Unit 1 Practice Test

Unit 1 Practice Test

by Alicia Hill

Multiple Choice

(1)The flat, rectangular stone inside my new ring was purple indoors, and green outdoors. And it wasn’t one of those cheap mood rings from the mall that everyone knows just change color based on body temperature. This was the real deal—an amethyst, set in a delicate gold band and delivered to me by my parents the night I turned 13. They’d had it for years, they explained, waiting until they thought I’d be old enough to care for it properly.

(2)I loved that ring. But not because it was pretty, although it was. And not because it marked a new level of trust and responsibility within my family’s hierarchy.¹ I loved it because when I sat in class and tilted it to the side ever so slightly, I could see a whole other world in the face of the purple stone.

(3)The first time it happened was accidental. I was taking notes in my notebook and out of the corner of my eye, the image of a house suddenly appeared in my ring. I remember gasping, shocked. I tilted my hand to the right, and the house disappeared. No! I quickly tilted it back. The house returned. Tilting to the left brought more houses and lawns and a road. I honestly, for about a full minute, thought I was glimpsing another world, purple and full of fairy-tale creatures and lawns that sprouted only purple grass. My heart pounded with excitement. I’m sure I didn’t hear a thing the teacher said.

(4)I had a magic ring!

(5)And then . . . well, a car drove by. Inside the ring. That broke the spell. It finally occurred to me to look outside the window, two rows away from my desk. There were the houses and the lawns and the street. Not purple. Not exotic. Unlikely to be harboring pixies. I was heartbroken. My ring was only a mirror.

(6)On the way out of class my teacher stopped me. “I noticed you were daydreaming a lot today. We have a midterm coming up next week. Is everything all right, you know, at home? With your friends?”

(7)I hesitated, then nodded. How could I explain about finding—and losing—a secret world that lived only inside my ring? That would ensure a trip to the guidance counselor for sure. “Good,” my teacher said, already turning away. “Then there’s no reason to be daydreaming. Please pay more attention in the future.”

(8)That night I tucked the ring back into the box and hoped my parents didn’t ask why I wasn’t wearing it. The next morning I walked to school past the street I’d glimpsed outside the window. The block looked so plain and ordinary, like reality² was somehow dimmed.

(9)In class I paid attention this time, as the teacher had instructed me to. After all, I didn’t have problems at home or with my friends, so what excuse did I have to daydream? I took notes. I even asked a question. But I felt a sadness that I couldn’t pinpoint. When I left school that day and walked past the street again, I knew what the sadness was about. When I first saw the house in my ring and thought it from some magical land, I had imbued³ it with a sense of wonder, of mystery. No real house, or real life, could live up to that.

(10)Or could it? I stood there while my friends kept walking. I looked at the house, ordinary in every way. Lawn, front door, mailbox, picket fence. But who’s to say what’s going on inside? Maybe every brick was brought from some exotic country, and laid down exactly as it had been found, hidden in the woods, or atop a mountain. Or maybe the chimney was a magic portal⁴ to some distant and timeless land, like Narnia. (I was big on Narnia back then. Still am!) Maybe sitting inside that mailbox right now was a letter that would change the life of the person who lived there. It took two friends snapping their fingers in my face to bring me out of this daydream.

(11)That night, I put the ring back on. I went through my house, tilting my hand as I went, watching things from a slant. What I found when I looked up was that I could see the objects I had seen in the ring differently. A little bit of the magic had leaked out from inside the ring. My surroundings felt a little more special. I realized for the first time how much our imagination—allowed to roam free in our daydreams—can transform⁵ the ordinary into the extraordinary.⁶ But it can do so much more than that. It can give you confidence to reach your goals; it can help you work out problems, even keep you out of trouble. It can set you free.

Part A   What is the author’s purpose for writing Passage 1?

