Runaway by Wendelin Van Draanen

  Ah, you say. Refreshing water! Trees! Perhaps fish to catch for supper?

  Guess again.

  Even the river here is cement. I’m not kidding. The sign says LOS ANGELES RIVER but it’s a giant canal of cement with no water in it. The “banks” are cement, too, decorated in huge areas with graffiti. All you can see in any direction are power lines and train tracks and cement, cement, cement.

  I decided to walk “downstream.” It was dusk and I was really hungry, but I saw no chance of finding any food around the “river,” so I just wanted to find a safe place to sleep before it got too dark. A place where I could see people coming before they could see me. A place where my back was protected and my body was sheltered.

  I was starting to think that the river was a horrible choice because there were train tracks on either side of it and, beyond them, an endless, barren wasteland of industrial buildings. But then I spotted an overpass, and as I got closer, I saw a shopping cart. It was upright, at the foot of the bank near the overpass.

  I ducked through a large break in the chain-link fence and walked along the cement riverbank toward the cement overpass that crossed above the cement river. I was quiet and careful, and when I got closer, I smelled cigarettes.

  Under the overpass was a small camp of homeless: three women (two of them with little babies) plus about five men. I spied on them from behind the arch of the overpass for a few minutes, then stepped forward with my hands up, saying, “Hello? Is it okay if I come in?”

  There was a lot of quick chattering in Spanish, and finally one of the women said, “You are lost?”

  I nodded, then shook my head, then shrugged.

  The woman laughed.

  “Tired?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Hungry?”

  I nodded before I could stop and think that they might chase me away if they thought I wanted their food.

  She smiled kindly and patted the ground beside her.

  I stepped into the shade of the overpass, thinking that this had gone way too easy. Maybe they were all going to surround me and pounce. Maybe…

  But the woman smiled again and said, “Is okay. Come.” She patted the ground some more, then chattered in Spanish at the men, waving them off.

  The men backed away, so I took a few more steps toward her and said, “Thank you.”

  “De nada,” she said. Then she rummaged around a canvas sack and pulled out a can of hash. “You like?”

  I almost broke into tears. She was being so nice. And I was so, so hungry.

  “For you,” she said, pushing it on me.

  I sat down and pried open the lid. My hands were shaking. My legs were shaking. My mouth was watering like a dog’s.

  “No eat too fast,” she said, then handed me two sort of dried-out corn tortillas. “Use.” She tore off a piece and pinched it over some hash. “See?”

  So that’s how I ate. A little tortilla wrapped around a bit of hash. I ate every morsel. Every crumb. Every molecule. And when I was done, she smiled and said, “Better?”

  I nodded. And I tried not to, but my chin quivered and my eyes stung as I told her, “Thank you.”

  So I’ve been thinking that this place by the cement river is like my first safe house. And it may sound stupid and naïve to you, but thinking that way fills me with hope. And stupid and naïve or not, without hope I’ve got nothing.

  3:20 a.m.

  steel screeches on

  the track

  reaches on

  the night spans gray

  and lights

  burn my eyes

  as night

  reaches on,

  endlessly on

  The next day

  I had a miserable night last night, but right now I am in the absolute best mood. You are not going to believe where I am!

  I happened to find this place while I was searching again for The People’s Church. (My friends from last night tried to give me directions to the church, but I don’t think I understood right.)

  But forget that. Right now I’m inside the coolest building I have ever seen. It’s big, with tall ceilings and echoing halls, and it’s full of wood and (of course) cement. But this is good cement!

  So where am I?

  Here’s a big hint: I haven’t told you the main thing they have here.

  Big hint #2: You would love it here!

  Give up?

  I’m in the library.

  This is nothing like that podunk hardly-ever-open Aaronville library (or any other library I’ve been in, for that matter). This place is a museum of books. Floor after floor of books! I wandered around for hours and am now in the teen section. It’s unbelievable here: cushy couches and coffee tables and magazines…it’s more like a lounge than a library.

