Reckless, Glorious, Girl Read online

  For Gianina Bazaz Hagan, Elinor Sferra Bazaz & Miriam Dawson Hagan—

  for all the mothering & grandmothering you all did to raise me. Love, love.

  Also by Ellen Hagan

  Watch Us Rise (with Renée Watson)

  Contents

  Beatrice Miller’s Burning Questions

  Backyard Daydreaming

  Mamaw

  My Room, My Sanctuary

  Doorbell Rings

  Homemade

  The Kitchen Erupts

  After Dinner

  In the Mirror

  When I Can’t Sleep

  Midnight

  After Midnight

  Rise & Keep Shining

  Beatrice

  Porch Swinging

  More to Know

  Pastry Chef

  Mamaw, Mom & Me

  Things My Dad Was Gonna Be Great At

  Things I’m Gonna Be Great At

  Bardstown, Kentucky

  What Other People See vs. What I See

  Countryfolk

  Not to Brag

  Getting Old Is Hell

  Growing

  Germinate & Burgeon

  Night Shift

  What I Need from You

  Part Mamaw & Part Mom

  Summer Still

  Wanna Catch Crawdads?

  Tree House Where I Hold My Dreams

  City Pool

  Swim Team Girls

  I’ve Been Thinking

  Race Day

  Medley Relay

  The Whistle Blows

  We Win

  Dinner on Us

  At the Playground

  Seriously

  Time to Go

  At Home

  The Bathroom Mirror

  When I Can’t Sleep

  Sunburn Sunday

  Out on the Water

  Mamaw’s Lifestyle

  Summer for Dinner

  Some Nights

  How I Feel vs. How I’m Supposed to Feel

  Mariella Says

  Wrong Again

  Dear Diary,

  Questions for Mamaw & Mom

  Neither of Them Listens

  Mamaw Says

  But Lately, I Want

  What My Mom Can’t Afford

  Questions for Dad

  Ways to Disappear

  Bluegrass Diner

  Singing Sisters

  Period

  Mom Says

  Period Drama

  I Resist the Urge to Yell—

  Google Search: Harrison Douglas

  Gardens, Books & Bourbon

  Three Days Before School Starts

  Two Days Before School Starts

  Drama

  Gardening with Mamaw

  Harvest Party

  Mom Says

  Mamaw Promises

  Garden at Midnight

  Mom = All Buttoned Up Mamaw = All the Way Let Loose

  Mom Slams the Car Door

  In My Head

  Alternate Names for the Seventh Grade

  New Faces & Names

  Where We’re From

  Social Misfits

  What Everyone Except Me Knows

  The Average Day in Middle School

  Bardstown Baked

  The Boys in My Class

  Body Moves

  Lunchroom Catastrophe

  Alternate Names for the Bathroom

  Are You Okay?

  Supernatural Powers & Abilities

  Turns Out

  Hands Down

  All Morning Long

  My Dreams Get Lost

  Seventh-Grade Dream

  It’s Day of the Girl

  You All Have Beautiful Voices

  First of All

  Alternate Names for Gym Class

  My List of Superpowers

  Egomania

  Trouble

  In Other News

  I’ll Cook

  Mamaw’s Outfit

  Reasons Harrison Douglas Is Suspect

  Mamaw Says

  At Dinner

  Cincinnati

  I Sure as Hell Know

  The Fight

  Give Him a Chance

  Dreaming

  Tree House Reality

  Top-10 Girls

  Mariella Says

  StaceyAnn Says

  Cool, We Say

  One More Thing

  Reasons a Rating System Sucks

  Rodney Is More than Okay

  After School

  Then We See Them & Everything Changes

  Melting

  Sometimes I Pretend I’m Dying

  Beatrice as Everything She’s Not & Everything She Wants to Be

  Beatrice as Superstar

  Ode to Afternoons Alone

  When No One Else Is Watching

  Searching for Me

  Voices That Carry Me

  What They Want

  Weekend Away

  Dear Diary

  In the Morning

  Hello

  Cover the Plants

  Inside of Me

  You’re Invited

  The Cool-ification of Beatrice Miller

  Mamaw Loves Vintage

  Brown Station Wagon

  Cruising

  Chloe’s House

  Nice Car

  Craft Fair

  What We Do

  Beatrice, We Dare You

  Slumber Party Drama

  Spin the Bottle

  Questions

  Liam + Beatrice = K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  Five Minutes Later

  Mamaw Is a Character

  Tag

  You’re It

  What Rodney Says

  We Stay Talking

  The Next Day

  Fancy Hotel Birthday Weekend

  Hotel Pools

  Order Up

  Happy Birthday, Beatrice

  End of Vacation Life

  Sometimes in My Dreams

  Dreaming Another Me

  The Way Home

  Arrival

  I Stole Them

  Tree House

  Apology

  Texts from Mamaw (from My Mom’s Phone)

