17
The sun has almost set on yet another day at the farm.
I look up at the orange sky as I walk towards the barn, my blue wellies squelching into the damp ground. Katrina finally found me a pair. They’re three sizes too big, but beggars can’t be choosers.
There’s a little girl with curly, auburn hair standing next to the chicken enclosure. She’s wearing pink and white wellies, black waterproof trousers, and a puffy blue coat. My teacher for the day.
“You must be Cora,” I say, shaking her tiny hand. “I’m Freya.”
“Hi, Freya. Maggie wants me to teach you how to feed the chickens.”
“That’s right. You don’t mind, do you? I’d love to learn as much as I can about farming.” There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.
Cora beams with bright, perfect teeth, ocean-blue eyes, and chubby cheeks
