The Lights Go On Again

Praise for Kit Pearson

“Kit Pearson is a great talent in Canadian children's literature.”

—
The Guardian
(Charlottetown)

“One of Canada's best junior fiction writers.”

—
The StarPhoenix
(Saskatoon)

“Pearson is a strong writer whose work puts to shame most of the books that kids spend so much time reading these days.”

—
Ottawa Citizen

“Kit Pearson gives young readers a strong testament of the interlocking nature and power of reading, writing and living.”

—
The Vancouver Sun

“Another magical tale from the master.”

—
Toronto Star

“Dazzle. It's not the right word for what Kit Pearson manages to do … but it's close. Closer would be a word that catches the irregular glint of light reflected on water, street lights suspended in fog, an opalescent fracturing of time and genre to create something with its own unique glow.”

—
Edmonton Journal

“Through the vivid observation of two summers, Pearson weaves a summer out of time and weaves as well a spell over her readers.”

—
The Globe and Mail

“The very best in fiction for young adults. Kit Pearson does herself proud.”

—
The Windsor Star

“Kit Pearson's careful and exact research brings the period vividly before us.”

—
The London Free Press

“The woman is a brilliant writer.”

—
Kingston This Week

“Pearson superbly and gently captures the welter of emotions that beset a young teen who is experiencing the onset of adolescence and having to cope with its physical and emotional demands.”

—
CM

“This is a writer at the top of her craft.”

—
Quill & Quire

“Pearson's real strength … lies in her ability to convey the texture of a specific time and place…. So vividly and lovingly evoked that it is almost possible to smell the pine trees.”

—
Publishers Weekly

PUFFIN CANADA

THE LIGHTS GO ON AGAIN

KIT PEARSON
was born in Edmonton and grew up there and in Vancouver. Her previous seven novels (six of which have been published by Penguin) have been published in Canada, in English and French, and in the United States, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, the Netherlands, Germany, Great Britain, China, and Korea. She has received fourteen awards for her writing, including the Vicky Metcalf Award for her body of work. She presently lives in Victoria.

Visit her website:
www.kitpearson.com
.

Also by Kit Pearson

The Daring Game

A Handful of Time

The Sky Is Falling

Looking at the Moon

Awake and Dreaming

This Land: An Anthology of Canadian Stories
for Young Readers
(as editor)

Whispers of War:
The War of 1812 Diary of Susanna Merritt

A Perfect Gentle Knight

The Lights Go On Again

GUESTS OF WAR
BOOK THREE

KIT PEARSON

PUFFIN CANADA

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3
(a division of Pearson Canada Inc.)

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, Auckland, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published in a Puffin Canada hardcover by Penguin Group (Canada),
a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 1993
Published in Puffin Canada paperback by Penguin Group (Canada),
a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 1994
Published in this edition, 2007

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (OPM)

Copyright © Kathleen Pearson, 1993

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

“WHEN THE LIGHTS GO ON AGAIN (ALL OVER THE WORLD)” Words and Music by EDDIE SEILER, SOL MARCUS, and BENNIE BENJAMIN © Copyright 1942 by MCA MUSIC PUBLISHING, a division of MCA INC., New York, NY 10019. Copyright renewed. USED BY PERMISSION. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

“WHEN THE LIGHTS GO ON AGAIN” (Bennie Benjamin, Sol Marcus, Eddie Seiler) © 1942 (Renewed) BENNIE BENJAMIN MUSIC & CHERIO MUSIC PUBLISHING CORP. All rights for the U.S. administered by Chappell & Co. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

Publisher's note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

ISBN-13: 978-0-14-305636-2
ISBN-10: 0-14-305636-0

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication data available upon request.

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Visit the Penguin Group (Canada) website at
www.penguin.ca

Special and corporate bulk purchase rates available; please see
www.penguin.ca/corporatesales
or call 1-800-810-3104, ext. 477 or 474

For Ian

He who would valiant be

'Gainst all disaster

JOHN BUNYAN AND OTHERS

1

What Am I Going to Do?

T
he large boy hulked in front of Gavin on the sidewalk, blocking his way.

“Hold it right there, Stoakes.”

Gavin looked behind him, to where he'd just left Tim and Roger at the corner. They were already too far away to call back. And it was no use running. Mick could easily catch him.

“What do you want?” Gavin breathed.

Mick's mean face came closer. His eyes glittered like hard blue marbles. “I want you to do me a favour.”

“Wh-what?”

“I need some cash. Bring me two bucks tomorrow morning. You can meet me at the school flagpole before the bell. Understand?”