  I’ve picked out a few books, too. There’s one about escaping from Alcatraz. (You’ve heard of Alcatraz, right? That old prison on an island? I never knew this, but it’s in California. I’m not sure if the book is fact or fiction, but it sounds great!)

  Another book I picked out is about an evil boy who terrorizes people during the day, but at night he turns into a benevolent ghost and goes around helping people. What is he, evil or good? I guess I have to read it to find out.

  But the one I’m going to read first is about this girl who gets stranded on a desert island with her dog. What a perfect life! You should see the cover—the girl looks sort of lame, but the dog is so happy-looking! (What I would give to be stranded on a desert island with a dog that cute….)

  I could probably sneak the books out of the library, but why would I? It’s cool and comfortable in here, and there’s no traffic noise. Plus, the bathrooms are nice, and everybody’s minding their own business.

  Too bad the library closes at eight.

  Too bad they don’t have free food.

  But forget about that. I’ll deal with sleep and hunger later. Right now I’m going to sit in this cushy chair and read!

  3:45 p.m.

  Guess what! I found a room with a refrigerator and scored big-time! Two sandwiches, a couple of yogurts, a can of almonds, and some beef jerky. I stashed them in my jacket quick, then went into a bathroom stall, scarfed some of it down, and put the rest in my backpack.

  I love this place!

  7:45 p.m.

  The library’s closing in 15 minutes. And all of a sudden I’m really, really tired. I shouldn’t have spent the whole day reading. I should have found that church. Or I should have taken a nap in here.

  Maybe I’ll hide behind the bookshelves and wait for the place to close down. It would be so nice to sleep on a couch….

  But what if they have night security? What if I get caught? They’ll know I’m homele a gypsy. They’ll turn me in.

  Crud.

  10:30 p.m.

  There are guards roaming around. Two, I think. They cruised through the teen section but haven’t come back for a while. I can’t see any cameras mounted on the walls, scanning the room for tired gypsies, so I’m hoping I’m safe for the night.

  I’m going to forget the couch (even though it’s calling my name really LOUD). It’s in the wide-open middle of this room, and they’d see me for sure if they came through again. I thought about snagging two of the couch cushions and bringing them back here, but then I can’t pretend to have fallen asleep during business hours if I get caught. (That’s what I’m planning to say if they find me. You know, “Oh no! I can’t believe it! I’ve got to get home. My mother is going to be SO worried!”)

  Better safe and uncomfortable than comfy and caught.

  The next day, 8:45 a.m.

  Close call! I was on my way to the bathroom, because my bladder could not make it to opening time to get relieved, when this lady came into the teen section with a cart of books. I held really, really still, and she was so busy rolling the cart around, putting books on the shelves, that she didn’t notice me. The minute she went around a stack, I beat it into the bathroom.

  So now I’m in a sta
ll, killing time before the library opens. I hope there’s some librarian’s lavatory that they use instead of this one. One look at my shoes under the divider and they’ll know I don’t work here. Then they’ll bust me and find a yogurt container and cellophane and figure out that I just had their lunch for breakfast.

  Same next day, 10:45 a.m.

  Back in my teen-section chair, comfy and fairly safe. I did get The Look from a librarian. At least I think she’s a librarian. She asked me, “Weren’t you here yesterday?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said with a smile. “I love the library.” Then I added, “My mom’s a lawyer, and I beg her to take me here whenever she has to do research. I love books, and getting to spend whole days at the library is just the best!”

  So okay, I laid it on pretty thick. But she smiled and nodded, and I think the bit about my mom being a lawyer was a stroke of genius, don’t you? Who wants to mess with a girl whose mother is a lawyer?

  Just call me the Genius Gypsy!

  Ha ha!

  But the truth is, this genius gypsy is starting to wonder what in the world she’s doing. I can’t stay in a library in the middle of a cement city. I don’t want to be a cement-city gypsy. I’m a sea gypsy. A genius gypsy of the sea, that’s me!

