The Question Box

Sam had a shoebox under her bed where she kept the things she was currently obsessed with. Right now it held a rock collection from the creek behind her old house, half a finished friendship bracelet kit, a drawing of a dog she wanted more than almost anything but wasn't allowed to have yet, and a movie ticket stub from the one time her whole family — mum, dad, and her, back when that still meant living in the same house — had gone to see a superhero movie together, back before things had changed.

That Sunday, she added something new: an index card, written in her best handwriting, with four questions on it.

1. What IS bhangra, really? 2. Is it the same as just "Indian music"? Or different? 3. Can you do it at a party? On a stage? In a gym class? 4. Could I actually learn it?

She didn't know the answers yet. But she liked having the questions written down somewhere safe, the way some kids liked keeping a diary, except this was a box of questions instead of a book of secrets. There was something satisfying about writing a question down properly, in ink, instead of just letting it float around loose in her head where it might get lost between now and bedtime.

At school on Monday, she told Rachel everything at lunch, talking so fast she barely stopped to eat her sandwich, spilling out details in the wrong order and then doubling back to fix them.

"You should ask your mum if there's a class," Rachel said, very sensibly, the way Rachel said most things. Rachel was the kind of best friend who listened to your whole excited ramble and then, instead of getting distracted, asked exactly the right practical question, the kind of question that made the whole idea feel suddenly possible instead of just exciting.

"There isn't one near us. I already checked on my mum's phone."

"Then check if there's one anywhere. Not just near us."

"That seems like giving up on 'near.'"

"Sometimes the good stuff isn't near," Rachel said, shrugging, and went back to her sandwich like she hadn't just said something extremely wise, the way Rachel always delivered her best lines completely by accident.