Team Mónica #8 MAMA'S GIRL (MG)

MAMA’S GIRL

MG Contemporary/LGBT

39,000 words

PITCH 

In four days, Scarlett Rivers turns thirteen, and she has one wish: meet the father who left before she was born. Taking matters into her own hands, she makes her way to San Francisco to meet him. But her birthday wish backfires when she’s introduced to her father, now Madison instead of Mark, who’s wearing a floor-length black dress, with painted nails, and—OMG—boobs. 

Discovering her dad is a transgender woman is more than a birthday surprise, and hanging out with him (her?) is confusing and strange. But holding onto resentment isn’t what she learned in Sunday school. Her mom wants her home, like, yesterday, so she talks a reluctant Madison into driving with her back to Alabama. The closer they get to home the more Scarlett realizes her dad is just a normal… woman.

But not everyone’s as compassionate as Scarlett, and bullies young and old are cropping up like mangy dogs. Madison is attacked by an old classmate and winds up at the hospital, and when the cop starts questioning Scarlett, he makes it clear he thinks Madison provoked the attack. Scarlett is devastated when a rumor starts that her dad was to blame and she’s bullied at school. A sickening round of blame the victim ensues and Scarlett fights to prove that being different doesn’t equal being guilty.

FIRST PAGE

I stood by the fence, wishing I had x-ray vision to see through the door at the end of the concrete walkway. On my right shoulder, my good angel kept telling me to get back in Granny's Lincoln and head home to Alabama. On my left shoulder, my bad angel was doing a wild freedom dance.

Running a hand down my face, I mentally flicked my good angel into the bushes by the gate. My chest heaved beneath my hoodie and I could've kicked myself for not bringing a paper bag to hyperventilate into. Big girl panties, Scarlett. Red hair, don't care remember? 

I flipped my hair over my shoulders and shook my hands out at my sides. Please Jesus, let him be home. Let Mark Rivers, aka “Child Support Paycheck” be home. The sun slipped over the rim of the Pacific Ocean, past San Francisco Bay, and I breathed in the cool air to brace myself. I pushed open the gate.

I crept softly on the walkway to the front door, looking left and right, expecting someone to jump out and yell at me. My head swam a little on the fourth step, and a word my mama would've popped my mouth for tumbled out. I waited for a full minute after beating on the door, and raised my fist to knock again. But before it connected, the door was pulled open in a gust of perfume and heat.