Also no.
What struck me about the test was that it assumes that the child is wrong to question, argue, or defy adult requests. Sometimes, the child is not wrong. Sometimes when I was a child I refused to do things that I physically or cognitively could not do; I was called rebellious for it. I would question rules because I wanted them to make sense. I desperately wanted rules that were the same all the time, dependable. I even wrote rule sets and proposed them to my parents, and was frustrated because they seemed to enforce rules that were very vague to me and seemed to depend mostly on their moods. Sometimes meltdowns look an awful lot like "manipulative" temper tantrums even though you have completely forgotten anybody is watching you at all.
I have come to believe that I was not a defiant or rebellious child at all--that what happened was that I wanted a dependable environment, but all I had were erratic, capricious parents whose own emotions often overwhelmed them, and who blamed my autistic traits on my supposed bad moral character.
I hope I don't seem to be arrogant to say it, but by the time I was six or seven years old, I was often more sensible than my parents, despite my self-care delays and meltdowns. I have always depended on logic because everything else was too vague for my very concrete mind to use reliably. I remember being six years old and on my first airplane flight. My mother assured me the plane would not crash. I remember thinking to myself that there was a very small chance that it would, but not being afraid because the chance was so small. Even today my mother will stay away from things that have similar levels of danger as a plane crash because of the emotional impact of the idea of that remote possibility. I was using basic statistics at six. My mom still doesn't use them. She thinks with emotions.
From my parents' perspective, I was often described as rebellious and defiant, even though objectively my very worst rule-breakings were things like sneaking chocolate from the cupboard or reading under the covers at night--and even for these things I felt guilty. I was not a rebellious child. The real trouble was that I could not live peacefully in an environment where nothing was dependable or logical. It's really no wonder I escaped into books. I simply knew I could not trust my mother to protect me, or any of her boyfriends or husbands to consider me anything more than an impertinent obstacle to their dominance of the household. So I grew up very quickly. I learned that I could not trust my parents to tell me the truth or keep me safe. I learned that I could not trust them to tell me what right and wrong were, because they were still stuck on the idea that I should simply do whatever they wanted me to. In my house it was my responsibility to make my parents feel like they were being good parents, and this was a responsibility I could not take on. So I was blamed for whatever went wrong in the house. By the time I was ten, I knew that I had to make my own way in the world, that my parents were not people I could depend on. I was emotionally independent long before I left the house. When I did, at seventeen, I was not homesick.
But I was called "defiant", because I could not be the child they wanted to have. I did not know how to pretend they were all-powerful and always right, and I demanded dependability that they could not give. Because I was the child and they were the adults, it was all assumed to be my fault.