Winner of the William C. Morris Award for YA Debut Novel School Library Journal Best Books of 2014 Booklist Best Books of 2014 2015 YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, Top 10 Selection 2015 YALSA Best Fiction for Young AdultsAmelia Bloomer List, part of the American Library Association, Social Responsibilities Round Table's Feminist Task Force 2015 Tomás Rivera Book Award, Works for Older Children 2015 Paterson Prize for Books for Young People, Grades 7-12 2015 Capitol Choices: Noteworthy Books for Children and Teens 2014 California Book Award Gold Medal Winner, Young Adult FictionIn this groundbreaking William C. Morris Award winner for a YA debut, Gabi's life is a mess—her family, her friends, her attempts at a love life—but writing helps, especially since it turns out she's pretty good at poetry.Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year of high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy's pregnancy, Sebastian's coming out, the cute boys, her father's meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity. July 24 My mother named me Gabriella, after my grandmother who, coincidentally, didn't want to meet me when I was born because my mother was unmarried, and therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY, times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five. That story is the basis of my sexual education and has reiterated why it's important to wait until you're married to give it up. So now, every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, "Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas." Eyes open, legs closed. That's as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don't mind it. I don't necessarily agree with that whole wait until you're married crap, though. I mean, this is America and the 21st century; not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can't tell my mom that because she will think I'm bad. Or worse: trying to be White.
ATOS Level:5.3 Lexile® Measure:820 Interest Level:9-12(UG) Text Difficulty:3-4
Winner of the William C. Morris Award for YA Debut Novel School Library Journal Best Books of 2014 Booklist Best Books of 2014 2015 YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, Top 10 Selection 2015 YALSA Best Fiction for Young AdultsAmelia Bloomer List, part of the American Library Association, Social Responsibilities Round Table's Feminist Task Force 2015 Tomás Rivera Book Award, Works for Older Children 2015 Paterson Prize for Books for Young People, Grades 7-12 2015 Capitol Choices: Noteworthy Books for Children and Teens 2014 California Book Award Gold Medal Winner, Young Adult FictionIn this groundbreaking William C. Morris Award winner for a YA debut, Gabi's life is a mess—her family, her friends, her attempts at a love life—but writing helps, especially since it turns out she's pretty good at poetry.Gabi Hernandez chronicles her last year of high school in her diary: college applications, Cindy's pregnancy, Sebastian's coming out, the cute boys, her father's meth habit, and the food she craves. And best of all, the poetry that helps forge her identity. July 24 My mother named me Gabriella, after my grandmother who, coincidentally, didn't want to meet me when I was born because my mother was unmarried, and therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY, times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five. That story is the basis of my sexual education and has reiterated why it's important to wait until you're married to give it up. So now, every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, "Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas." Eyes open, legs closed. That's as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don't mind it. I don't necessarily agree with that whole wait until you're married crap, though. I mean, this is America and the 21st century; not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can't tell my mom that because she will think I'm bad. Or worse: trying to be White.
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