"Hey, Natalie! Nice sweatshirt!" I was passing through the hallways of school last year, being messenger boy for the teachers, when this girl walked up to me. I had no clue who she was, but I thought she was a year younger than me. That's why I thought it was weird that she said my name. But the "nice sweatshirt" bit was what really got me. I wasn't even wearing my sweatshirt. So. There was a substitute teacher in my literacy class, so my class was split. half of us did actual work, and the other half watched a documentary. Ben, Evan, Isabelle and myself were put together in the class watching the super boring documentary. We got bored, so, when Ben left the classroom for a bit and left his jacket behind, I don't remember why, but, I put on his sweatshirt and traded it for mine. This turned into everyone swapping sweatshirts for the next hour until school was out. At one point I was called to the office to deliver a message to a different classroom. I walked out of the office with the information, and turned around at the sound of my name. "Hey, Natalie! Nice sweatshirt!" I smiled and thanked her like the nice human being I want people to think I am. Once she started down the stairs I looked down at my sweatshirt. Black and orange? Nike? But my sweatshirt's gray and purple! Then I remembered our little game of "try not to get caught swapping sweatshirts and giggling". I wasn't wearing my sweatshirt. Someone else had it. I was wearing Evan's. It's also kind of sad because that was one of the only compliments I've gotten from a stranger all year. Complimented on something that wasn't even mine Welcome to my life, everybody! Why did Natalie think it was funny that she got complimented for her sweatshirt? A. She disliked the sweatshirt B. not enough information C. It wasn't her sweatshirt D. She wasn't wearing a sweatshirt
C

I frankly haven't the slightest idea what the difference is between a moka pot and a cafetiere, but I'm going to pretend I do. "Delicious," I say, setting down my cup. "Way better than that stuff you get at Starbucks." Everyone else nods their heads in agreement, but I can't help but wonder if they're just being polite. Jason is pouring cream into his cup with a practiced hand, letting the white stream fall from the pitcher's lip in a smooth and slender column that blooms across his coffee's surface like a carnivorous plant photographed in stop-motion. "Did you hear about Tibet?" he asks. "Yeah," I say, "Terrible." "What's really shocking," says my boss, "is the complete ignorance of, well, most of America about what's going on right now." "Terrible." chimes in Jason. "and what with the death of newspapers, soon practically no one will be able to easily come by a well-formed opinion." "Did you hear the New York Times might be going bankrupt?" my boss asks. "Now that," Jason says, draining his cup, "would be a tragedy." Our biscotti has arrived and I'm reluctant to take the first piece. Is Dr. Burns paying again? It makes me feel awkward, because and despite the fact that she paid the last time--and this was at her invitation. Jason, for all his savior faire, did not appear to know how a Turkish coffee tasting was really supposed to go last time, and did not question when Dr. Burns ordered for all of us. Tracy, similarly, followed the doctor's lead and silently acquiesced when she took the check from the waiter dressed in a vest and what I took be MC Hammer pants. At any rate, it's not too weird for the boss to pay, right? After last time, I had gone home and dug out a 1984 copy of Emily Post, but that wasn't much help. There was no heading for "Research Assistants" nor did I find a chapter on "Student/Professor Luncheons." Where is a newspaper in financial trouble? A. Emily Post's state of Florida B. Tibet C. New York D. not enough information
C

Light dappled through the trees in the family courtyard, painting shadows on the paving stones. Li Reiko knelt by her son to look at his scraped knee. "I just scratched it." Nawi squirmed under her hands. Her daughter, Aya, leaned over her shoulder studying the healing. "Maybe Mama will show you her armor after she heals you." Nawi stopped wiggling. "Really?" Reiko shot Aya a warning look, but her little boy's dark eyes shone with excitement. Reiko smiled. "Really." What did tradition matter? "Now let me heal your knee." She laid her hand on the shallow wound. "Ow." "Shush." Reiko closed her eyes and rose in the dark space within her mind. In her mind's eye, Reiko took her time with the ritual, knowing it took less time than it appeared. In a heartbeat, green fire flared out to the walls of her mind. She dissolved into it as she focused on healing her son. When the wound closed beneath her hand, she sank to the surface of her mind. "There." She tousled Nawi's hair. "That wasn't bad, was it?" "It tickled." He wrinkled his nose. "Will you show me your armor now?" She sighed. She should not encourage his interest in the martial arts. His work would be with the histories that men kept, and yet... "Watch." Pulling the smooth black surface out of the ether, she manifested her armor. It sheathed her like silence in the night. Aya watched with obvious anticipation for the day when she earned her own armor. Nawi's face, full of sharp yearning for something he would never have, cut Reiko's heart like a new blade. "Can I see your sword?" She let her armor vanish back into thought. "No." Reiko brushed his hair from his eyes. "It's my turn to hide, right?" Who in the story is traditionally expected to earn magical armor? A. Children of magic users B. not enough information C. Men D. Women
D