Things I'll Know When I Grow Up

By Casey Dawes

I thought everything would make sense when I grew up. But the adults are falling apart, my friends are being weird, and I might not make it to 13.

 

The Buena Vista RV Resort perches high on a hill overlooking Flathead Lake in Montana. Every day, as long as the weather is nice, I can see rigs of all shapes and sizes crawl up the hill to our entrance. They pause for a moment while the owner's check in with my mom, then rumble to their site behind a golf cart driven by Franklin Twoteeth, the resort's all around gofer, or my Aunt Liz.

 

I'm Sophie Brown, and I can't wait to grow up and get out of here. Living at an RV resort may sound like fun to you, but it's a lot of work. Maybe that's why my dad took a job as a long-haul trucker about four years ago. Mom runs the place most of the year with help from Franklin and Aunt Liz.

 

These last few months at school, things were different. What was easy isn't any more. I'm not sure how to act because very few people are acting like they used to. And it's not just how they act. Boys that used to be my height loom over me. They hang their arms on top of the lockers and stare at the girls who dress up.

 

I don't want to dress up. I like wearing jeans. If I wear a skirt, it's hard to play football or basketball outside.

 

But if everyone else is changing, will I have to go along just to fit in? Just to have friends?

 

I've got the summer to figure it out. But then my best friend goes away on vacation, some mean girls show up, and things get bad between my parents. How am I ever going to know what to do when I go back to middle school?

 

Things I'll Know When I Grow Up is a children's book for ages 9 through 12 set in small town Montana. It's ideal for pre-teen girls who are struggling to figure out what is happening in their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mountain Vines Publishing
• Release date: Apr 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393683285

Casey Dawes

Casey Dawes writes non-steamy contemporary romance and inspirational women’s fiction with romantic elements. She and her husband are traveling the US in a small trailer with the cat who owns them. When not writing or editing, she is exploring national parks, haunting independent bookstores, and lurking in spinning and yarn stores trying not to get caught fondling the fiber! Claim your free collection of short stories! Go to her website, www.CaseyDawes.com, to discover how.

Book preview

For kids, and their parents, who faced hard times

And became stronger.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Story Questions

The Story Behind the Story

Other Books by Casey Dawes

About Casey Dawes

Chapter One

The Buena Vista RV Resort perches high on a hill overlooking Flathead Lake in Montana. Every day, as long as the weather is nice, I can see rigs of all shapes and sizes crawl up the hill to our entrance. They pause for a moment while the owners check in with my mom, then rumble to their site behind a golf cart driven by Franklin Twoteeth, the resort’s all around gofer, or my aunt Liz.

I’m Sophie Brown, and I can’t wait to grow up and get out of here. Living at an RV resort may sound like fun, but it’s a lot of work. Maybe that’s why my dad took a job as a long-haul trucker about four years ago. Mom runs the place most of the year with help from Franklin and Aunt Liz.

Aunt Liz used to have a job in Denver—some kind of computer job. She used to get to travel all over the country. Why would anyone leave a job like that to come live in pokey old Polson, Montana?

I wrote that very question in my notebook. It’s a spiral-bound book with a blue cover. With a big, black Magic Marker, I wrote Property of Sophie Brown! Keep Out! That’s to make sure my younger brother, Ryker, doesn’t open it. He’s five, so he doesn’t read well, but I made sure he understood exactly what keep out means. It’s not only on my notebook. I have it written on a big sign tacked to my bedroom door right at his eye level.

In fact, I made him stand there and look at it so I could tack it at exactly the right spot. Then I went over the words about ten times so he knew what they were and what they meant. When you’ve just turned twelve and your younger brother is five, you have to take matters into your own hands. Otherwise, you’ll never have any privacy.

Anyway, on the first page of my notebook, printed in block letters, it says, Things I’ll Know When I Grow Up. Each page has a topic listed on the top line, with lots of room for notes on how I’ll figure it out. At the top of the first page, it says, Number 1: How to Drive.

I MEAN, REALLY. HOW far can you get on a bike when you live at the top of a big hill a mile away from anything interesting? Or five miles from your very best friend?

Mom or Aunt Liz have to take me everywhere.

I’m trying to get Mom to let me drive one of the carts, but so far she just looks at me and shakes her head when I ask. If I start to argue, she holds up one finger and says, Enough. Have you ...? and asks me about whatever chore she’s assigned me last.

I’d ask Dad, but he isn’t home long enough to bug.

I miss him. He was always around. Then Ryker was born.

And he took the new job.

Mom says it’s because they need the money.

That’s my second thing I’ll know when I grow up. Why we need money.

IT’S THE FRIDAY BEFORE Memorial Day. I’m almost done with sixth grade. Kennedy, my best friend, and I are having a sleepover. All I need is someone to take me there.

I head to the RV office where Mom is working. A line of RVs snake down the hill, all waiting to be checked in.