  3:15 p.m.

  I finished that book about the girl and the dog. The dog saved her life about twenty times, then in the end he died. Stupid book. I buried it in the bathroom trash bin, which is where a book like that belongs.

  The story about escaping Alcatraz was a lot better. I like escaping books. I can relate.

  So I’ve started on the one with the ghost boy and so far it’s really good, but I’m distracted because I’m worrying about tonight. I’ve gotten The Look about ten times in the past hour, and I know the clock is ticking. I tried to wash up in the bathroom, but it’s not even close to the same thing as a shower. And no matter how polite I act, my clothes are filthy and I know I look awful.

  I guess it’s time for me to find that church.

  I wish I could get a library card. I’d really like to finish this book.

  I guess I’ll have to steal it.

  8:00 p.m.

  When I realized my little vacation at the library was coming to an end, I started getting really stressed out. I didn’t want to go back outside! I started thinking about how long it takes to go anywhere in this city. How depressed and disoriented and hungry I’ve been living here. But then I got the brilliant idea that the library might have maps, and it does! Tons of them!

  And guess what?

  I’m only about 15 miles from the ocean! I could walk that in a day! (Or two.) And I can go south or west. The coastline curves around, so either way I’ll wind up at the Pacific Ocean!

  I also found out that I’m about 12 miles from Beverly Hills and only 8 miles from Hollywood. But who cares about them, right? I want to see the sea! I want to jump right in and take a giant salt bath! I want to swim with the dolphins and make a lean-to out of palm fronds and watch birds swoop through the sky!

  I was so excited to know my way out of this cement trap that I almost just started walking. But I was also hungry and needed a shower and clean clothes. So first I looked up the address of The People’s Church in the phone book (which they also have tons of at the library.)

  And no wonder I couldn’t find it! It doesn’t look anything like a church. No pointy roof or stained-glass windows. No crosses or statues of Jesus or Mary or angels. Just a little sign posted on a basement door that says THE PEOPLE’S CHURCH.

  It’s an actual underground church!

  I told the pastor, “My mom said to meet her here because—” But before I could even finish building up my lie, he waved me in. “Come! Come in! The House of the Lord welcomes all. I’m Reverend Raynaldo, this is Shanana, and we’re here to help you any way we can.”

  I don’t know what you think about God, Ms. Leone, but the days I’m not busy hating him, I think he doesn’t exist. Or if he does, he’s just the devil with a white cloak on. Like Ghost Boy. Which is he? Good or evil? (I may never know, because I got busted trying to lift the book.)

  But there is no doubt in Reverend Raynaldo’s and Shanana’s minds about God. They are believers, and you know what? It’s nice to be around them. I’ve taken a shower, gotten clean clothes, eaten a TON of baked spaghetti, and I’ve got my own mat, pillow, and blanket over here in the corner. And they haven’t asked me once, “So…when did you say your mother was coming?”

  If it wasn’t for the winos and druggies and schizos (who also have mats, pillows, and blankets), I might actually feel comfortable here.

  Sunday night, August 1st

  Summer is going by fast and I haven’t even seen the ocean, let alone frolicked with dolphins. I wasted yesterday sleeping. I swear, except for stuffing my face during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I slept the whole day away. And I wasn’t wide awake at night, in case you’re wondering. I slept the whole night away, too.

  It felt so good.

  And still no questions about my mother.

  Shanana made me go to church this morning. “Time to give thanks,” she told me. “Time to let Him hear your gratitude.”

  “I’m grateful to you, anyway,” I muttered.

  “I’m just the messenger,” she said with a smile. “Tell Him.”

  So I went into the “chapel” (a cramped room with a very low ceiling and dilapidated folding chairs), and I listened to Reverend Raynaldo sermonize about the bounty of blessings the Lord has laid on the table for our feasting, and how the Light is the way for God’s lost flock to find its way Home.

