The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

In the wee hours of Friday morning, I stole Mam’s shoes.
I had to. They were the only shoes in the flat, other than Jamie’s canvas
shoes, which were too small even for my bad foot. Mam’s shoes were too big,
but I stuffed the toes with paper. I wrapped a rag around my bad foot. I tied
the laces tight. The shoes felt strange, but I thought they would probably stay
on.
Jamie looked at me in amazement. “I’ve got to take them,” I whispered.
“Otherwise people’ll see my foot.”
He said, “You’re standing. You’re walking.”
My big moment, and now I hardly cared. There was too much ahead of me.
“Yes,” I said. “I am.” I glanced at Mam, who lay on the bed, snoring, her back
to us. Proud of me? Not bloody likely.
I slid down the stairs on my bottom. At the end of them Jamie helped me
up, and we set out together into the silent early-morning streets. One step, I
thought. One step at a time.
It was interesting to be at ground level. The light was tinged pink, and a faint
blue haze seemed to rise off the buildings, so that everything seemed prettier
than it did later in the day. A cat streaked around a corner, chasing something,
probably a rat. Other than the cat, the street was empty.
I held Jamie’s hand on my right side, for support. In my left I had a paper
bag with food in it, for breakfast. Jamie said we were supposed to be at his
school at nine o’clock in the morning, hours ahead, but I’d figured the earlier
we got away, the better. I didn’t know how long it would take me to get to the
school. I didn’t want people to stare.
The street was bumpy, which I hadn’t realized from my window. Walking
was harder than in our flat. The shoe helped, but by the time I’d made it to the
end of the lane, my foot hurt so badly I didn’t think I could take a single step
further. But I did.
“Turn here,” Jamie whispered. “It’s not far.”
Another step, and my bad foot twisted. I fell, gasping. Jamie knelt beside
me. “You could crawl,” he said. “S’nobody watching.”