The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Stephen White and his colonel invited me to tea. They sent me a proper
invitation, written out, by post, and Miss Smith handed it to me without
opening it. I stared and stared at the marks on the paper, but I couldn’t make
sense of them. Neither could Jamie, no matter how hard he tried. “The
writing’s wiggly,” he said. “Not like in books.”
So I had to ask Miss Smith, which made me angry. She read it out—tea,
Stephen and the colonel, Saturday, October 7—and all the while I grew
angrier and angrier that I couldn’t read the words myself. Miss Smith looked
up at me and laughed. “Ada, what a face!” she said. “It’s your own fault. I’m
happy to teach you.”
Easy for her to laugh. What if I tried and found out I really couldn’t learn?
“I’ll write back an answer for you,” Miss Smith said. “You want to go,
don’t you?”
“No,” I said. I didn’t want her having to write for me.
“Why not? You’ll have something nice to eat, I’m sure, and Stephen’s your
friend. The colonel’s an old man, but he’s kind and has some interesting
stories.”
“No!” I said. I added, “Stephen’s not my friend.”
Miss Smith sat down and looked at me. “You told me he carried you to the
train station,” she said. “That sounds like something a friend would do.”
Maybe.
“The way you helped Margaret Thorton when she was hurt. You were a
friend to her the way Stephen was a friend to you.”
I did want to count Maggie as a friend. I guessed I wouldn’t mind counting
Stephen as one, only it was harder to be friends with someone who helped
you than someone you’d helped.
“I know you know how to behave nicely,” Miss Smith continued. “You did
when we went out for tea the other day. And I’d walk you to the colonel’s
house, and pick you up again when you were through. You wouldn’t be there
very long. Perhaps an hour. You’d have a treat and a cup of tea, and talk. That
would be all.”
I scowled. “Why do you want me to go?”