Don't You Know There's a War On? by Avi Page B

walrus. He was holding this billy stick like cops carried.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing, kid?” he asked, pointinghis stick right at me. “You’re supposed to be inside. Where do you live?”
    I didn’t want no trouble. “There,” I said, and pointed to Miss Gossim’s building.
    â€œThen get yourself inside or I’ll book you,” he said, taking a step toward me, tapping that stick in the palm of his hand. Showing me what he might do to me.
    Scared, I pushed through the heavy glass and iron doors of Miss Gossim’s apartment building. It was pretty dark inside. But, see, I figured I could just stay there until the guy left. I turned and looked back. The warden was still there, probably glaring at me, watching and waiting to see if I was really going inside.
    What else could I do? Thinking of that billy stick, I counted down five apartment buttons and pushed the one for Miss Gossim’s apartment—5-C.
    â€œWho is it?” A voice came from a squawk box next to the door. It might have been rough and crackling, but it was Miss Gossim’s voice all right.
    Guessing there was a microphone somewhere, I called, “It’s me, Howie!”
    â€œHowie?”
    â€œHowie Crispers.”
    For a moment she didn’t say nothing. I snitched an-other look over my shoulder. The warden must have been going izzy-wizzy at me with his eyes.
    â€œDid you want to see me?” Miss Gossim asked. There was puzzle in her voice.
    â€œMiss Gossim,” I shouted. “I got caught outside in the blackout. A warden is saying I have to get off the street right away.”
    All I heard was silence. I figured she was thinking what to do. Behind me the warden was going smack , smack into his hand with his billy stick.
    Then the door buzzer rang, unlocking the door. I flung myself against it, and it opened.
    Okay. I was in this lobby. I could see that much. But I wasn’t sure what to do next. It was a blackout. And I wasn’t home where I should be but in this building where I shouldn’t. And now Miss Gossim was expecting me.
    I remembered her apartment was on the fifth floor. Five-C, right? So I looked around and was able to make out some steps in the back. Holding on to the banister, I started up. And all the time my heart was going pita-pat , pita-pat . And I’m thinking, Holy mackerel! I’m visiting Miss Gossim!

23
    WHEN I GOT to the fifth floor, I heard Miss Gossim’s voice say, “Howie?”
    She was standing in her doorway, holding this lit candle. The flame filled her face with gold. And I was looking at her. She was in this blue bathrobe. I mean, a pinup, for cheese sake! Only real . I stood kind of frozen, staring at her, my lips glue-stuck, not knowing what to say.
    â€œHowie?” she called again. “Is that really you?”
    â€œYes, Miss Gossim.”
    â€œBetter come in,” she said.
    When I did like she told me, she stepped aside to let me pass. She closed the door behind us.
    It was a tiny place. I mean, a one-room apartment with a Murphy bed—which was pulled down—an electric cooking plate on a little table, a low table before the bed, plus a folding chair. Maybe a few books. Nothing much else. There must have been a bathroom somewhere. I didn’t see it. As for her, like I said, she looked the same, only different. I mean, she seemed smaller than she was in class.Prettier too. Could have been the bathrobe. And with no makeup, her face seemed softer. But mostly she was looking puzzled.
    She put her candle on the low table, sat at the end of the Murphy bed, and sort of pointed to the chair. “You can sit,” she said. “There’s not much room in here.”
    As I sat, I saw this picture on the low table. It was a guy—just his head—wearing an Army Air Force cap.
    â€œNow, Howie,” Miss Gossim said in the same easy low voice she used at school. “What are you doing