scottish actress Tilda Swanson D. not enough information
B

Went straight from a facility that deals with homeless children (492 1st Ave, Manhattan, New York) to the extreme outskirts of Queens near Kennedy Airport about 20 miles away. It was winter and I had no coat. I had my book bag and my sole Trader Joe's bag of clothing and was loaded into a van with three social workers. During the long drive in traffic, I fell asleep, so waking up at my new home, I couldn't make out any street signs and the numbering on the houses did not indicate whether I was in a home in the Bronx or Eastern Queens (which share the same street numbering in certain instances). My foster parents showed me my room and left a plate of food on the table. They barricaded themselves in their bedroom quite like how pilots barricade themselves behind the fortified cockpit door. However, my room didn't have a lock, and neither did the bathroom. There were bars on my windows with a view of a church parking lot. I took great care to avoid waking a significantly older teen (I was 14, so he must have been 1920) sleeping on the other bed. I heard two other kids (my foster siblings) in the other room playing music and giggling loudly at 3 in the morning. At 4 in the morning, my foster father started reading the Quran pretty loudly, and then he goes back to bed. In the morning, my foster parents are gone. My foster siblings are all sleeping. I got up at 7, but I don't know how far I am from my high school, what buses/train will take me there, and still don't know anything about anything about my new home. I don't even know the names of those I'm relegated to living with. The unnerving strangeness and disorientation hat comes with knowing that your life has changed and the culture shock that comes with that is so scary and desensitizes you on that first day. After the foster parents left a plate of food on the table, what did the child do? A. not enough information B. feed the food to a dog C. eat the food D. throw away the food
C