  Text from Mom

  My Heart

  Poem of Forgiveness

  Truth Is

  Dear Ms. Cole

  One More Apology

  Friendsgiving

  Mamaw Dancing Was So Beautiful

  What Money Can’t Buy

  Reasons Mariella & StaceyAnn Are Forever Friends

  Girls Are Bad Drivers—Part I

  Prove It

  Girls Are Bad Drivers—Part II

  Berry Teaches Us Self-Love & Worth— Lesson One Trillion

  Beatrice Miller’s Abecedarian

  Winter on Its Way

  Mamaw Says

  What’s Up

  The Color of Tomatoes—

  And That’s How We End Up

  The Walk Home

  When I Can’t Sleep—Episode 4,592

  Happy New Year

  Acknowledgments

  Beatrice Miller’s Burning Questions

  Will Mom & Mamaw ever see me as more

  than a little kid? Will they ever trust me?

  Recognize my growing? See my evolution?

  Witness my expansion?

  I’ve been studying other words for “mature”

  in our big ol’ thesaurus & they include:

  Evolve

  Develop

  Blossom

  Ripen

  Arrive.

  Will those words ever happen to me?

  How can I celebrate all of who I am?

  Garden & Movie Lover

  Bike Rider

  Swim Teamer

  Nacho Eater
r />   Comic-Book Nerd

  Superhero Obsessed

  Mamaw & Mom Hugger

  Late-Night Couch Cuddler.

  Should I shine a light on all the parts

  of me that no one can see?

  Nervous

  Anxious

  Embarrassed

  Awkward.

  Maybe if I could share those feelings,

  then people would see more of the real me.

  Always, I’m wondering,

  will Mariella, StaceyAnn & I ever be officially cool?

  Not outskirts, outside, sideline cool

  but ruling the school,

  making all the jokes,

  getting all the laughs,

  full lunch table,

  friends finding us after the bell rings.

  You know, that kind of cool.

  The kind that’s smooth,

  enters the room before you do.

  Anyway, I’ve got about a trillion more questions,

  but you have to start somewhere.

  Backyard Daydreaming

  You can find me swinging steady & slow,

  my feet high in our tie-dyed hammock

  (’course it’s tie-dyed—Mamaw wouldn’t have it

  any other way). Once I get a rhythm going,

  my head clears right up. I’m not caught

  in mistakes or hiccups from my past

  & I’m not hung all the way up on my future,

  who I am, who I’ll be.

  Just here, just now.

  Mamaw says, “That’s the good stuff,

  your meditative state.”

  She says, “Empty your brain

  and the world will come straight to you.”

  I have no idea what the heck she means.

  But when she says, “Time is a construct,”

  & I suddenly find myself swinging all afternoon long

  with not one care in the whole wild world?

  Well, then I’m pretty sure she knows

  exactly what she’s talking about.

  Mamaw

  Maa—almost like the sound of a goat baaing.

  & “maw” like a mouth. Caw with an M sound.

  Mamaw. Maaamaaaw. Mamawwww.Mamaw.

  I say it like a chant or some spell I’m setting.

  Never thought a thing about it being different

  or weird or too country or too down South.

  In the fifth grade, Shelby Perkins said, “Anyone

  who calls their GRANDMOTHER MAMAW

  or MEEMAW is a HILLBILLY.” She was all the time

  talking in capital letters at us. And by us,

  I mean anyone who didn’t live McMansion-style

  or have the freshest sneakers, name-brand anything.

  Anyone who didn’t grow up with more & more.

  I mean anyone who used the word “mamaw.”

  Shame filled me up.

  “Welp, I guess I’m a hillbilly, then,” StaceyAnn said,

  sticking her chin all the way up.

  “Besides, I bet my meemaw

  could whoop your grandmother’s butt any ol’ day.”

  I gave StaceyAnn a look that said, Stop talking!

  But she kept on. “Any name you give your granny

  is the right one. You worry about your grandmother”

  (This time she said it with a British accent.)

  “And I’ll worry about my meemaw.”

  (This time she slathered on the twang.)

  We walked home laughing about our comeback

  & StaceyAnn’s sharp tongue, which she swears

  she got straight from her meemaw. Lucky us.

  My Room, My Sanctuary

  “I wish my door had a dang lock,” I holler out

  to what feels like no one, since both Mom & Mamaw

  are crooning their hearts out to “Baby Love,”

  The Supremes turned all the way up. Record player

  spinning. I’ll bet I’m the only twelve-year-old who knows

  how to use an old Victrola, & that’s nothing to brag about.

  StaceyAnn & Mariella are coming over for our weekly

  summer sleepover, & I gotta get this room just right.

  New purple bedspread with the solar system shining.

  Bright yellow stars that Mariella will fall in love with.