  I also listened to a lot of snorting and hacking and snoring from the homeless gallery. Plus, this one really spaced-out guy kept shouting stuff like “I am the One, the Way, and the Light! Follow me! To the desert! I have camels!”

  I’ve met a lot of guys who think they’re Jesus. Maybe it happens when your beard gets long and scraggly and you start looking like a guy who’s walked across the desert in sandals. But this particular Jesus had the worst slur and most bloodshot eyes of any of the “prophets” I’ve ever seen. Shanana finally got him to leave, but she was amazingly nice about it. I’d have grabbed him by the ear and tossed him out on his rear.

  I was surprised to see so many children at the service. I don’t know why any mom would bring her kids to this church, but a lot of them did. Maybe it’s the bounty of donuts and orange drink and coffee that the reverend and Shanana put out. After the sermon, everyone pigged out, tanked up, and took off.

  Talking about God made me remember the Blue Lady. Have you ever heard of her? (What am I saying. Of course you haven’t.) The Blue Lady’s a secret among street kids, and the sad thing is, I used to believe in her. I really, truly used to believe in her. I wanted so badly for her to be real.

  I’m not supposed to tell you about the Blue Lady, but I’m going to.

  Ready?

  Here’s how the legend goes:

  Years ago now, God fled his beautiful marble palace in Heaven to escape a treacherous attack of Hell’s most powerful demons. The demons, with their scaly skins and eyes of dripping blood, smashed the palace until it was nothing but dust. The angels in Heaven were stunned. Where had God gone? Why didn’t He return? How could they defend Earth from the demons of the underworld without Him?

  Time passed. God did not return. And demons found doorways into our world through abandoned refrigerators, mirrors, and limousines with blackened windows. Once on Earth, demons thrived on dark human emotions like fear and hate and jealousy.

  The most feared demon of all (feared even by Satan) is a woman whose black dress billows backward, even on the stillest of nights. Blood drips from her ghoulish empty eye sockets as she screeches and howls at lesser demons to obey her. She is called the Crying Woman, and she is the one who led the attack on Heaven. And now that she is on Earth, she grows in power and strength by feeding on the terror of children.

  There is one angel who can fight off the Crying Woman.
She is beautiful, with long, flowing hair and glowing blue skin, and she lives in the ocean. She wants to save children from the Crying Woman but can only do so if they call out her secret name: the Blue Lady.

  When the Blue Lady hears a child cry to her for help, she quickly gathers an angel army to protect the child from danger. Flying bullets, demons disguised as men, fever, or famine…if you call out to the Blue Lady, she will find a way to rescue you. You will hear her gentle voice whispering in your ear, “Hold on. You will be safe. Hold on.” She is good and kind and strong, and if you hold on, you will be safe. So hold on.

  I used to love that story. I first heard it when I was nine. An older boy, maybe eleven or twelve, whispered the story to a group of us in the children’s corner at a shelter. “No adults can know about her,” he told us. “Adults don’t believe. Adults make fun. But it’s true. I swear on my father’s grave, it’s true.”

  Some of the other kids nodded and whispered, “I’ve seen her.” “She saved me.” “She’s like an angel ghost, only blue.”

  I heard the story of the Blue Lady many times, from all sorts of kids. And then at one shelter, I was the oldest, so it was my job to tell it. I loved seeing the younger kids’ eyes grow wide with awe as they heard the story for the first time.

  I also loved the power of the Blue Lady. The strength she gave us on the inside. Like we could hold on because she and her army of angels were on a mission to protect us from evil, and somehow, some way, we would win.

  I used to cry out to the Blue Lady when things got really bad. I used to think I heard her voice whisper, “Hold on, Holly. You will be safe. Hold on.”

  But then I found my mother.

  Dead.

  And now I know:

  There is no Blue Lady.

  There’s only wishful dreaming.

  4:45 p.m. I think it’s Thursday. I’ve lost track again.