"Morning, baby," she sings. "Did you sleep well?"

　　　"Better than I have been."

　　　She sighs, and her eyes look a hundred years old for a minute. "Any improvement is good," she says half-heartedly.

　　　"Of course."

　　　"I made waffles."

　　　"Thanks, Mom. Smells delicious."

　　　I sit at the table and she hands me a plate. The thought of all that food turns my stomach, but I force a smile and thank my mother again. She busies herself at the sink and fills the silence with chatter. When she turns around, she takes in the waffles still on my plate, only missing a few bites. I smile apologetically.

　　　"I'm not very hungry this morning."

　　　"You'll need your strength for this afternoon. Morrison will wait for you." She bites her lip.

　　　"I packed your lunch."

　　　"I'm 18, Mom. I can pack my own lunch. You have more important things to do."

　　　She reaches for the paper bag. "But now I know you'll have something to eat. And you need to eat, okay? You have to keep your strength up."

　　　Sighing, I take the bag. I know this peanut butter and jelly sandwich won't be eaten, not any more than the one yesterday or the day before. And even if I do eat it, I'll just throw it up later.

　　　"Honey, have you thought about what I said the other day?" she asks.

　　　I remain silent.

　　　"Sweetheart, you can't hide the secret forever. Eventually you're going to miss school and people will start asking questions."

　　　"Mom, I have two months left of high school. I can make it till then. I'm class president. I was voted 'Most popular', 'Best smile' and 'Most likely to succeed'. I'm the girl who's got it all together. People don't want to know that the girl who's got it all together doesn't have it all together. People don't want to know that girl is to be parted!"

　　　"Honey, don't say that. You're not..."

　　　"Yes, I am. You heard Dr. Morrison. I have maybe a year left. But that means I can graduate and then never see those people again. I'll depart and they'll feel sorry for me, but at least I won't have to tolerate their pity."

　　　"But..." she tries to interrupt.

　　　"Mom, listen to me. I don't want to be the girl everyone looks at and whispers, 'Look at her. Poor thing. She has cancer.' I can't handle that. I want to be normal. Just for these last two months."

　　　"Okay," she whispers. "Okay. Just remember, it's okay if you don't have it all together. Sometimes things just fall apart and there's nothing we can do."

　　　"Thanks, Mom." I grab bag and lunch and kiss her on the cheek. "__①__"

　　　"__②__" she replies. This exchange, once taken for granted, is now a vital part of every morning, every afternoon, and every night. Three little words, followed by four more, have come to mean more than an entire conversation. They bridge all gaps and disagreements, because we both know there is now a restricted number left.

　　　 Keys in hand, I open the door and blink(眨眼) in the early morning sun. Perfect.

24. The underlined word "half-heartedly" implies ____.

A. the mom is worried about her daughter's mood

B. the mom believes her daughter slept well last night

C. the mom is too busy doing her housework at that time

D. the mom knows there is no improvement in her daughter's health

25. What is the main reason the girl keeps her secret?

A. She doesn't want to die so soon.

B. She doesn't want her mom to be sad.

　　C. She doesn't want people to have pity on her.

　　D. She doesn't want to lose her popularity at school.

　26. What sentences can be appropriate for ① and ②?

A. " See you, Mom."; "Have a good day."

B. "Take care, Mom."; "You too, my angel."

C. "I love you."; "I love you, too."

D. "I'll miss you."; "I'll miss you, too."

27. What is the best title for the passage?

A. NORMAL B. PERFECT C. HOPEFUL D. HEALTHY

　C

High levels of chocolate consumption might be associated with a one third reduction in the risk of developing heart disease, suggests a study published online in the British Medical Journal. The findings confirm results of existing studies that generally agree on a potential beneficial link between chocolate