Sophie, Mom says, I know you want to go. But it’s too busy right now. Why don’t you help out and hand out registration forms to people in line?

I grab a stack of forms and some mini-clipboards. Anything to get Mom done faster. Aunt Liz is riding one of the electric carts around, getting people into their spots. Franklin is going as fast as he can in the other cart. Somehow, they both know how to keep the RVs and themselves out of each other’s way.

I hand out clipboards and registration forms. Some people smile at me, others grab the form. Aunt Liz told me those kind of people have been driving the longest, and they’re tired. I think they’re just rude. I ignore them. As long as they fill out the form and go away, I don’t care.

Finally, the line dwindles, and Aunt Liz comes back.

Okay, Mom says. Now. Got your things?

Yep! I dash back to the house, which is next door, and meet Mom at her pickup behind the house. I’m so excited. Kennedy and I have always done everything together: ride bikes, swim in the park pool, even roller skate. She’s the one person I can always rely on.

But in the last few months, she’s been changing. It’s like she’s discovered some secret I haven’t even heard about. Her older sister, Jennifer, might be telling her things. Jennifer’s fifteen and in high school. Kennedy says she has a boyfriend.

That’s why I’m bringing my notebook with me. Maybe Kennedy can help me with my latest entry: Number 19: What to Do about Boys.

Boys are a total mystery, even though I have a brother. They didn’t used to be. We all played together at recess and during after-school sports. Some of my friends—girls and boys—came to the resort when it was quiet so we could all play in one of the pools.

But these last few months at school, things were different. What was easy isn’t any more. I’m not sure how to act because very few people are acting like they used to. And it’s not just how they act. Boys who used to be my height loom over me. They hang their arms on top of the lockers and stare at the girls who dress up.

I don’t want to dress up. I like wearing jeans. If I wear a skirt, it’s hard to play football or basketball outside.

But if everyone else is changing, will I have to go along just to fit in? Just to have friends?

I’LL PICK YOU UP TOMORROW around three, Mom says as she drives up to Kennedy’s house. Behave yourself and help out Mrs. Carson. You know she’ll tell me if you aren’t doing the right thing.

Sheesh. One time—one time—I didn’t help set the table, and Mrs. Carson reported it to Mom. Mrs. Carson is a pain that way. She has all these rules, even more than my mom.

I ring the doorbell and Kennedy opens the door. She grabs me and pulls me in with one hand, waving at my mom with the other one before shutting the door behind us. Dragging us to her room, she flings herself on the bed, arms outstretched, and says, I thought you’d never come, in her best dramatic voice.

Kennedy wants to be an actress when she grows up.

I’m here now, I say, plopping onto her over-stuffed armchair, a leftover from her mother’s last redo of the living room. It’s my favorite chair in the whole world.

My sister taught me how to paint my nails, she announces. After dinner we can do manicures for each other.

It’s nice out, I protest. We can play volleyball. I don’t need my nails painted. I look at my hands. My fingernails are chewed or broken to the top of my finger. I’m lucky they’re clean. Working in an RV park is dirty work. The only person I know who colors her nails is Aunt Liz. She says she has to look sharp for her boyfriends.

We can play volleyball now, Kennedy says, leaping up from the bed. Then after dinner we can do nails. Easy-peasy.

Okay. It’s one of the things I like about Kennedy. She always comes up with a way to make things good for both of us.

But I don’t really want my nails painted. I don’t want to be one of those girls with colored nails. It makes me feel squirmy inside. I’m not ready to make myself look different, to look sharp for boys.

I just want to be me.

I’M NAILING IT! VOLLEYBALL is my game, and I’m bouncing all over, returning every bump, volley, and spike Kennedy is sending my way. When I get to high school, I am totally joining the team. Last time there was an Olympics, I watched the US team every time they played. They were awesome.

Kennedy pops a high one, and I go for it. Wham! I smack the ball down right next to her. It hits the ground hard and bounces up, slapping the house right next to the sliding glass doors. We immediately stop where we are, waiting for what we know is coming next.

Girls! Mrs. Carson screams as she slams open the doors. I don’t know what you are doing, but it has to stop right now! Come in and get cleaned up. Then you can help me with dinner. Do something useful. She storms back inside.

Sorry, I say to Kennedy.

She shrugs. My mother’s been grumpier than usual lately. Jennifer thinks she’s having the change, whatever that means. I hope she hurries up and gets done with it.

We go in the door by the garage, take off our shoes, and wash our hands in the nearby bathroom. This routine is normal. Mrs. Carson has drilled it into us since we were in elementary school. Then we head to the kitchen. On the way, like always, I read the framed sayings Mrs. Carson has posted all over the house. Most are the ones I’ve been reading for a long time: Home Sweet Home, A Stitch in Time Saves Nine, Children Are a Gift from God.

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