Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Q: So many kids, so many stories. Parents die, leaving kids devastated and unable to speak for days. Parents get deported, leaving kids despondent and hopeless. Children endure emotional, sexual, physical abuse. And more.
The saddest story I ever heard was from the kid in my AP Lit class who had taken her senior year to accept invitations from education reform groups to speak around the country, which she did, without doing any of her homework. She waited until after grades were turned in at the end of the year to contest the "D" on her report card because it meant not going to UC Berkeley. She brought her mother with her, and her two sisters. After going around and around for a while with me and the principal, her mother said that her divorce had really affected this girl, and she had been fighting so hard all her life to get into Berkeley, and what did I have against her daughter? She deserved to go to Cal! They were all in tears.
The principal found a way to change her 64% to a 70.01%, and off she went.
This young woman full of potential and energy, learned from her mother and my boss, that excuses rule the day. She appears to think that "social justice" means fighting to get your way because the deck is stacked against you, instead of doing the right thing. This is sad. I know this isn't what you were after, and that this memory says more about me than it does about her.
Many other kids I have counseled, who are getting through something life-changing, seem to understand that life is in session, there will always be challenges to rise above, and that focusing in the classroom is a great way to get one's mind off one's troubles, if the environment is supportive and the spirit is willing. Question: Who thinks that social justice means fighting to get your way

A: The girl in the AP class
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Q: "Hon? You still awake?"
Quiet.
Jan pulled herself out of the bed and stood up, looking around the dark room for anything. She needed something, something that she could grab onto, and hold, hold until it hurt, hold until blood made racing red lines down her arms, until her hands were raw. She left the room and walked quietly into the now guest room that had been Rob's. Opening the closet, she found the teddy bear that Rob had once confided in and held it in her arms tight as she slumped down on the bed. A quiet sobbing rang through the house accompanied only by the chime of the grandfather clock in the living room every fifteen minutes. As Jan lay on the guest room bed she soon resorted to deep gasps, knowing that meager tears would never be forceful enough to express her worry to those that listened. "Just bring him home, bring him home, bring him home," she mumbled over and over, each time changing the tone slightly in a desperate attempt to make her pleading sound more real.
She could hear the occasional snore of her husband and she hated him for it. What kind of person could find sleep at a time like this? Why wasn't he awake worrying? Why wasn't he with her? Her thoughts became dark like blood, evil little monsters eating at her sanity. If her son was crazy and not just a drug addict she could see how easy it was to fall over the line. "Please God, please God, please God, please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob, Please Rob." Soon, a sleep came but it was peppered with demons. And as the sliver of sun peeked through the window, she held her false self-control tight and said little. Question: Who did the guest room belong to?

A: Rob
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Q: I had this one guy, who enjoyed being a part time bully and part time neutral to me.
To say the least he was annoying. He'd take the liberty to hide my backpack, borrow my books without consent, doodle scandalous stuff on my notebooks with a pen and yada yada.
So one day, I was showing this cool trick I learned on an anatomy program on the TV to a couple of classmates who used to sit around me. The thing was that you can't flex your ring finger upwards if you put your middle finger under the palm (try that)
We were all kids, and soon everyone in the class started staring at us weirdos looking laughing at out hands. The bully noticed it too, and came near to inquire about this hand stuff. I described the trick and he was impressed.
And then,
I saw our teacher walking up the corridor, just a couple paces behind the class door. So, I asked him (the bully) if he wanted to see another trick and to that he nodded a big yes.
Cool,
What I did was, that I grabbed his right arm by the thumb and put it on my throat right above the larynx. Then I quickly shifted my grip to his wrist. He without batting an eye, asked what I was doing, but then I started beating the desk with my other hand and made squeaking noises while pushing his hand against my throat harder with every turning head. And voila! Every one in the class (including the teacher) thought he was smothering me.
After a few ifs and buts between him and the teacher, he was summoned at the principal's chambers, from where, later he was sent home, where presumably judging from the look on his face for the next few days, he was beat to crap by his folks.
And after that, never was I ever bothered by anyone in the school.(^^) Question: Who got in trouble?

A:
the bully
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