ACT Reading Practice Test 5

PROSE FICTION:
The following passage is excerpted from the coming-of-age novel The Year of the Unicorn by Krista Prouty (©2008 by Krista Prouty).

It was always the same, every Christmas. My sister and I would wake up early, my parents would send us back to bed, and We would instead huddle in my room, discussing which gifts might be waiting for us downstairs. One year it was a bicycle
Line 5 that I Wanted, and I can still remember telling my sister exactly what it would look like: pink, with silver streamers and a sparkly silver seat. Eventually we would hear our parents moving around downstairs and We would know that it was almost time. Once the scent of coffee made it to our rooms, we would hurl
10 ourselves downstairs since that signified that our parents were not only awake but caffeinated and ready for gift-giving.
The year that I was nine, and Lily was six, the gift that I had been craving was the Barbie Dream House. Another girl from my school had one and I had been lucky enough to be allowed
15 a glimpse of it after school one day. She was like a princess bestowing largesse; allowing one or two people over after School most days, demonstrating the various clever mechanisms, then sitting quietly, contentedly, while we gazed in wonder for a few minutes. Then, she sent us on our way. I knew that if I could only
20 have a Dream House of my own, my life would be complete. It was a bigger gift than I usually requested but, logically, I felt, that meant I was all the more likely to have my wish granted.
One night I overheard my parents, after they thought Lily and I had gone to bed.
25 "Bill, what are we going to do about Christmas this year?" My mother's voice, quiet and unsettlingly uncertain, came from the kitchen.
"I don't know yet, Mel, but we'll figure something out. We always do, honey."
30 "I know. I just can't help but worry." Whatever my mother said next was drowned out by the running water-she must have been washing up after dinner. I crept back to my bedroom, a little bit troubled by what I had heard but, as is the way of children, soon forgot and went back to Barbie Dream House dreaming.
35 On the Christmas morning in question, Lily and I huddled in my room, waiting for the signal to appear. She wanted a new bike and kept asking me if Santa would get it for her, but all I could think about was my Dream House. Somehow, I had convinced myself that I was certain to get it, that life and the fates
40 could not possibly be cruel enough to deny me this. I could see the Wallpaper that was printed on the plastic walls, the darling matching furniture, and the ingenious hand-operated elevator. It would smell like new plastic. I inhaled deeply, imagining myself showing my gift off to friends and foes alike. Instead of
45 new plastic, however, my nostrils quivered to the odor of freshly brewed coffee. It was time.
My eyes still full of the glories I expected, I barreled down the stairs, almost knocking Lily down in my haste. Both of my parents were standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee.
50 I tore past them, even though I knew that they would expect me to stop and wait for them to walk into the living room with me. My longing was simply too exquisite to wait any longer. I burst through the double doors into our living room, words of joy and gratitude ready on my lips, only to find-there was no Dream House.
55 Frantically, I began to paw through the boxes under the tree, certain that it had to be there, somewhere, blind to the movement of my parents and sister entering the room behind me, nervous smiles on both my parents faces. Eventually I was forced to concede that the tree was not somehow harboring a Dream House under
60 its limbs. I looked up at my parents, grief and confusion painted large on my features.
"Hold up a minute, honey. Santa brought you one more gift that wouldn't quite fit under the tree. Bill, go ahead-show her."
As I Watched my father head towards a corner where a
65 large blanket was draped over some bulky object, hope flickered back to life a bit. But the size was all Wrong, as was the shape. Still smiling anxiously, my father pulled the blanket away from what appeared to be a huge dollhouse. If Barbie's Dream House was sleek and modern, this was awkward and old-fashioned. It
70 had a peaked roof and a patio, with what looked like handmade furniture and wallpaper that looked suspiciously like the paper my parents had hung in Lily's room last fall. Slowly, realization dawned-my father had made it for me.
Looking back, I can only recall the rest of that day hazily,
75 even though the events up until that moment are as clear today as they were at the time. I remember the feeling of devastation that I felt, as I realized that the other girls from school would not, in fact, be blown away by my Christmas gift. I tried to be as grateful as I could, understanding even then that my father had
80 probably spent countless hours working on the house, but my disappointment was only too evident. I just couldn't understand why they had given me this crude approximation instead of my heart's desire. As an adult, I wish I could go back in time, whisper the reason to my younger self, try to be more appreciative
85 of my father's efforts, but that is not the way of the world. I still have the house, though, and when I have children of my own, I will tell them the whole story, and I hope they will understand better than I did.