That day, my mother picked me up from school, wearing the yellow sundress and shawl I remembered from our trip with Father the year before. She looked just like she did most days back then--a glamour queen, a movie star ("Just like Lena Horne," my friend Chloe had once said, "only darker--oh, sorry, Leah!"), but today her beauty somehow had a harder, more defiant edge to it. I could smell the expensive Dior perfume as soon as I opened the door, which surprised me, because my mom was usually fastidious about not getting perfume on her clothes. She was wearing her bug glasses--huge dark things with lenses that bulged out like fly eyes and reflected my face like a fun-house mirror. She had tied a yellow silk scarf around her hair and was taking deep pulls on a cigarette held between two immaculately manicured fingers. Only I knew about the nicotine stains she carefully covered with her special order "forest sable" cream each morning. Tiffany, a stupid but vicious senator's daughter who I had the misfortune of sharing a classroom with, suddenly dashed from inside the school, her face flushed. "Hello, Mrs. Wilson," she called. Before my mother could respond, she giggled and ran back to three of her friends waiting beyond the door. I could hear them laughing, but I was glad I couldn't understand their words. They were all fascinated with my mother--the black housekeeper who dressed like Katharine Hepburn and drove a Cadillac, whose daughter's "light toffee" skin indicated that she might just like her coffee with a lot of cream. Sometimes I hated those girls. "Get in the car, Leah," my mother said. Her already husky voice was pitched low, as though she'd been crying. That made me nervous. Why was she here? "Ma, Chloe was going to show me her dad's new camera. Can't I go home on the bus?" My mom pulled on the cigarette until it burned the filter, and then ground it into the car ashtray--already filled with forty or so butts. She always emptied out the ashtray each evening. Question: For how long were the girls probably laughing? Options: - a few months - a couple of minutes - a few days - not enough information === The correct answer is
a couple of minutes

Today, many academics feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. They're under huge pressure to write and publish but an ever-growing mountain of teaching and admin is stopping them doing just that. Our research finds that whilst nobody is immune to these pressures, some academics cope better than others and that's because over the years, they've developed personal "systems" to help them write. We recently carried out in-depth interviews with 23 scholars across the UK, Europe and the US. We deliberately chose a diverse group so as to not make any assumptions based on age, seniority, or research background. Academic experience ranged from six months to 27 years and subject fields ranged from social sciences, economics, business, and arts. We did this as part of our user research to inform the development of Prolifiko a digital coaching tool for writers. Whilst every academic had developed a writing productivity system personal to them, we found there were six common "habits" that the most prolific (and generally least stressed) academics tended to use. 1. They "time-block" their writing in advance Scheduling booking in time to write in advance was the single most common habit of our writers. It didn't appear to matter what type of time-blocking method a scholar chose to use or how lengthy a writing session was. Some blocked out long periods of time on sabbatical, whilst others preferred to block out short, regular times throughout the day or across a week. What seemed to matter far more was the act of planning, as this mentally prepared the individual for writing and so made the process easier and less stressful. "When I need to write I block out time. I'm lucky in that I can work from home I block out a couple of straight days to do the writing and I plan it in beforehand. I couldn't really write in any other way than blocking out that time." Question: Prolific academics block their time: Options: - not enough information - While writing - After finishing their projects - In advance === The correct answer is
In advance

So, I worked with a friend of mine who was a playwright to put together a play to take to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. It was a three person show, and one of the roles was written specifically for me. Many of the lines were written after we improvised the scenes in my living room as she wrote the piece. Took it to Scotland, where it was quite well received. A year or so later, it was being produced in New York in a much more prestigious setting. I auditioned, was called back a couple times, and got to the play the role again. Fantastic! THEN, it was produced by an even larger theatre. Different producer, different casting director, etc. I went to the open call for it, and the casting director treated me really poorly. It was odd. She looked at my resume and said, "It says you have already played this role." I said, "Yes, I was fortunate enough to workshop it and originate the role." She looked at me like I was lying. I mean, shuttled me out the door like I was a crazy woman. Needless to say, I was not called back. And that was okay(I mean, of course I wanted to do the show with this group of people, but hey, we can't always get what we want). Fast forward to opening night: my playwright friend invites me to see the show. The actress playing "my" role was fantastic, but they had to change lines in the script that indicated what she looked like, because she was of Hawaiian descent. Again, no big dealand she was great! What was strange was meeting the director that evening. My friend introduced me as the originator of the role, and the director asked me why I hadn't auditionedOverall, it wasn't a harsh rejection or a terrible story, it was just weird to have been treated like a liar when I was not lying Question: After the end of the story, the actor is probably going to do what with her friend? Options: - Discuss what the director said to her. - not enough information - never talk about the director again - Try to get a part in the play with the director who rejected her === The correct answer is
Discuss what the director said to her.