  Posters of Storm, Wonder Woman & Katana.

  A few of the superheroes we love.

  Thinking of my own superpowers

  & how to make them come alive.

  A big drawing of the astrological signs too.

  Mariella is an Aries all the way. All floaty & dreamlike.

  Connected to the sky & nowhere near earth.

  StaceyAnn is a Sagittarius. Optimist. Freedom seeker.

  She says it. And we believe her.

  I’m a Scorpio. Everyone says I’m the

  passionate,

  intense,

  wild one,

  but I still haven’t been able

  to figure out exactly what that means

  or who that is.

  I pack up the last of my dolls, all their bottles,

  blankets, baby clothes & plastic pacifiers.

  Used to be we’d pull all those old toys out & play

  like when we were kids, but lately

  it’s happening less & less.

  I hold my favorite doll to my chest & my eyes fill up.

  If Mamaw saw me, she’d say, “What has come over you,

  sweet Beatrice?” But I already know.

  It’s the saying goodbye to the old me

  while having no idea

  who the new me even is just yet.

  Doorbell Rings

  Mariella & StaceyAnn race through the house.

  Some things never change. That’s for sure.

  They give quick kisses to Mamaw & Mom

  & throw open my door (see the no-lock situation).

  They both ooohhh & aaahhh at my new setup,

  pile on to the lime-green beanbags & kick back.

  Like always, we make plans.

  Mariella: finish work on our graphic novel,

  Superhero Sisters Explore the Solar System.

  I’m not sold on the working title, but we’ll get there.

  “I made some new sketches.”

  She pulls open her backpack & illustrations

  come pouring out.

  StaceyAnn starts next: work on some new songs.

  “My dad taught me three new chords.”

  She pulls her smooth, sleek guitar from its case

  & starts to strum. Never mind that all I can play

  is the dang tambourine. StaceyAnn has enough

  confidence & cockiness to make it all work.

  She’s sure we’re gonna be musical superstars,

  & while I’m a little less positive, I do love

  singing at the tip-top of my lungs

  when no one is listening.

  My goals for the night include only this:

  make the most delicious personal pizza pies

  on the whole planet. “Time to get to work!”

  Homemade

  “If it ain’t homemade,” Mamaw starts most sentences,

  “then it ain’t worth eating.”

  She makes a show of pulling the advertisements

  for other pizza spots out of the drawer.

  I’m almost 100 percent positive she keeps them there

  for this reason alone.

  “Giovanni’s Pizzeria? Sauce is overly salty. Crust is so-so.”

  “Flavors of Florence? Tomatoes are not fresh

  & the dough is frozen. You can tell. I can tell.”

  She goes through three more that way,

  naming all the chain pizza spots

  & the ones two or three towns away,

  having tasted all of them

  & sharing in detail

  why none of ’em

  are as tasty

  as homemade.

&nbs
p; “Anything you make

  with your own two hands

  is worth it.” She smiles

  while handing out aprons

  & laying out ingredients.

  The Kitchen Erupts

  Olives & jalapeños, roasted tomatoes,

  mushrooms & mozzarella, pineapple & pecorino,

  fontina & feta, ham, salami & pepperoni, Parmesan,

  paper-thin slices of onion, red peppers & oregano,

  olive oil & balsamic, basil & pesto, Italian sausages

  & our mouths are watering in no time.

  Mamaw does absolutely nothing halfway. Preheats

  the oven, puts another record to spinning & dances

  while she pulls dough from the fridge & teaches us

  how to roll out the perfect pizza pie.

  Says, “Dough is simple.”

  Flour

  Salt

  Sugar

  Olive oil

  Love & let it rise.

  “Making something from nothing is simple.

  Flatten and shape. Stretch and smooth.

  Relax and roll. Go easy. Be gentle with it.

  Speak to it. Sing to it. Tell it all your secrets.

  Watch it take shape. Nourish you. Feed you.”

  Mariella, StaceyAnn & I eat it up. Both the pizza

  & Mamaw’s sayings. We load our pies to the max

  & stuff our faces ’til we’re silly. Wash it down

  with Mamaw’s sweet & spicy iced tea.

  There’s enough caffeine to keep us up all night,

  & I can’t help but be thankful for feeling so full.

  After Dinner

  We stay awake rambling, playing

  rounds of cards, old board games.

  The nights always move too fast

  when we’re together, new dances,

  lip-synching songs, telling stories.

  “So there I am,” StaceyAnn starts,

  “about to go down the hill on Waverly,

  seeing if I can beat my best time,

  when Lucas and Rodney show up

  and you-know-who wants to race.”

  “He’s the worst,” Mariella says,

  all of us knowing she means Lucas,

  who makes fun of everyone & everything.

  He’s all the time trying to finish first

  or beat someone at something

  or make some kind of scene.