“I don’t know how she could possibly do more injustice to that namesake than she does,” my grandma muttered when I came home from kindergarten with a note detailing how I had thrown cupcakes into the ceiling fan. Grandma has lived with us as long as I can remember. Even my dad, normally a champion of my “adventurous spirit,” had to draw the line sometimes with me, such as the time I attempted to fashion a basketball uniform for Barry, my grandma’s cat.

“Pollyanna . . .” Grandma had sighed after finding a very unhappy Barry being sewn into a jersey I had fashioned from one of my own. “Barry is a free spirit! He’s a roamer, not an athlete.”

But she said she was sorry to slow my plans for assembling a neighborhood human-animal squad.

“She’s the anti-Pollyanna . . .” I heard her murmur to my mom in the kitchen later that night.

“She’s a little girl!” my mother retorted, stirring a pot of bubbling spaghetti sauce. “And she’ll grow into a woman of God.”

My grandma tells me I’m still the anti-Pollyanna, but she says it now with a smile. I can be a hothead on the basketball court, which Grandma insists will prevent a WNBA career. I become enraged if the movie I want to see is sold out when I arrive at the theater. But always, when I get irritated, I hear my mom’s voice in my head, so confident that I will be a “woman of God.” And I try to be that woman instead of anti-Pollyanna.

Party Invitation
My friend Dana called me this morning to invite me to the new water park that opened in our town. At my eighth-grade graduation party a few months ago, everyone was talking about it, and I knew that lots of kids from the high school would probably be there.

The only problem is, my dad got laid off two months ago, and money’s been tight. When we “ladies of the manor” (as Dad calls us) go to the grocery store, Grandma trails me around as I get what I need, grabbing an item out of my hand and sometimes exchanging it for a less expensive version or replacing it on the shelf altogether. She takes my hand and clasps it tightly, leading me away.

“Rough time right now, Pollyanna,” she says, squeezing my hand tightly. Then she usually starts humming a Sinatra song, because Sinatra always makes her feel better.

I went downstairs after Dana called and found my mom transferring armfuls of wet clothes from the washer into the dryer.

“So, the new water park just opened,” I said casually, tossing a dryer sheet in for her.

“I heard that on the local news,” she said, turning the time dial and hitting the on button. She reached and played with her earring the way she always does when she’s thinking, then looked up at me and smiled. “You want to go, right?”

I laughed and hugged her. “Of course not, Mom!” I joked.

She hugged back. “We were able to set aside a little so you could go. Thank your dad—he’s the one who remembered.”

“Thank you, Daddy!” I squealed as I dropped a kiss on his cheek en route to my bedroom.

Too Small
After relaying the news to Dana over instant messenger, I started digging through drawers for my swimsuit. It was crumpled beneath a pair of jeans, my pride and joy from lots of good memories last summer. It’s purple, my favorite color, with cream-colored Hawaiian flowers printed on it. I dodged into the bathroom to slip it on. Well, try to slip it on. I was barely able to squeeze into it. I had to hunch over and twist my arms under the straps and the result was . . . not pretty. I hobbled uncomfortably downstairs, ignoring my dad’s stifled laugh as I walked by.

“Oh, Pollyanna! That’s much too small,” Grandma commented from over her glass of sweet tea.

“Yeah, I know!” I said shortly. My mother raised her eyebrows at me, and I remembered, Woman of God.

“Mom, I, um, grew.”

“Don’t remind me. I can’t believe my baby’s 14 already.”

“Mom!” I said impatiently.

Mom and Grandma looked at each other for a long moment from opposite sides of the kitchen. Mom’s hand went to her earring. “Honey, we don’t really have the cash for a new swimsuit right now. Can you borrow one from Dana?”

“Mom, I don’t want to ask! That’s so embarrassing!”

“Why?” Grandma asked from the table. I ignored her.

“Baby, we just don’t have it right now.” Mom bit her lip and looked away, then back quickly. “I might have something you can borrow, though.”

She returned with a leotard, striped navy blue and black made of a heavy, stretchy polyester. Visions of workout Barbies flashed in my mind. “It’s all I have,” Mom said, heading to the sink.

I glanced at Grandma, who was rapidly humming Sinatra and giving me a look I knew not to argue with.

“Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled miserably and made my way upstairs. I wondered how a woman of God would handle this fashion monstrosity. I suppose even workout Barbies can demonstrate grace and humility, right?

