The Jump

The Jump

From the acclaimed author of SLAY and The Cost of Knowing comes an action-driven, high-octane “thrill ride” ( Kirkus Reviews ) about a group of working-class teens in Seattle who join a dangerous scavenger hunt with a prize that can save their families and community. Influence is power. Power creates change. And change is exactly what Team Jericho needs. Jax, Yas, Spider, and Han are the four cornerstones of Team Jericho, the best scavenger hunting team in all of Seattle. Each has their own specialty: Jax, the puzzler; Yas, the parkourist; Spider, the hacker; and Han, the cartographer. But now with an oil refinery being built right in their backyard, each also has their own problems. Their families are at risk of losing their jobs, their communities, and their homes. So when The Order, a mysterious vigilante organization, hijacks the scavenger hunting forum and concocts a puzzle of its own, promising a reward of influence, Team Jericho sees it as the chance of a lifetime. If they win this game, they could change their families’ fates and save the city they love so much. But with an opposing team hot on their heels, it’s going to take more than street smarts to outwit their rivals. Brittney Morris is the author of SLAY , The Cost of Knowing , The Jump , and This Book Might Be About Zinnia and has written video game narrative for Insomniac Games’s Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 for PlayStation 5, Unknown Worlds’s Subnautica: Below Zero , and Soma Games’s The Lost Legends of Redwall . She is the founder and former president of the Boston University Creative Writing Club. She holds a BA in economics. You can find her online at AuthorBrittneyMorris.com and on X or Instagram @BrittneyMMorris. 1. Jax Jax 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 gently 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 sweatshirt 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. “S