Excerpt 1: The moon silvered the ruined courtyard as Lila traced the sigil carved into the stone. The mark warmed under her fingertip, and the air smelled of cedar and rain. From the well rose a whisper: a name no one had spoken since the kingdom fell. Her grandmother's stories had warned her—magic listens, and it remembers debts. The iron ring on Lila's wrist tightened, then split with a chiming crack. Shadows gathered into the shape of a stag, antlers threaded with faint light. It bowed, breath fogging the night, and a path opened between toppled columns, flowers blooming from dust. Beyond, a tower's broken window glowed, as if holding a heartbeat. "Guide me," Lila said, and the stag turned, luminous and patient. The gate remembered oaths.

Excerpt 2: Orbit Track Seven vibrated as the tether car decelerated, Earth's curve blazing over the Gulf like a coin. I checked the diagnostic: our algae scrubbers were dropping oxygen output by twelve percent. "Nova," I said to the station's learning core, "run a fault tree." Blue indicators rippled along the rail; the core spoke in clipped tones about microfractures, salinity drift, and a mislabeled canister from the last cargo drone. We were hours from the next resupply, and the crew sleeping in Spin Habitat couldn't breathe software. I grabbed a patch kit, magnetic boots hissing, and clipped into the maintenance spine. Outside, satellites winked like careful eyes. Inside my helmet, Nova projected schematics, predicted failure times, and suggested contingencies. Science, not luck, would keep us alive.

Based on textual evidence and genre conventions, which option correctly identifies the genres of Excerpt 1 and Excerpt 2?

Excerpt 1: September 8, 1900, Galveston smelled of salt and kerosene as Papa hammered boards across our windows. The barometer on the counter fell like a bead on a string; neighbor boys lugged sandbags that sank into the wet street. Mama tied my hair with a strip of sailcloth and said we'd go upstairs if the bay climbed the steps. When the first wave slapped the porch, Papa shouted over the wind to pass the lantern. We formed a line, hands slick with seawater and fear, lifting trunks, quilts, and Auntie's Bible to the second floor. A cow drifted by, eyes wide, hooves bicycling. The house shuddered, then rose from its piers with a groan. We prayed, not for calm, but to hold together. Through the dark.

Excerpt 2: Barbara Jordan grew up in Houston's Fifth Ward, where teachers told her that a strong voice could carry far. Studying law, she learned to ground arguments in precedent and plain truth. In 1966 she won a seat in the Texas Senate, the first Black woman to serve there; six years later she entered the United States House of Representatives. During the Watergate hearings, millions heard her measured cadence as she explained the Constitution's checks and balances and the duty of officials to the public trust. She did not chase spectacle; she prepared. Back home, she mentored students in Austin, reminding them that civic courage is practiced daily, in committee rooms and classrooms alike. Jordan's legacy endures wherever careful words guide difficult choices. In Texas communities.

Which option best identifies the genre of each excerpt using specific evidence?

Excerpt 1: At closing, the gallery on the San Antonio River Walk smelled like varnish and lilies from last night's opening. I checked the lockbox—one silver mission bell pendant missing. The security feed showed only the custodian and a breeze that lifted the blue serape in the window. I knelt by the display. A smear shone across the glass, narrow and glittery, like fish scales. On the floor, damp footprints slanted from the door to the case and back again, toes pointed outward. No one who worked here walked like that. I followed the trail to the terrace. In the planter, a tiny bell-shaped impression lay beside a half-crumbled tortilla from the fiesta boat. Bells, lilies, scales, and the outward toes—someone had a dancer's gait, for sure.

Excerpt 2: At dawn we left the timberline and scrambled onto the knife-edge ridge. Wind pushed at our packs; the world fell away on both sides into blue haze. Jacob pointed to cairns stacked like rough chess pieces, the only trail markers across the shale. We moved in short bursts, three points of contact, checking holds, breathing steady. When clouds boiled up from the valley, the ridge crackled—static jumping to my trekking pole. We crouched low and crawled to a notch where the map showed a safer traverse. The air thinned; my legs shook, but the summit block rose close, sunlit and waiting. We didn't talk about fear. We clipped the rope, nodded once, and began the final, careful climb. Stone rasped, and clouds peeled back slowly.

Identify the most accurate genre for each excerpt using evidence from the text.

Excerpt 1: Before the mountains learned their names, the Sky kept his cool cloak folded tight. Down below, River wandered, thirsty for stories, but the stones would not speak. So Trickster borrowed Sun's golden comb and scratched a line along the valley's sleeping back. The earth arched, and water laughed, tumbling into the cut. "Share your tales," Trickster said, flicking minnows from his sleeves. Wind arrived with a sack of seeds and shook them free, and Grass rose to listen. When Sun noticed his comb missing, he chased Trickster across the land, and heat poured after them. That is why the canyon bends like a sly smile, and why River never runs out of words when the afternoon light leans west. Even the stones answer then, softly.

Excerpt 2: On Monday I decided to become a person who jogs before school. On Tuesday I remembered I own exactly one sock without holes. I laced my shoes anyway and told my dog, Bean, that we were athletes now. Bean celebrated by stealing the other sock and sprinting under the couch. Ten minutes later, I was outside in mismatched socks, stretching like a pretzel that needed instructions. I jogged past Ms. Ortega, who was watering her cactus collection. She waved with the hose; I waved back and got misted like a salad. Two blocks in, my playlist glitched and played a kazoo solo. Bean trotted proudly, perfectly on beat. We made it three blocks—fine, two and a half—but my bragging will travel farther. Than my legs.

Which choice best matches each excerpt to its genre using conventions and textual evidence?