The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

It came the second week of July. It had been a hot day, so we had kept the
windows wide open and the blackout down. For once I’d fallen into a sound,
dreamless sleep.
Whoop-WHOOP! Whoop—WHOOP! Whoop-WHOOP! The sirens at the
airfield wailed, louder and louder. You’d have thought one was in our
bedroom. Jamie jumped up, scrambling to keep hold of Bovril, who thrashed
and scratched in an effort to get free. I grabbed my crutches. Susan came
flying in, her dressing gown flapping. “Hurry, hurry,” she said.
I couldn’t hurry. Going downstairs took time. My hands shook. I wouldn’t
be fast enough. I would be bombed.
Jamie ran ahead, but Susan waited for me. “It’s all right,” she said. “Don’t
panic.”
Across the living room, out the back door. Jamie ducked into the Anderson
shelter and stuffed Bovril into his basket. The cat howled. He sounded like a
baby screaming in pain.
I stood at the door of the shelter. I’d never yet gone inside. I hated it, it
scared me, it was so much like the cabinet under the sink at home. The one
with the roaches. I could never see them or stop them.
“Ada,” Susan said, behind me, “MOVE.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go inside. Not into that damp shelter, that
smelled exactly like the cabinet. Not into that darkness. Not into that pain.
The siren wailed. Jamie shouted, “Ada, hurry!”
A noise like the plane exploding. Bombs. Real bombs, here in Kent,
German bombs everyone feared. Here in the cabinet under the sink—
Susan picked me up and carried me down the stairs. The smell enveloped
me. I could feel the cramped cabinet, the roaches. I could hear Mam laughing
while I screamed.
I screamed. Another bomb. More screams. From Jamie? From me? How
would I know? The memory of the cabinet seemed real, seemed to be
happening right at that moment. I could see the cabinet, feel myself being
shoved inside. Terror enveloped my brain.
Suddenly I felt something tight around me. A blanket, a rough wool