My family went camping at the river. We set up the tent and went swimming. At night we toasted marshmallows. On the way home I found a key on the ground. It didn't fit any lock. Then we got home.
The key was at the bottom of Grandma's sewing tin, small and brass, with a red ribbon through the loop. I tried it in every lock in her house: the back door, the shed, the jewellery box, even the old piano. It fitted none of them. 'Then it must be for something we haven't found yet,' Grandma said, and that is when our search began.
Ava raced down the track. Her heart was pounding as she passed Lucy on the final bend. She crossed the line first and her team cheered. Ava had trained all year for this moment. Some things are worth waiting for.
Ava had been the slowest runner in her class for three years. Every carnival, she watched the ribbons go to other people, and every weekend she ran laps of the oval while her brother timed her. This year, when she passed Lucy on the final bend, it wasn't the ribbon she was thinking about. It was the three years.
My best friend Mai moved to Brisbane last year. We were both sad. Now we video call every Sunday and talk about school and our pets. We are still best friends. Friendship is like a bridge.
Mai and I built the bridge in Year 2: one plank across the drain between our backyards, so we didn't have to walk around the block. When she moved to Brisbane, Dad wanted to pull it out. I said no. Now, every Sunday, when her face pops up on the screen, I tell her I crossed our bridge that morning, and she tells me what she crossed to get to school.
