Hey everyone! We are so excited to share an excerpt from What you Hide by Natalie Richards today. I’ve been looking forward to this book since the moment I read the synopsis and if you haven’t read her books yet, you are missing out! Put them on your tbr shelf immediately and read them all…you can thank me later! Before we dive into the excerpt, check out what What you Hide is all about!
What You Hide by Natalie D. Richards (Website, Twitter, Goodreads)Also by this author: My Secret to Tell, We All Fall Down
Published by Sourcebooks, Inc. on December 4th 2018
Genres: Friendship, Homelessness & Poverty, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Social Themes, Thrillers & Suspense, Young Adult Fiction
Pages: 320
Spencer volunteers at the library. Sure, it's community service, but he likes his work. Especially if it means getting to see Mallory.
Mallory spends a lot of time keeping her head down. When you're sixteen and homeless, nothing matters more than being anonymous. But Spencer's charm makes her want to be noticed.
Then sinister things start happening at the library. Mysterious symbols and terrifying warnings begin to appear, and management grows suspicious. Spencer and Mallory know a homeless teenager makes an easy target, and if they can't find the real culprit soon, they could lose more than just their safe haven…
Read an Excerpt
If I knew I’d never walk down this hall again, it would’ve gone differently. Maybe I’d grab a last cookie from the cafeteria. At the very least, I would have taken my decent sneakers from my locker. But that’s the thing about doing something for the last time. You usually have no idea.
I offer all the typical skipping school excuses. I tell Mrs. Ross I’m going out for lunch. Then I tell Lana I’m meeting Mom so she won’t ask to tag along. There’s nothing noteworthy about it. I simply walk off campus at 1:08 p.m., figuring it’s a temporary exit.
I figure wrong.
As soon as I round the corner outside the parking lot, I break into a run. My bag is heavy on my shoulder, and the cold air burns going in, but I have to hurry. Charlie gets off at two, an hour before school lets out. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get home. That leaves Mom and me an hour to get out. Maybe less than that.
Yesterday’s plan was better. We were going to have the entire day to get everything together, but it fell to pieces like everything else in my life lately. The original plan was for me to call off school. Mom was going to cover for me with Charlie, but she was actually sick while I was pretending. Which provided Charlie plenty of time to give me the third degree.
How are you sick? You don’t have a fever. If you’re carrying germs, it’s better to go to school, spare your mother the germs in her condition. You do care about her condition, don’t you, Mallory?
He went on and on until I relented, for no other reason than to make him stop talking before my head exploded. So I have no one to blame for this unplanned-school-skipping-sprint-acrossthe-neighborhood adventure but myself.
By the time I hit the street that leads to my apartment, my armpits are swampy. The sign reads Pleasant Village Apartment Complex. Pleasant and complex are both a stretch.
Really, it’s six brick shoeboxes arranged in a semicircle around a parking lot that has more potholes than pavement. There are two floors to each building and one apartment to each floor. Our shoebox is the second floor of the third building. It is also the only home I’ve ever known. Of course, when Charlie moved in three and a half years ago, he made all kinds of promises about a bigger place. A safer neighborhood. A house of our own. Blah, blah, blah.
Charlie is great at making promises. He’s even better at breaking them.
I climb the stairs as fast as my rubbery legs will take me and then fumble my keys in the lock. The door opens easily and I push my way in, dropping my coat and backpack in a heap.
“Mom! Where are you?”
I hear the muffled hiss of running water. A cough. “Bathroom.”
“Try to hurry,” I say, detouring into the kitchen where I turn in a quick circle.
Think, think. Do we need anything in here? None of the plates seem special, and a quick glance at the handful of mismatched pots and pans in the cabinet reveals nothing of interest. I grab Grandma’s cookbook from the top of the stove and step into the living room.
Mom is still in the bathroom.
“Are you okay? We have to hurry.”
“I’m okay.” Her voice is faint from the bathroom. Weary.
I open the door to the tiny coat closet, then pause. “Listen, I’ve got that number I told you about. It’s all going to be okay. I know you’re worried, but they will get you to a different doctor. They’ll help you. I promise.”
The toilet flushes. More coughing. A soft, terrible noise that I know is my mother vomiting. I wince, wishing there was something I could do, but there isn’t. Charlie wouldn’t let her have the medicine for the nausea. Or a job. Or anything else.
The thoughts push anger up my chest. Correction. I can do something and I am. I’m getting us out of here.
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