Excerpt from All the Little Hopes by Leah Weiss, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Cause it's in plain sight, Ma sees that tore-out sheet and lets out a scream to her savior and her wayward daughter, getting us a tad mixed up. "Sweet Jesus, what in tarnation got into you, Allie Bert Tucker," she shouts to the heavens.

I don't come outta my room. Don't answer in respect neither. I keep winding that stole muslin round my necked chest to cover my swoll breasts. I'm tamping down my bosom because it changes things. I ain't ready for change.

The rusty hinges on that screen door scratch open and slap shut. Ma's heavy feet flap cross the sticky linoleum up to my door, where her words slide through the crack. "I know you done it. Can't be nobody but you. Ruint the cloth you sleep on, like we rich as kings and can buy what we please. You gonna be the death of me."

Ma stops her talking, breathes like a mule run hard, and moans low from the baby growing heavy in her belly. Her voice turns to mush when she says, "What's got into you, Allie Bert?" and I yell back, "My name is Bert. Plain Bert," then I jump when Ma hits the outside of that door with the flat of her hand and says, "You a thoughtless girl. I pray the good Lord will punish your selfish ways. May he break your willful spirit."

I still don't open the door. I git up on tiptoes to look in the cracked mirror on the wall to see a chest flat as a boy. The muslin makes breathing hard. I don't worry bout the washing on the line. Don't worry bout shelling peas or scrubbing a sticky floor. I let Ruth do the worry stuff, since she's fifteen to my thirteen. I pull on a shirt and overalls, climb out the open window, and drop to the ground quiet as a cat.

Ruth comes walking round the corner of the house cause she knows I'd be crawling out the back window for a getaway. She says, "Where you going?"

I whisper, "I need to skedaddle."

Ruth says, "Ma's upset at what you done. And Sam Logan's come for a visit. He's talking to Pa but waiting on you to take a walk with him."

Sam Logan don't make me pause, but I peek round the corner and see him tall as Pa, him sucking on a sassafras branch cause of his stinky breath. He's got ideas I don't like one bit, but I don't say such things to Ruth. I run. I run on bare feet cross the clearing with a circle of blue mountains all around. Through the apple orchard where blossoms are mostly spent. Past the graveyard of my people into the dark of the woods. I'm heading to my thinking spot back in the holler. Grapevines thick as my wrist hang from tall trees that grow outta cracks in boulders. Moss covers felled logs and is so green it pains my eyes to gaze upon it.

In the bend of the narrow trail lined with ferns, I see a tiny ball of fur. It's lying still, and I walk up to it and nudge it with my toe. It's a baby rabbit, no more than a week old. When I pick it up, the little head falls to the side. It fits in the palm of my hand, and I tuck it against my chest and feel grief stab my heart for a death I got no part in. It's still warm, and I carry it and walk through my quiet woods. Patches of sunlight move on the ground and light up lichen and mushrooms and mica.

The rumble of falling water comes to my ears first, and when it comes into view, the spray soaks me clean through. I still hold tight to the dead rabbit, too precious to cast off. I tuck him inside my shirt pocket so I can climb wet rocks and work my way behind the rushing water to the slip of a cave. Inside is dry enough and deep enough to snuggle up to the far wall. Its comfort seeps through my damp clothes into my bones. A rainbow sparkles through the water, and I think bout today and why I come here: I don't wanna change from a girl to a woman and work till the day I die.

That's the God's honest truth. That curse from blood between my legs don't mean nothing but heartache. A growed woman won't never come to my cave. Or fly high on a grapevine. Or jump in a swimming hole deep as tomorrow. Or grieve a dead rabbit that barely saw the sun rise and set a half-dozen times. A woman's feet is nailed too solid to the ground to roam, and I need to roam. I wanna go to places Teacher talked about in them picture books. Paris, France. London, England. China with a great wall that wanders forever. I want to see water as blue as a morning sky. Teacher says I'm smart enough, and I want to believe her. I rub the soft rabbit fur with my thumb cause it gives me comfort and hope I won't have to settle for a puny life. I dream of blue ghost fireflies that will rise up soon and dance in the dark…

Excerpted from All the Little Hopes by Leah Weiss. Copyright © 2021 by Leah Weiss. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.