• to explain why daydreaming can be beneficial

• to tell the reader why to avoid daydreaming in class

• to explain why the speaker stopped wearing the ring

• to convince the reader that the speaker has a magic ring

Multiple Select

(1)The flat, rectangular stone inside my new ring was purple indoors, and green outdoors. And it wasn’t one of those cheap mood rings from the mall that everyone knows just change color based on body temperature. This was the real deal—an amethyst, set in a delicate gold band and delivered to me by my parents the night I turned 13. They’d had it for years, they explained, waiting until they thought I’d be old enough to care for it properly.

(2)I loved that ring. But not because it was pretty, although it was. And not because it marked a new level of trust and responsibility within my family’s hierarchy.¹ I loved it because when I sat in class and tilted it to the side ever so slightly, I could see a whole other world in the face of the purple stone.

(3)The first time it happened was accidental. I was taking notes in my notebook and out of the corner of my eye, the image of a house suddenly appeared in my ring. I remember gasping, shocked. I tilted my hand to the right, and the house disappeared. No! I quickly tilted it back. The house returned. Tilting to the left brought more houses and lawns and a road. I honestly, for about a full minute, thought I was glimpsing another world, purple and full of fairy-tale creatures and lawns that sprouted only purple grass. My heart pounded with excitement. I’m sure I didn’t hear a thing the teacher said.

(4)I had a magic ring!

(5)And then . . . well, a car drove by. Inside the ring. That broke the spell. It finally occurred to me to look outside the window, two rows away from my desk. There were the houses and the lawns and the street. Not purple. Not exotic. Unlikely to be harboring pixies. I was heartbroken. My ring was only a mirror.

(6)On the way out of class my teacher stopped me. “I noticed you were daydreaming a lot today. We have a midterm coming up next week. Is everything all right, you know, at home? With your friends?”

(7)I hesitated, then nodded. How could I explain about finding—and losing—a secret world that lived only inside my ring? That would ensure a trip to the guidance counselor for sure. “Good,” my teacher said, already turning away. “Then there’s no reason to be daydreaming. Please pay more attention in the future.”

(8)That night I tucked the ring back into the box and hoped my parents didn’t ask why I wasn’t wearing it. The next morning I walked to school past the street I’d glimpsed outside the window. The block looked so plain and ordinary, like reality² was somehow dimmed.

(9)In class I paid attention this time, as the teacher had instructed me to. After all, I didn’t have problems at home or with my friends, so what excuse did I have to daydream? I took notes. I even asked a question. But I felt a sadness that I couldn’t pinpoint. When I left school that day and walked past the street again, I knew what the sadness was about. When I first saw the house in my ring and thought it from some magical land, I had imbued³ it with a sense of wonder, of mystery. No real house, or real life, could live up to that.

(10)Or could it? I stood there while my friends kept walking. I looked at the house, ordinary in every way. Lawn, front door, mailbox, picket fence. But who’s to say what’s going on inside? Maybe every brick was brought from some exotic country, and laid down exactly as it had been found, hidden in the woods, or atop a mountain. Or maybe the chimney was a magic portal⁴ to some distant and timeless land, like Narnia. (I was big on Narnia back then. Still am!) Maybe sitting inside that mailbox right now was a letter that would change the life of the person who lived there. It took two friends snapping their fingers in my face to bring me out of this daydream.

(11)That night, I put the ring back on. I went through my house, tilting my hand as I went, watching things from a slant. What I found when I looked up was that I could see the objects I had seen in the ring differently. A little bit of the magic had leaked out from inside the ring. My surroundings felt a little more special. I realized for the first time how much our imagination—allowed to roam free in our daydreams—can transform⁵ the ordinary into the extraordinary.⁶ But it can do so much more than that. It can give you confidence to reach your goals; it can help you work out problems, even keep you out of trouble. It can set you free.

Part B    Select two excerpts from the text that support the answer to Part A.

