Do you believe in miracles?
It was a simple question, but it did not have a simple answer. Or did it?
Miranda blinked at the question typed at the bottom of the paper she had found inside the toilet paper roll. The previous nine questions had been somewhat easy.
Question Two was simple: If you are looking at a rainbow where is the sun? Easy—behind you.
Question Four was odd: A butter knife has crumbs on the right side of the blade. Is the user right or left handed? She closed her eyes to visualize it—left-handed.
Question Seven was interesting: You are trapped in a room. The room has only two possible exits: two doors. Through the first door there is a room constructed from magnifying glass. The blazing hot sun instantly fries anything or anyone that enters. Through the second door there is a fire-breathing dragon. How do you escape? She took a few minutes to ponder this and came up with a solution—wait until night and exit through the door with the magnifying glasses.
Miranda was beginning to think she had a chance to score one hundred percent on the test. She wondered if there was a reward for doing so, and hoped it was greater than the window seat privilege.
But Question Ten made her hesitate: Do you believe in miracles?
She had yet to witness a real miracle in her twelve years of life. And she had not met anyone who had. Sure, Tom Norton had claimed it was a miracle she had gotten the letter yesterday, but that was just an exaggeration. She was about to mark her answer.
She paused again. She had to answer the test truthfully, and truthfully she was not sure. She had no reason to believe in miracles, yet she found herself wanting to. A minute or so ticked by as she stared at the last question on the test.
Finally she marked her test.