The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

like to break tradition. “But thank you kindly,” he added.
So I invited Maggie.
It seemed right to me that if Jamie got to have pilots, I should have a friend
to dinner too. Besides Fred, and maybe Stephen, Maggie was the only friend I
had.
She came back from her school the week before Christmas. We rode
together up the big hill, where the wind was blowing hard and we could see
down to the barricaded beach. Maggie was different, stiffer and more
standoffish than she’d been the day I rode her home. She looked elegant on
her pony, with her leather gloves and her little velvet cap.
I put my hand up to shield my eyes. Riding up the hill had been my idea. “I
always check for spies when I’m up here,” I said. “We’re supposed to, you
know.” We were told so by the government men on the radio. Nazi spies
could be dressed as nurses, or nuns, or anything.
“I know,” Maggie said crossly. “I’m not stupid.” Then she added, “Why
didn’t you write back to me? I asked you to.”
I hadn’t known she’d asked me. Fred hadn’t read me that part of her letter.
And while I’d had another couple of goes at reading it, Maggie’s handwriting
was curly with the letters run together. I couldn’t make out the words.
I was ashamed to admit this. “I’ve been very busy,” I said.
She flashed me a look of hurt and anger. I understood, suddenly, that she’d
been waiting for me to write back, waiting and hoping for a letter. I didn’t
know she felt that way about me.
I took a deep breath. “I’m just now learning to write,” I said. “And read. So
I couldn’t write back yet. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll try.”
Instead of looking horrified by my ignorance, she looked mollified. (Susan
taught me that word, and I loved it. Mollified. Sometimes when Jamie was
cross, he had to be mollified.) “I didn’t think of that,” she said. “I thought you
just weren’t interested. But wouldn’t Miss Smith have helped you? She would
have written down what you wanted to say.”
She would have, if I’d asked. “I didn’t want to ask her. I don’t like her
helping me.”
“Why ever not?”
“I don’t want to get used to her,” I said. “She’s just someone we have to
stay with for a little while. She’s not, you know, actually real.”
Maggie looked me up and down. “She seems real to me,” she said. “I saw