Anna gets off the school bus and waits for it to drive away before crossing the street. The driver isn’t supposed to drive away until after the kids getting off have safely crossed the street, but he gave up in the first week of school on waiting for this one. She had stood there defiantly staring him down, not crossing until he gave up and drove away.
He watches her in his side mirror as he drives away. “Stubborn one, that one is,” he thinks. “She’s going to be nothing but trouble and more trouble when she gets older.”
Anna saunters down the street until the bus is out of sight, then speeds up to walk brusquely, wrapping her arms around herself against the extreme cold, her breath puffing out in big clouds that hang in the air behind her.
“Why is it so bloody cold,” she complains.
Anna arrives at home, fishes out her house key, and lets herself in, gratefully closing the door against the cold.
“Hi, I’m home.”
She is greeted by silence. She didn’t expect anyone to be there.
Dropping her backpack and kicking off her boots, she hangs up her coat and goes to the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
At thirteen, Anna is already well practiced at looking after herself.
THE LATCHKEY KIDS IS AVAILABLE ON KINDLE AND IN PAPERBACK ON AMAZON
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