At the Park
Dana said nothing about my leotard-suit as we snagged inner tubes and headed to the enormous swimming pool at the center of the water park. I noticed she was wearing her swimsuit from last year too, but Amber, her neighbor who had accompanied us, was sporting a brand new turquoise suit I’d seen on display at the mall earlier that summer. She seemed nice enough: As the three of us bobbed around in the cool water, soaking up the sun, we chatted about our plans for freshman year. Amber went to a different middle school than Dana and I but would be in our class and was excited to hear that I played basketball, too.

“My dad’s already pre-ordered my shoes for the season,” she said as she whipped her wet hair into a high ponytail while we made our way back to our lounge chairs. “They’ll have my name printed on the heels.”

I thought of my dad scouring job Web sites every morning before heading off for interviews.

“Did you make that?” she asked me while I fumbled through my bag for some sunscreen.

“No, my aunt and uncle gave it to me for Christmas,” I said. “My cousins and I always get identical presents from them on holidays. So this year, we’re the Matching Bag Brigade!”

Dana laughed. Amber didn’t. “Actually,” she said slowly, slipping some sunglasses on, “I was talking about what you’re wearing. Did you make it?”

Dana looked away, and I felt my face redden. “Um, no . . . ”

There was a long pause, and I reached for my T-shirt and pulled it on.

“I mean . . . it’s . . . different, that’s all. Is it a swimsuit? I’ve never seen one made of material like that.”

Dana looked at me, and I felt tears come to my eyes. I wanted to yell at her, ask her why she wouldn’t say something—anything!—to help me out. Anti-Pollyanna simmered within me.

“It’s a leotard of my mom’s,” I said, pursing my lips tightly.

“Oh, so it is old. I thought so. That’s pretty brave of you. I mean, look at all the hot guys here!”

She giggled into her hand.

“We’re not here for the guys, Amber. We’re here to swim,” Dana said forcefully. She looked at me pleadingly, but all I could do was stare at the hot pavement.

Blessed
When I got home, my dad was gone, and my mom and grandmother were folding laundry in the living room.

“How was it?” my mom asked brightly as I threw my bag into the corner by the door. She flinched.

“It would’ve been great if I had a swimsuit like everyone else’s. Or just a swimsuit! A real one!” I yelled.

My grandmother set a folded shirt onto a pile and opened her mouth to speak.

“Let me guess, Grandma: Anti-Pollyanna, right?”

Grandma closed her mouth. Mom just looked at me.

“Am I even going to get any new clothes this year for school? How about school supplies?” I raged.

“God will provide us with what we need,” Mom said simply.

“Like He provided me with a swimsuit?!”

“Shame on you, Poll. He knows when a sparrow falls to the ground. We’ll have what we need.”

“What I need is to not have to worry what everyone thinks about me,” I said and went outside to sit by Barry on the bench next to the garage.

I heard my grandma’s soft, fast footsteps as she came out the back door. I was surprised to hear her humming a country song that had been playing on the radio that morning. She shooed Barry away and settled in next to me, grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“During the Depression, I had holes in my shoes,” she said. We looked at each other, and I knew she’d see my jaw tighten as I gritted my teeth. “And no, Pollyanna, I’m not going to tell you all about how hard it was back then. It was, but I want to tell you about something else.

“I got angry sometimes at my father. He and my mother were both working to get our family through it, but there were a lot of things I wanted that we didn’t have. Back then, I used to think I could’ve somehow handled it better than they did. I thought, If I was in charge, there would be more.”

Barry mewed desperately from Grandma’s feet, and she paused to scoop him into her lap.

“But you know what I think of now, when I think of him?” she asked, scratching Barry’s cheek. “I miss his kindness, and how much he loved God. I miss how he prayed. When he did, you felt like Jesus was a good friend, like if you opened your eyes, you’d see Him sitting across the table, ready to dig into the casserole with everyone else. It made the holes more bearable, to know that Christ was there with us although we couldn’t see Him. We had each other, and we had Him. Holes and all, He was—and remains—more than enough.”

She looked at me, even when I looked away to brush the tears from my eyes.

“I just… don’t want to be singled out,” I said. She nodded. “God has given us what we’ve needed since Dad lost his job.”

“We’re blessed,” Grandma said, pinching my chin lightly.

I breathed in deeply. “We are,” I agreed, looping my arm through hers. “I need to go apologize to Mom.”

I helped her up.

“I think you are no anti-Pollyanna anymore. Just, Pollyanna,” she commented, leaning into me as we made our way up the path.

“Does that mean I can go ahead and suit Barry up for some basketball practice?”