Read Online The Sky is Falling by Kit Pearson - Free Book Online Page A

cloud engulfed her and she couldn’t escape it.
    The first day she squatted sullenly on the grass and watched a new game called baseball. There were new games, much more food and different accents. Still, it was difficult to believe she was really in Canada. Being here was much like being in the hostel in Liverpool: a tedious interlude of waiting for the next thing to happen.
    The baseball bounced to a stop beside her. Norah threw it back and was suddenly gripped by a memory of bowling a cricket ball to her father—the sharp smell of newly cut grass and her father’s encouraging, patient voice.
    â€œAre you sure you don’t want to play, Norah?” a woman asked kindly. Norah shook the memory out of her head as she refused.
    After that she escaped from the daily activities by spending as much time as possible in the large room that had been stocked with children’s books and set aside as a library. Norah had never been much of a reader. At school she was better at arithmetic than English, and at home there was too much to do outside to waste it on reading.But now she curled up with a book every day in one of the comfortable leather armchairs. Derek was always in there as well, along with several others. No one spoke; they were isolated like islands all over the room, each sheltering in a story.
    The first book Norah picked out was called Swallows and Amazons . It was about a group of children who camped all by themselves on an island. They reminded her of the Skywatchers. The book was good and thick and lasted for three days. After she’d finished it, she found an even thicker one, Swallowdale, about the same children. She became so lost in their adventures that whenever the meal gong sounded she looked around, startled, as if she’d been a long way away.
    One afternoon Miss Carmichael found her and shooed her outside. “It’s too nice a day to be cooped up with a book. Come out to the grass. We’re having a lovely time blowing bubbles and there are some journalists here who want to meet you all.”
    Reluctantly Norah put aside her book and followed Miss Carmichael to the lawn. She was handed a piece of bent wire and invited to dip it into a pail of sudsy water. Iridescent bubbles floated around her in the warm air. The weather was hot for September; the heat pressed on her skin like a wet sponge. Blinking, she watched her bubble rise, feeling like a mole who had emerged from under the ground.
    Beside her, Lucy was being interviewed. “Now tell me what you think of Hitler,” a journalist asked her.
    â€œHitler ith a nathty, nathty man,” said Lucy coyly. Her lisp was newly acquired.
    A family of five was being lined up for a picture. The star of the group was Johnnie, who posed in the middle of his older brothers and sisters. “We’ve come to Canada to help win the war,” he declared proudly.
    â€œWhy do you say that?” a journalist prompted.
    â€œâ€™Cause children are a nuisance at home. If we’re out of the way then the grown-ups can fight better!”
    The journalists leaned forward eagerly. “Tell the nice people what you said on your first night when I asked how you were feeling,” coaxed Miss Carmichael.
    Johnnie looked confused until Miss Carmichael whispered to him. “I said—I said I was eager and brave!” he shouted. “I’m so brave I’ll—I’ll”—but his eldest sister dragged him away, her hand over his mouth.
    Two women carrying cameras had been listening on the edge of the group. “Excuse me,” one said to Miss Carmichael. “We’re visiting Toronto from the United States and we couldn’t help overhearing this adorable little boy. He’s just too precious to be true! These children are evacuees, aren’t they? How can we get one?”
    â€œWe don’t call them evacuees,” Miss Carmichael corrected. “That sounds as if they have no homes to