#SaturdaySnippet - Get a Sneak Peek of My Next Book!
Posted on April 16th, 2016

Happy Saturday! Today I'm sharing an excerpt from my current WIP. For now, the book is untitled, but the genre is YA. Hope you enjoy!

​A cold shiver runs through me, despite the three layers of clothing that cover my body. The calendar says it’s March, but Mother Nature must have missed the memo, because it’s still below freezing outside. Which means it’s below freezing in the house, because somebody didn’t pay the power bill.


While I search through the hall closet for yet another blanket to throw on my bed, I hear Mom downstairs, talking to some guy she brought home. She’s always bringing guys home. This one seems different, although I can’t really explain why. Maybe because he didn’t look at me like most of mom’s boyfriends look at me. Or maybe because I overheard her asking him for money, and I’m secretly hoping she’ll use it to pay the electric company.

But I know she won’t.

Mom’s first priority isn’t paying the bills. It’s not even to buy groceries to put in our empty fridge. What money she’s given—whether it’s from her boyfriends or from the nice people down at the church—goes straight to her drug dealer.

She loves her dealer more than she loves me.

I grab an old paisley blanket and head back to my room. Just as I’m about to climb into bed, I hear a scream echo from downstairs.


When she doesn’t answer, I reach under my bed and find the metal bat I keep close by my side at night. It’s kind of necessary, thanks to our crappy neighborhood and because of Mom’s parade of boyfriends who sometimes find their way into my room.

Accidentally, of course.

Screaming her name, I sprint down the stairs. The only light in the room is from the reflection of the moon through the dirty windows and the few stumpy candles that burn from on top of the mantle. 

“Mom! What’s—”

I stop running when I see my mother on her knees. Standing over her, holding a pair of handcuffs, is the new boyfriend. He’s telling her she has the right to remain silent, but Mom is anything but quiet. She’s shouting. Crying. Praying.

I raise the bat. “Get away from her!”

He slaps the cuffs on her wrist, and Mom crumbles against the cold wooden floor.

“My name is Officer Calhoun,” the man says, before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out his ID for me to see.

“You’re a cop?”

He nods.

“Why . . . why are you arresting my mom?”

“Are there any other kids in the house?”

“No. Why are you arresting her?”

Before he can answer, two more cops rush through the front door, guns in the air. Mom wails as they cops help her to her feet. She doesn’t even look at me, but she doesn’t have to. I know she’s high. I knew it when she came home tonight.

I watch helplessly as the policemen all but drag her out of the house.

“What’s your name?” Officer Calhoun asks gently.

“Scout. Scout Ramsey.”

“How old are you, Scout?”


He writes it down. “Do you have any family members who live close by?”

I only need three fingers to count my family. Besides my junkie mom, I have a grandmother who lives about an hour away and an uncle I haven’t seen since I was a kid. Grandma disowned us, and I don’t know my uncle at all, so I lie.

“There’s nobody. That’s why you can’t arrest her. She’s all I’ve got. Look, she’s a good person. Honestly, she is. She’s just . . . really messed up right now.”

“You’re right, Scout. Your mother is very messed up. But we’re gonna help her.”

“By taking her to jail? That’s not how you help somebody. You help them by taking them to rehab! Ever hear of it? That’s where you take junkies. You don’t drag them off to jail!”

“I have to, honey.”

“Don’t call me honey. And why do you have to?”

The policeman sighs heavily before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a little plastic baggie filled with tiny rocks. Even in the dim living room light, they shimmer like crystals. But I know they’re not really crystals. There are probably thousands of those little bags all over our house. And all of them are empty.

I stare at the baggie. “What did she do?”

Officer Calhoun takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks at me with so much pity it almost makes me cry.

“She just offered to sell her seventeen-year-old daughter to me . . . in exchange for what’s in this bag.”

@Copyright 2016 Sydney Logan

Posted in Blog, excerpts, Saturday Snippet    Tagged with untitled, YA, sneak peek