“But I haven't got
two
dollars!”

“Then get it. I know your ma's rich.”

“She isn't really my mother,” said Gavin. “She's not even related to me. She's just looking after me and my sister until the war is over. My real mother lives in England.”

Mick grabbed Gavin's arm and gave it a savage twist. “So what? You live with her in that fancy house, doncha? Bring me the money by tomorrow morning—or you'll be jelly!”

Gavin tried to curb his tears. Pain blazed up his arm. “Okay, Mick. Could you please let go? You're hurting me!”

Mick gave one more tortuous twist, then freed Gavin's arm. Gavin picked up his speller out of the snow and fled, the bigger boy's words shouting behind him, “Don't forget—tomorrow morning before the bell!”

The icy December air made his lungs ache, but Gavin didn't stop running until he reached the towering house at the end of one of the winding streets. He pounded up its wide steps and slammed the door behind him. Safe!

“Is that you, Gavin?” Hanny, the cook, came out of the kitchen, wiping floury hands on her apron. “Why are you so out of breath?” She pulled off his tuque. “And look at your hair—you're sweating!”

“I—just—felt—like—running,” panted Gavin. “Where's Bosley?” Usually his springer spaniel waited for him at the end of the block.

“Norah took him for a walk. She got out of school early today. And your aunts are having tea at Mrs. Bond's. Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, please. Can I have it in my room?”

Hanny gave him a glass of milk and an apple. Gavin carried them carefully up the stairs. He changed out of his school breeks, rubbing the itchy places behind his knees where the wool chafed. He sat down on the rug beside his bed and tried to eat.

But his tears escaped. They burned against his cold cheeks, as his chest still heaved.

“Stop it!” he whispered fiercely.
“Crybaby …”
Gavin sniffed deeply, wiped his eyes on the bedspread and began to nibble the apple.
Think
…

Two dollars! He'd never be able to find that much money by tomorrow. He glanced at the iron bank shaped like a bear on his desk, but he knew it only contained the fifteen cents he was saving to go to the movies on Saturday.

Tomorrow was the day Aunt Florence gave him a quarter to take to school for his weekly war savings stamp. If he kept that and the fifteen cents and next week's stamp money and allowance quarter …

He counted on his fingers. That made only ninety cents. Besides, it was stealing. And he knew Mick wouldn't wait.

He couldn't ask Aunt Florence for two whole dollars without telling her why he needed it. And he knew enough not to tattle on Mick. Ken Cunningham had last month. Mick got the strap and Ken appeared in school the next week with a black eye. He told everyone he'd fallen playing hockey.

Gavin winced as he lifted his glass to drain it. His arm still smarted. Why was the meanest boy in the school suddenly picking on
him
?

Ever since Mick Turner had arrived in September he had been the terror of Prince Edward School. He was large for grade seven—even the grade eights were afraid of him. He bullied alone, stalking the corridors, the washrooms and the playground for his victims. So far Gavin and his friends had managed to avoid him—until today.

Gavin found
The Boy's King Arthur
on his shelf, climbed onto the bed and opened the book to the picture of Sir Launcelot facing Sir Turquine.

“I am Sir Launcelot, the bravest knight in the world,” he whispered. Then he read what Sir Launcelot had done to Sir Turquine, how he “leaped upon him fiercely as a lion, and got him by the banner of his helmet, and so he plucked him down on his knees, and anon he rased his helm, and then he smote his neck asunder.” For a second or two Gavin felt as satisfied as if he had cut off Mick's head. Then he clapped the book shut.

In real life he wouldn't even attack Mick with his fists. It wasn't just that Mick was so much bigger. It was because Gavin hated fighting. Lots of the other grade five boys got into fights. But it made Gavin feel sick to think of hitting someone, or being hit back. He was such a coward! Sir Launcelot wasn't afraid of fighting. Or of bullies like Mick.

But fighting was dangerous. Once a long time ago, when Gavin had been five,
everything
had been dangerous. Then there was talk of Hitler invading England, and bombs, and enemy planes crashing. But after he and his older sister Norah had come to Canada as “war guests” he'd been safe.

Lately, though, even his security in Toronto had begun to crumble. The war, which had been going on as long as Gavin could remember, was ending. The grown-ups talked about how the Germans were being driven farther and farther back. Troops had landed in France on D-Day and now Paris was liberated. In school they sang songs about the end of the war: “It's a Lovely Day Tomorrow,” “The White Cliffs of Dover” and “When the Lights Go On Again.”