Read the following context and answer the question. Context: The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. Question: Who does the narrator hate? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- himself
- not enough information
- His parents
- The doctors
His parents

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: The office smelled like money. Brand new carpet, somebody's expensive perfume still hanging in the air. The chairs in the waiting room are leather and the copy machine has a million attachments and there's pictures on the wall that I don't know what they're supposed to be. Made me ashamed of the shirt I was wearing, the cuffs all frayed and some of the buttons don't match. The secretary is a knockout and I figure Dennis has got to be getting in her pants. Red hair and freckles and shiny skin that looks like she just got out of a hot shower. A smile like she really means it. My name was in the book and she showed me right on in. Dennis shook my hand and put me in a chair that was slings and tube steel. The calendar next to his desk had a ski scene on it. Behind him was solid books, law books all in the same binding, also some biographies and political stuff. "Too bad you couldn't make the reunion," Dennis said. "It was a hoot." "I just felt weird about it," I said. I still did. It looked like he wanted me to go on, so I said, "I knew there'd be a bunch of y'all there that had really made good, and I guess I...I don't know. Didn't want to have to make excuses." "Hard to believe it's been twenty years. You look good. I still wouldn't want to run into you in a dark alley, but you look fit. In shape." "I got weights in the garage, I try to work out. When you're my size you can go to hell pretty quick. You look like you're doing pretty good yourself." Charlene is always pointing to people on TV and talking about the way they dress. With Dennis I could see for the first time what she's talking about. The gray suit he had on looked like part of him, like it was alive. When I think about him in grungy sweats back at Thomas Jefferson High School, bent double from trying to run laps, it doesn't seem like the same guy. Question: Dennis and the author's meeting probably lasted: Answer:
OPTIONS:
- one hour
- few days
- not enough information
- few hours

Answer: one hour

Read the following context and answer the question. Context: I don't see a point. That's the biggest problem with my life currently. I honestly, don't see a point. Am I working towards temporary monetary gain? Is my goal supposed to be buying my dream car(s)? Is my goal spiritual? I'm currently Catholic, but I've seen how spiritually those around me have changed. I've even wondered what's the point of heaven, if everything I want is there. I like life because of the ups and the downs. I enjoy learning and discovering new things. The idea of perfection seems like an impossible concept to me. Maybe even an unenjoyable one. Maybe my goal is to have a family. Being catholic naturally we gravitate towards larger families. But as a libertarian I don't see a lot of potential in the United States at it pertains to economic freedoms. I see the government encroaching more and more into our lives. Is this the type of country I want to raise a family in? I certainly don't want to be outside the United States (no offense towards anyone outside of the U.S). Maybe my goal is political. I've always wanted to run for office. Maybe governor one day. Would I be able to avoid the waves of bipartisanship, and actually do what I believe is the best for the people of my state. Or would I collapse under the political pressures and sign up for agreements I know in my heart and mind won't help the people. Only time will tell. I just don't see a point. I actually have many goals, but I struggle to see the overall point of accomplishing any of it. Especially seeing as anything I do will be lost in the ink-blots of history. Question: The author probably believes what about the size of his or her family? Answer:
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- the author wants a small family
- the author doesn't want a family
- the author wants a large family
the author wants a large family