We chat with Brittney Morris about her latest release The Jump, which follows a group of working-class teens in Seattle who join a dangerous scavenger hunt with a prize that can save their families and community, plus we have an excerpt to share with you too!
Hi Brittney! What are five adjectives that you would use to describe your book. The Jump?
Explosive, unapologetic, bold, action-packed, heartfelt
How has your work in the video game industry influenced your writing?
— I learned to write video games after I’d published 3 books. Sometimes video games will contain blocks of prose, in journal entries or inventory logs, for example. But most writing in video games is done in script format, with dialogue lines, action lines, and “ALT” lines if players need certain hints, trigger certain gameplay elements or tutorials, or fulfill some other criteria. My work in video games has taught me to write snappy dialogue that moves like an action movie, in which every line packs a punch and does a lot of heavy lifting to progress the story.
Why do you write for teens specifically?
—For many of us, the teen years are extremely formative, full of dynamism and disillusionment. They’re the years in which you’re building off the foundation that you were raised to believe, using blocks from the world around you. And sometimes, those two don’t marry well and things fall apart, and you learn to use other building materials, or break down the foundations you were taught and build whole new ones that better suit you. I love writing about people doing their best as they grow up.
What do you think makes your book unique to the market?
It’s FAST. It takes off from page 1 and doesn’t stop til the end. Around 30 different poignant topics are touched upon including climate change, gentrification, “wokeness” in media, classism, racism, hostile architecture, visible vs. invisible marginalization, radicalization vs. activism, corporate marketing masking as activism, the school-to-prison pipeline, Earth stewardship, Indigenous relationship with Eco-activism, neurodivergence, gender identity, predatory lending and the income gap, welfare and public assistance, etc. This book is about 4 teens taking on the world as it is and figuring out how to change it for the better.
EXCERPT
It’s a regular Tuesday morning.
My mama is crocheting, my zaza is washing zucchini from the garden, my sister, Ava, is writing in her journal, and I’m trying
to figure out where this QR code clue leads so my team can win this week’s cryptology puzzle and stay at the top of the Vault leaderboard.
My fingers fly across my phone keyboard under the table as I stare absentmindedly into my almond-milk oatmeal with raisins and pepitas.
ME: I’ve looked at everything. Code might be a dead end.
At least I hope that’s what I typed. Autocorrect gods, take pity on me. Phones aren’t allowed at the table, or in the morning before school, but I have a clue to find.
Just as I’m about to let go of my phone, I feel four distinct buzzes in my hand. My phone only buzzes when I get a text in all caps, and the team only texts me in all caps when they’ve got a lead.
I have to look.
“So, Ava-bear,” says Mama, setting her crochet project down and leaning her elbows on the table. “How’s journaling going?”
Ava sighs and runs a hand through her long dark hair, pulling it all to one side and twisting it around itself. She’s only older than me by a couple of years, but she has the cynicism of someone twice her age.
“I mean, it’s going,” she says, her voice a low early-morning croak. “I’m doing affirmations right now. None have come true, but they’re making me more optimistic, I think.”
“Good.” Mama smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Ava’s ear. Mama reaches into the tiny satchel at her hip, and I wonder if I have time to glance at my phone, but she’s too fast. She pulls a roller ball out of her bag, takes Ava’s wrist in her hand, and rolls the oil gen- tly over her veins.
“Lavender for calm,” Mama says, still smiling, “and . . .” She pulls a crystal on a string out of her bag and slips it over Ava’s head. “Blue tourmaline for tranquility.”
The concentration grooves between Ava’s eyebrows melt away, and a smile spreads across her face. “Thanks, Mama,” she says.
“I know you don’t think they work,” says Mama, pulling out another crystal on a string and turning to me, “and you probably won’t until you really need it. But even if it only works as a visual reminder of what it represents, it works.”
The string goes over my head, and I look down at the pointy purple crystal sitting in the middle of my chest.
“Amethyst today,” says Mama, “for protection.”
That’s a new one.
“Why do you think I’ll need protection today?” I ask. She shrugs
and scratches around a bandage taped to the inside of her forearm, covering a new tattoo.
“Just a feeling,” she says, leaning in and kissing my forehead. “There are a lot of protests going on downtown today—okay, Juju- bean? Be careful.”
My phone buzzes again. My heart skips.
I glance at the clock. 7:47 a.m.
Too early to leave for school.
I open my mouth to make an excuse to leave the table besides the fact that I want to go look at my phone. Maybe I forgot my backpack upstairs. Shit, it’s on the floor next to me. My phone? Nah. As soon as I stand up, everyone will be able to see its imprint through my sweat- shirt pocket. Maybe I need to pee? Nah, Mama knows that one well.
Before I can think of an excuse that will work, the conversation continues.
“She’s right,” says Zaza, glancing over at all of us at the table and setting a colander full of zucchini on the kitchen counter. “Lots of protests. Everyone’s angry right now.”
“People are always angry,” Ava mutters, shutting her journal and taking a sip of her breakfast tea. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“Well, today the protests involve the garden,” says Mama, “so even I’m a little angry. We’ve had refineries in Puget Sound, but never one smack dab in the middle of a residential neighborhood. And cer- tainly never one that’s wiped out a community garden.”
Never mind. The puzzle can wait.
Mama’s forehead is furrowed, and her fingers whip the yarn around the needle lightning-fast. I clutch the crystal around my neck and wish there was something I could give her to make her feel better through all of this. But all I have are my words.
“I don’t think it’ll go through, Mama,” I say.
“It is going through, Jax,” Ava insists with a finality that sours my stomach. “The city has officially submitted a notice of intention to repurpose the land.”
“But we’re in the middle of Beacon Hill,” I argue, as if fighting Ava is fighting what’s inevitably going to happen to our garden. “Why would they put an oil refinery here?”
“Likely because we’re by an airport,” she grumbles. “How much do you wanna bet Roundworld has a deal with King County Inter- national to supply their fuel?”
“We’re also in the not-so-expensive part of Beacon Hill, Jax,” says Zaza, carrying the colander to the kitchen table. Before they sit, they lean down and give Mama’s lips a quick kiss good morning. Zaza pulls out a kitchen chair and settles into it, peeler in hand, and soon peels begin falling into a bowl in their lap as they continue, “And the gar- den is a community space. State-provided. Land isn’t cheap in Puget Sound like it used to be, so it’s fair game for them to take back and repurpose whenever they want.”
I can feel my blood warming with rage. How the hell is this legal? Matter of fact, how the hell hasn’t someone stepped in to stop this? Some rich company must have a bunch of money to throw at this for environmentalism clout. Maybe one will buy Roundworld out of the land? Protests are great and all, but how has no one from the bottom tunneled in from the inside? Actually, why hasn’t the Order gotten wind of this shit? They were there to rat out social media accounts after the Capitol invasion, and after the Taliban took over Afghanistan. Not that Mama’s garden is anywhere near the same scale of importance in the world, but . . .
It is in my world.
Excerpt from THE JUMP by Britt
