Runaway
Van Draanen, Wendelin
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BOOK SUMMARY
"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--an
Submit a book reviewBOOK SYNOPSIS
"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.
BOOK EXCERPTS
May 17th
Its cold. Its late. Im trapped in here, trying to sleep under this sorry excuse for a blanket, and Ive just got to tell youyou dont know squat. You think you know what Im going through, you think you know how I can cope, but youre just like everybody else: clueless. Writing. Poetry. Learning to express myself. Itll help you turn the page, Holly. Just try it.
Well, Im 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 cant fix my life.
Words cant give me a family.
Words cant do jack.
You may be a teacher, Ms. Leone, but face it: You dont 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 youd 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.
Id been scamming food, shed 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 couldnt take it.
I didnt tell you because I knew you wouldnt believe me. Everyone knows shes 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 dont you?
Oh, thats rightshe 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. Theyre phonies, is what they are. Mrs. Bender is a heartless witch, and Mr. Bender is a total creep. Hes 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 wasnt around.
Social services wont believe me if I complain. Theyll say Im just looking for trouble. Lying. Faking. Overreacting. Self-inflicting.
Well, Im not going through that again. Id rather DIE than go through that again. So tonight when Mr. Bender started massaging my shoulders, I told him, Stop it!
He didnt. Im only trying to help you unwind, he said in his snaky voice.
Stop it! I shouted. Dont 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. Thats the room they tell me Ill get when Im 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 whatever you have.
Do you really believe words are going to keep me warm and safe tonight?
May 21st, early morning
Why am I doing this? Why am I writing to you again? Im shivering in this room, huddled under this blanket writing to you, and why? What good is it? Im hungry, I cant sleep, Im locked in here, and Ive got to pee. I hate using the bucket, I just hate it.
Man, Ive got to go. Hold on a minute.
Oh, thats better.
Maybe I can get back to sleep now.
Nope. Im too cold.
So you want to hear how I get a drink when they trap me in here on weekends? I turn on the washer. Pretty sly, huh? I used to put my blanket in the dryer and get it roasting hot, but the dryer quit working and of course I got blamed.
I dont mind the size of this squatty little room, its the cold that gets me. Why cant they give me a better blanket? How about a sleeping bag? Would that kill them?
Whatever. No matter how much I try, Ill never be good enough to sleep in the real room.
Ive got to come up with a plan to get out of here.
May 21st again, lunchtime
What is it with you and poetry? Its like some crazy obsession with you. And I couldnt believe your stupid Life is poetry statement. Maybe your life is poetry, but mines a pile of four-letter words. Find the motion. Find the rhythm. Find the timbre of your life. Whose idea is all this? Yours? Did somebody teach you this stuff? Hows this ever going to help me in life?
And guess what? You can forget it. Im not doing it. Write your own stupid poem about your own poetic life.
Mine would just get me sent to the office.
May 21st again again, after school
I hate you, you know that? I hate you for making me write that poem. I hate you for making me lie about my life. But most of all I hate you for acting so sweet to me. You dont really care. Im a job to you, like I am to everybody else. I know it, so quit pretending you care.
And you probably think youre doing a good job, but guess what? Youre not. I can see right through you, so just leave me alone, would you? Forget Im even in your class. Forget youre supposed to be trying to help me. And quit making me write poems!
From the Hardcover edition.
AUTHOR BIO
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.
BOOK REVIEWS
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.School Library Journal
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 mothers overdose.Publishers Weekly
From the Paperback edition.
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MORE BOOK INFO
ISBN: 0375935223
ISBN(13-digit): 9780375935220
Dewey Decimal: [Fic]
Library of Congress: 2005033276
Book Publisher: Random House Childrens Books
Language: ENG
No. of Pages: 272
Paper Weight (lb): .8438 lb
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