Arya shook the snow globe.
White flakes flew everywhere—
over the tiny house,
over the tiny tree,
over the tiny red door.
“I can’t think,” she said.
Her poem was tomorrow.
The whole class would listen.
What if she forgot the middle?
What if her voice came out small?
What if someone laughed?
Jiya took the globe
and shook it harder.
“Now it is a blizzard.”
“That is my brain,” Arya said.
Jiya tried to catch the snow
with her thumb.
She could not.
Arya placed the globe on the table.
They watched.
One flake fell.
Then another.
Then many at once.
The roof appeared.
The tree appeared.
The tiny red door appeared.
Arya breathed in.
She said the first line of her poem.
Then the second.
Jiya pressed her nose to the glass.
“The house was there the whole time,” she said.