Read Online Runaway by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online

minute!”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    See? You know which one’s Camille, admit it. And I got this wonderful reminder of how much I missed my very best friend in the whole wide world, because the cheerleaders were having their little gossip session right by my hiding place.
    The minute I’d heard people coming into the locker room, I’d cut and run, but I couldn’t make it to the back door in time, and the only place I could find to hide and hold was a full-length locker.
    There was barely enough room for me, let alone my backpack. I wish I’d used the backpack as a seat, but I didn’t have time to think that through. I wound up folded at the knees and neck, hugging my backpack. By the time the police arrived, I’d gone from feeling like a sardine in a tin can to feeling like a pretzel of pain in a coffin.
    The cops looked around awhile, then one of them started asking that Ms. Sanders lady questions.

    Cop:
There’s a back door, correct?
    Ms. Sanders:
It’s locked.
    Cop:
And the door to the gym?
    Ms. Sanders:
It was locked, too.
    Cop:
But you can exit either way without a key?
    Ms. Sanders:
Correct.
    Cop:
Is there access from here to the boys’ side?
    Ms. Sanders:
No.
    Cop:
You said the phone was used?
    Ms. Sanders:
Yes, sir.
    Cop:
That might get us somewhere. [Pause.] But no vandalism?
    Ms. Sanders:
Not that I’ve seen.

    And here’s where Camille-of-the-Future came skidding up to them, squealing, “Look what I found, look what I found!”
    And what do you suppose she’d found?
    My backup undies.
    Of course she held them out like they were putrid and revolting, but all they were was tattered and damp. I’d washed them and hung them to dry over a stall divider in the bathroom.
    Through the vent, I could see the cop take them and inspect the size tag, and I thought, Oh, crud!
    Damp meant they were recently washed.
    The size meant he was dealing with a kid.
    And the type meant the kid was a girl.
    I was totally busted.
    Sure enough, he sighed and said, “It looks like your visitor was a girl we’ve been trying to track.”
    â€œA runaway?” Ms. Sanders asked him.
    He nodded. “Her name’s Holly. She ran away from foster care.”
    â€œHow old?” Ms. Sanders asked.
    â€œTwelve.”
    All the cheerleaders gasped. Then Camille-of-the-Future asked, “Is she, like, dangerous? Armed? Into drugs?”
    The cop didn’t answer her questions. Instead, he said, “If you see her around, just call us. Do not approach her or try to befriend her.”
    â€œBecause she’s, like, dangerous, armed, and into drugs?”
    Again, the cop didn’t answer. He just said, “Because we don’t know how she’ll react. Just call us.”
    The other cop had been combing the locker room, and one of the things he’d done was open and close a bunch of full-length lockers. But the locker room was
big,
so after a while he stopped.
    When they were done talking, Ms. Sanders walked the cops out, and the instant she was gone, the cheerleaders got all gaspy and gossipy about homeless people:
    â€œI was walking by Macy’s? And I, like, accidentally
touched
one! It was so, so gross!”
    â€œMy mom bought this homeless guy a sandwich once, and when she drove past him later, she saw him feeding it to his dog!”
    â€œLast week there was one laying on the sidewalk right around the corner from where I get my nails done! I thought he was dead!”
    â€œI saw one passed out at that bus stop by the mall? He was lying in a puddle of pee!”
    â€œOoh! Gross!”
    When Ms. Sanders came back, she told the rah-rah girls to get into the gym. They scurried out, and suddenly it was very,
very
quiet.
    I was dying to get out of that locker. I was pinched and aching and my feet were numb, but I told myself to hold. Give it another few minutes. Make sure everyone’s really gone. Hold.
    And then I heard