No Goodbye by Marita Conlon-Mckenna

because she is real scared of falling and breaking her hip.
    On my way to the bathroom, I stop outside her spare bedroom. It is very small. A big black plastic sack full of scraps of material fills the floor. She’s making a patchwork quilt. Bits of it are pinned together and hang over the velour chair and the bed. She has been working on it for about a year.
    ‘Gran!’
    She comes out into the corridor and catches me looking at the room. She knows what I’m thinking.
    ‘Lucy! This room is such a mess. Some day soon I’ll get round to fixing it up, and maybe then you andlittle Grace could come and sleep over.’
    ‘Could I stay tonight?’ I plead.
    ‘No!’ she shakes her head. ‘It’s not that I don’t want you, Lucy, it’s just that it wouldn’t be a very good idea at the moment - your Dad needs you to be at home.’
    ‘Oh!’
    My grandmother picks up an old photo of Dad, taken when he was a little boy. A boy who looks a bit like Greg, but with longer, floppier hair and dressed in a school uniform, stares out. He’s trying to smile, but there’s something shy about him.
    ‘That was taken in his last year in primary school. He was about eleven then. Worried about something. He was a good child but it was always hard to know what he was thinking about.’
    I stare into the blue-grey eyes of my father as a child, trying to guess.
    Gran is searching for something, rummaging in the pocket of her navy cardigan. ‘Got them!’ She dangles the car keys. ‘Come on, Lucy, pet! Let’s get you home!’

Runaway
    CONOR –
Monday
    The clubhouse seems small and crowded and stuffy today, as if there isn’t space for everyone. I scan the corners for a spare seat.
    ‘Get lost, Conor!’ Ian mumbles at me.
    ‘Get lost, yourself.’ I try to sound tough. Ian is doing his best to block my way, so that I can’t sit down. John is pretending to look at a book, so he doesn’t have to see what’s going on.
    Brian is shoving up to make a space for me, but Alan gives him a kick with his mud-stained boots. I pretend I’m happy to stand, and fiddle in my anorak pocket for the remaining half of the chocolate bar Dad got me last night. I’ll put it in the club food-box instead of eating it myself.
    ‘Excuse me!’ I brush past Ian, ‘I want to put something in the tin.’
    Ciaran passes me the old biscuit box. It has a pattern of snowmen and Christmas trees on the outside. It is half full – a packet of mints, some chewing-gum, two bags of crisps and a few loosetoffees.
    ‘Hope that hasn’t gone off,’ warns Alan.
    ‘No! I only got it last night. I saved most of it.’ I shove it in with the rest of the stuff, making sure the paper is wrapped good and tight around it before I put the lid back on.
    John coughs and begins, ‘Now, about next weekend – we need to plan this hike we’re going on.’
    This sounds interesting.
    ‘What day are we going?’ I ask.
    ‘We
are going on Saturday,’ mumbles John.
    ‘Sounds good!’ I can’t help smiling.
    ‘Yeah! Sound’s great, Dolphin, ’cos you won’t be there!’ jeers Ian. I glare at him, but say nothing.
    John blushes. ‘My Dad is dropping us off early in the morning on his way to play golf in Rock Mount, and we’re going to hike the whole way back. It’s a few miles.’
    ‘Not for weaklings,’ sneers Ian.
    ‘The problem is, Conor, that my Dad can only take four in the car,’ mutters John, holding his head down.
    ‘I have piano lessons on Saturday mornings,’ Ciaran nods, relieved, ‘so I couldn’t go anyway.’
    Mark doesn’t say a word, just stares at his bulgingtrainers. I guess he is used to this kind of thing. He should explode, grab them, fling them round the room. What the hell kind of Giant is he anyway?
    ‘It stinks!’ The words spurt out before I know it. ‘It’s not fair! There should have been a draw!’
    ‘You unhappy with this club, Dolphin? Well, you know what you can do!’ Ian threatens.
    I hate them.
    ‘Take a hike!’ he