The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

on board.” We looked at him. He said, “That’s what it sounded like. Before
the crash.”
I was so used to the sound of planes, I never paid attention to them
anymore. The different kinds of planes didn’t sound different to me.
Jamie leaned into Miss Smith’s arms. She held him tight, rocking him
softly back and forth. I stood still, absorbing what I was seeing: Jamie turning
for comfort to someone other than me.
We ran into Lady Thorton in the village when we were shopping later that
week, and she told us that Maggie—she called her Margaret, of course—had
gone off to her school, and wouldn’t be home until Christmas. I was sorry not
to see her again. I wanted to talk to her when she hadn’t just been hit on the
head. I wanted to know if she’d still like me when she wasn’t woozy.
Jamie kept hating school. He skipped twice, and after that the teacher wrote
Miss Smith a note, and Miss Smith started to walk him to school every
afternoon. Once he was inside the building, he was trapped.
I knew how it felt to be trapped. I’d been trapped all summer in our flat.
I’ll been trapped all my life in our flat. But I couldn’t understand why Jamie
hated school. Most of the kids from our neighborhood back home were there,
including all of Jamie’s friends except Billy White. They had breaks where
they got to run and play in the school yard. Plus, pretty soon he’d be able to
write and read, and then Miss Smith wouldn’t have to read us Swiss Family
Robinson at night anymore. Jamie could read it to himself.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, when we asked him. “I’m sorry,” he
said, when he wet the bed, which he did every night now. “I want to go
home,” he told me.
“You’d miss Miss Smith,” I said nastily.
“I wouldn’t,” he said. “I’d have Mam.”
I could imagine Mam might have softened toward us, or at least toward
Jamie. She probably missed us at least a little.
“They have school at home too,” I said.
He shrugged. “Mam won’t make me go.” I knew this was probably true.
Meanwhile Miss Smith was in a fit because Mam hadn’t responded to any
of her letters. She asked me, “Does your mother know how to read?”
I shrugged. How would I know?