• I hesitated, then nodded. How could I explain about finding—and losing—a secret world that lived only inside my ring? That would ensure a trip to the guidance counselor for sure. (paragraph 7)

• In class I paid attention this time, as the teacher had instructed me to. After all, I didn’t have problems at home or with my friends, so what excuse did I have to daydream? (paragraph 9)

• When I first saw the house in my ring and thought it from some magical land, I had imbued it with a sense of wonder, of mystery. No real house, or real life, could live up to that. (paragraph 9)

• My surroundings felt a little more special. I realized for the first time how much our imagination—allowed to roam free in our daydreams—can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. (paragraph 11)

• But it can do so much more than that. It can give you confidence to reach your goals; it can help you work out problems, even keep you out of trouble. It can set you free. (paragraph 11)

Multiple Choice

Read these sentences from paragraph 8 of Passage 1.

That night I tucked the ring back into the box and hoped my parents didn’t ask why I wasn’t wearing it. The next morning I walked to school past the street I’d glimpsed outside the window. The block looked so plain and ordinary, like reality was somehow dimmed.

What mood does the author’s use of the word dimmed help create?

• embarrassing

• disappointing

• nervous

• humorous

Multiple Choice

Read the following sentence from paragraph 10 of Passage 1.

Maybe every brick was brought from some exotic country, and laid down exactly as it had been found, hidden in the woods, or atop a mountain.

The word exotic comes from the Latin exo, which means “outside.” Based on this information, what is the meaning of the word exotic as it is used in the text?

• hostile and divided

• distant and interesting

• unknown and dangerous

• imaginary and meaningless

Multiple Choice

Read this excerpt from paragraph 11 of Passage 1.

 . . .our imagination—allowed to roam free in our daydreams—can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary.

How does the author develop this idea throughout the text?

• by providing examples from stories she read at school

• by describing how she saw the world with the ring and without it

• by explaining how unusual experiences relate to scientific facts

• by identifying goals achieved before and after she had the ring

Multiple Choice

Passage 2: Marked

by Carmen Tafolla

(1)Never write with pencil,

m’ija.

It is for those

who would

(5)erase.

Make your mark proud

and open,

Brave,

beauty folded into

(10) its imperfection,

Like a piece of turquoise

marked.

Never write

with pencil,

(15)m’ija.

Write with ink

or mud,

or berries grown in

gardens never owned,

(20)or, sometimes,

if necessary,

blood

Which lines in Passage 2 use a simile?

• Never write with pencil, / m’ija (lines 1–2)

• Make your mark proud / and open, (lines 6–7)

• Like a piece of turquoise / marked. (lines 11–12)

• Write with ink / or mud, (lines 16–17)

Multiple Choice

Passage 2: Marked

by Carmen Tafolla

(1)Never write with pencil,

m’ija.

It is for those

who would

(5)erase.

Make your mark proud

and open,

Brave,

beauty folded into

(10) its imperfection,

Like a piece of turquoise

marked.

Never write

with pencil,

(15)m’ija.

Write with ink

or mud,

or berries grown in

gardens never owned,

(20)or, sometimes,

if necessary,

blood

Read lines 11–12 from Passage 2. Like a piece of turquoise / marked. Why does the speaker use this phrase?

• to refer to distinct features of stone

• to refer to writing that has been erased

• to refer to the decreasing value of minerals

• to refer to the difficulty of carving stone

Multiple Choice

Read the sentence from paragraph 11 of Passage 1.

That ability to put your attention wherever you want it to be has become the thing people want most in their social interactions—that feeling that you don’t have to commit yourself 100 percent and you can avoid the terror that there will be a moment in an interaction when you’ll be bored.

Why does Turkle most likely use hyperbole in the underlined phrase in this sentence?

• to draw attention to the idea that many people prefer to talk on cell phones rather than in person

• to draw attention to the idea that many people want to avoid committing to having a dull conversation

• to emphasize the idea that many people feel frightened about interacting socially with other people

• to emphasize the idea that many people are uncomfortable when they feel bored during social interactions