Cold War on Maplewood Street by Gayle Rosengren

And that just made Joanna feel more justified in her anger.
    She put her hands on her hips. She jutted out her chin. “All you care about is yourself,” she cried. “Not me. Not Mom.” She shook her head. A tear flew onto Sam’s hand and glistened there. She forced her eyes to look away from it, back into her brother’s shocked face. “Maybe Mom can forgive you, but I can’t. So don’t expect any letters from me. I’m not going to write a single one.” She glared up at him. “That’s a promise—and unlike
some
people, I
keep
my promises.”
    Her last view of Sam was a white-and-blue blur,because by the time she finished, she was bawling like a baby. She stumbled blindly back into the house, just missing crashing into Mom coming out with her camera.
    That terrible day in September, Joanna had been glad to know she’d hurt Sam. But now thinking of it made her squirm with shame.
    She sighed, and as if she were waking from a dream, she looked around. While she’d been lost in her memories, the room had gotten dark. The good thing about that was she couldn’t see Sam’s eyes staring back at her from the photo, looking hurt and disappointed. At least that’s how they always looked to her.
    She stood to turn on the lamp. But before she could reach it, the front doorknob rattled.
    Joanna froze. Mom was at night school.
    Her heart pounded so hard, it was all she could hear. She tried to yell “Who’s there?” but her throat had twisted shut. No sound came out.
    She wanted to run and hide in her closet. But to do that, she’d have to pass the door. And it was opening.
    Who was going to come in?
    Mrs. Strenge?
    Or a burglar who thought no one was home because the apartment was dark?

CHAPTER 7
    Letters
    DIXIE RACED INTO THE ROOM BARKING FRANTICALLY AS a shadowy figure entered the apartment. Joanna gripped the back of the chair tightly. Maybe Dixie would scare whoever it was away!
    The door closed quickly. Joanna couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Had the burglar run away? Or was he inside the house with the door locked behind him? Dixie’s barking stopped abruptly. She gave a little yelp.
Had the burglar hurt her?
    Then light flooded the room, and there was Mom, with Dixie wagging hello at her feet. “How come you’re standing in the dark?” Mom asked.
    Joanna’s heart stuttered back to life. “Oh my gosh!”Her knees gave out and she sagged against the chair. “You
scared
me!”
    â€œMy goodness, you’re white as a sheet! I’m sorry. I guess I should have called to tell you my class was cancelled.” Mom shrugged off her coat. “But who else would it be but me?”
    Joanna’s voice shook. “A burglar. A kidnapper. Anyone.” She followed Mom to the kitchen on wobbly legs.
    â€œYou and your imagination,” Mom teased.
    â€œYou were supposed to be late tonight,” Joanna defended herself. “Besides, it’s not just my imagination. The lady on the first floor is really creepy. You should see the way she stares at me from her window. And awful smells come out of her apartment. I’ll bet she brews pots of poison.”
    Mom gave her a quick hug. “Joanna, I know it’s hard being home alone so much. And I’m sorry. But letting your imagination run away with you will only make matters worse. You have nothing to fear from Mrs. Strenge. She’s just an ordinary old woman, not some kind of monster.”
    â€œBut remember that girl I told you about?” Joanna pressed. “The one who ran out of Mrs. Strenge’s apartment crying?”
    â€œShe could have been frightened by any number of things,” Mom said on her way to the refrigerator. “The wild white hair, the wrinkles. Who knows?”
    An idea struck Joanna with such force that she gasped.“What if Mrs. Strenge isn’t old at all,” she suggested. “What