By Amber Francis

My grandmother had a box that could only be opened with a key.

Honestly, that’s the only way to do it. Now that she’s dead my whole family’s been trying to open it, but it resists everything. Every key they can find has been tested for it, but none fit. They’ve tried to break it open, but it’s too tough even for axes and chainsaws. My family just tries even harder. They’re like that – determined.

I’m not. I’m the timid one, who never auditions for a role in the school play, who never tries to score goals in any kind of sport, who is quite happy to put something aside and move on if I don’t think it will work. I know my brothers are half ashamed of me, but they and my parents still try to coax me out of my square. Because, you know, they hate giving up on anything.

What they don’t know is that I could open the box, if I wanted.

Because before she died, Grandma gave me the key. She gave it to me, she said, because what’s in that box should never ever be let out. She didn’t tell me what it was, just that she trusted me with the key because I wasn’t stupid enough to try to open the box.

Not like the rest of my family.

I’m tempted, of course – it’s difficult not to be. Pandora had her work cut out for her, I know. The world shouldn’t be so hard on her. But it turns out I can be just as determined as the rest of my family. I’ve hidden the key somewhere only I can find it. When I have kids, I’ll choose the wisest of them to pass it on to, and hopefully they’ll do the same, and so on. I know eventually somebody will open the box – that’s just the nature of these things.

But not while I can help it. The key to determination is finding something that’s worth the effort.