Part A Which sentence best states a central idea of the passage?

A
The narrator pretends to listen to the warnings from his parents.
B
The narrator thinks that riding a bike seems more grown-up than riding a trike.
C
The narrator discovers that adventures away from home can be dangerous.
D
The narrator uses his bike to gain a sense of independence.
(b)

Part B
Which two details from the passage support the answer to Part A?

A
"Going up and down the block was one thing, but taking the first curve, out of sight of Mom and the house, was another." (paragraph 2)
B
"Mom said hungry dogs lived on that street, and red anger lived in their eyes." (paragraph 2)
C
"But I took the corner anyway." (paragraph 3)
D
". . . a rainbow washed over the junkyard and reached the dark barrels of Coleman pickle." (paragraph 3)
E
"From behind the window, I let my finger slowly uncurl like a bean plant .. . ." (paragraph 3)
F
"I should remember this day . ..." (paragraph 3)

Read the passage from "The Bike." Then answer the questions.
Passage
from "The Bike​"
​by Gary Soto
​
​(1) My first bike got me nowhere, though the shadow I cast as I pedaled raced along my side. The leaves of bird-filled trees stirred a warm breeze and litter scuttled out of the way. Our orange cats looked on from the fence, their tails up like antennas. I opened my mouth, and wind tickled the back of my throat. When I squinted, I could see past the end of the block. My hair flicked like black fire, and I thought I was pretty cool riding up and down the block, age five, in my brother's hand-me-down shirt.
​
(2) Going up and down the block was one thing, but taking the first curve, out of sight of Mom and the house, was another. I was scared of riding on Sarah Street. Mom said hungry dogs lived on that street, and red anger lived in their eyes. Their throats were hard with extra bones from biting kids on bikes, she said.
​
(3) But I took the corner anyway. I didn't believe Mom. Once she had said that pointing at rainbows caused freckles, and after a rain had moved in and drenched the streets, after the sparrows flitted onto the lawn, a rainbow washed over the junkyard and reached the dark barrels of Coleman pickle. I stood at the window, looking out, amazed and devious, with the devilish horns of my butch haircut standing up. From behind the window, I let my finger slowly uncurl like a bean plant rising from earth. I uncurled it, then curled it back and made a fist. I should remember this day, I told myself.
​
(4) I pedaled my squeaky bike around the curve onto Sarah Street, but returned immediately. I braked and looked back at where I had gone. My face was hot, my hair sweaty, but nothing scary seemed to happen. The street had looked like our street: parked cars, tall trees, a sprinkler hissing on a lawn, and an old woman bending over her garden. I started again, and again I rode the curve, my eyes open as wide as they could go. After a few circle eights I returned to our street. There ain't no dogs, I told myself. I began to think that maybe this was like one of those false rainbow warnings.
​
(5) I turned my bike around and rode a few times in front of our house, just in case Mom was looking for me. I called out, "Hi Mom. I haven't gone anywhere." I saw her face in the window, curlers piled high, and she waved a dish towel at me. I waved back, and when she disappeared, I again tore my bike around the curve onto Sarah Street. I was free. The wind flicked my hair and cooled my ears. I did figure eights, rode up the curbs and onto lawns, bumped into trees, and rode over a garden hose a hundred times because I liked the way the water sprang up from the sprinkler after the pressure of my tires. I stopped when I saw a kid my age come down a porch. His machinery for getting around was a tricycle. Big baby, I thought, and said, "You can run over my leg with your trike if you want." I laid down on the sidewalk, and the kid, with fingers in his mouth, said, "OK."
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(6) He backed up and slowly, like a tank, advanced. I folded my arms behind my head and watched a jay swoop by with what looked like a cracker in its beak, when the tire climbed over my ankle and sparks of pain cut through my skin. I sat up quickly, my eyes flinging tears like a sprinkler.
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(7) The boy asked, "Did it hurt?"
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(8) "No," I said, almost crying.
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(9) The kid could see that it did. He could see my face strain to hold back a sob, two tears dropping like dimes into the dust. He pedaled away on his bucket of bolts and tossed it on his front lawn. He looked back before climbing the stairs and disappeared into the house.
​​
"The Bike" by Gary Soto from A SUMMER LIFE, copyright © University Press of New England, Lebanon, NH. Reprinted with permission pages 19-21.