"It's a cold, hard, cruel fact that my mother loved heroin more than she loved me."

Holly is in her fifth foster home in two years and she's had enough. She's run away before and always been caught quickly. But she's older and wiser now--she's twelve--and this time she gets away clean.

Through tough and tender and angry and funny journal entries, Holly spills out her story. We travel with her across the country--hopping trains, scamming food, sleeping in parks or homeless encampments. And we also travel with her across the gaping holes in her heart--as she finally comes to terms with her mother's addiction and death.

Runaway is a remarkably uplifting portrait of a girl still young and stubborn and naive enough to hold out hope for finding a better place in the world, and within herself, to be.

From the Hardcover edition.

 

It's cold. It's late. I'm trapped in here, trying to sleep under this sorry excuse for a blanket, and I've just got to tell you--you don't know squat. You think you know what I'm going through, you think you know how I can "cope," but you're just like everybody else: clueless. Writing. Poetry. Learning to express myself. "It'll help you turn the page, Holly. Just try it."

Well, I'm trying it, see? And is it making me feel better? NO! Giving me this journal was a totally lame thing to do. You think writing will get me out of here? You think words will make me forget about the past? Get real, Ms. Leone!

Words can't fix my life.

Words can't give me a family.

Words can't do jack.

You may be a teacher, Ms. Leone, but face it: You don't know squat.

May 19th

Oh, you really took the cake today. "Put your most embarrassing experience in the form of a cinquain poem." What did you expect me to do? Write the truth? I knew you'd read them out loud and you did! How do you spell idiot? I spell it L-E-O-N-E.

Did you like my little poem about spilling my milk in a restaurant? Stupid, I know, so give me an F, see if I care. Like I can even remember ever being in a real restaurant.

You want a cinquain poem about a most embarrassing moment that actually happened to me? Okay, here you go:

Prisoner

Chained outside

Shivering, huddling, sobbing

Naked in the rain

Alone

Oh, yeah. That makes me feel SO much better.

May 20th

My mom died two years ago today.

I'd been scamming food, she'd been shooting up.

I miss her.

More than I have tears to cry, I miss her.

May 20th, again

You want to know why I was crying at recess? That cat Camille is why. She called me a homeless freak. Told me I had a face only my mother could love. Normally, I would have told her to eat dirt and die, but today I just couldn't take it.

I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't believe me. Everyone knows she's your favorite. "Miss Leone, do you need some help?" "Miss Leone, do you want me to pass those out?" "Oh, Miss Leone, you look so pretty today!" Adopt her, why don't you?

Oh, that's right--she already has two parents.

May 20th again, again

When they moved me in with the Benders, the social worker told me that they were "very kind and very patient people." What a laugh. They're phonies, is what they are. Mrs. Bender is a heartless witch, and Mr. Bender is a total creep. He's always touching me. On the shoulder. On the hair. On the hand. He gets that same look that Mr. Fisk used to get when his wife wasn't around.

Social services won't believe me if I complain. They'll say I'm just looking for trouble. Lying. Faking. Overreacting. "Self-inflicting."

Well, I'm not going through that again. I'd rather DIE than go through that again. So tonight when Mr. Bender started massaging my shoulders, I told him, "Stop it!"

He didn't. "I'm only trying to help you unwind," he said in his snaky voice.

"Stop it!" I shouted. "Don't touch me!" And I slapped his creepy hands away.

That brought Mrs. Bender running. "What is going on in here?" she asked, and after he explained it to her, I got locked in my room. Not the room they show the social worker. That's the room they tell me I'll get when I'm a "good" girl. The room I really get is the laundry room. They give me a mat, a blanket, and a bucket to pee in.

So sweet dreams, Ms. Leone, in your feathery bed or...

 

"Readers will be drawn to the gripping details of both physical and emotional landmines hidden in the ordinariness of everyday life. This is a great book to hand-sell or booktalk to young teens. . . . Van Draanen has shown great versatility in adding another dimension to her already respected body of work."

 

"Readers will be drawn to Holly as she shifts between her search for a safe place to live, her anger at the foster care system and her reflections on the circumstances that led up to her mother's overdose."

 

Wendelin Van Draanen began keeping a journal after a family tragedy. Writing started as a way to sort through her feelings and frustrations, but grew into something she enjoyed for its own sake, and eventually became a new and rewarding career. Ms. Van Draanen lives in Central California. The author lives in Central California.


From the Hardcover edition.

Runaway by Wendelin Van Draanen
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