Based on the real-life horrors faced by thousands of girls, award-winning author Pamela Samuels Young takes readers deep inside the disturbing world of child sex trafficking in a fast-paced thriller that educates as much as it entertains.
Anybody's Daughter Makes In The Margins Top Ten List! "In The Margins", a committee under the umbrella of Library Services for Youth in Custody, identifies quality, age appropriate resources for librarians and library workers to share with the teens in lockdown, homeless shelters and other non-traditional venues for teens living in the margins. See the complete list, visit: http://bit.ly/1d8YrHW
Kinky Coily: A Resource Guide for Natural Hair
by Pamela Samuels Young
This book will help African-American women with kinky hair learn the true beauty and versatility of their natural hair.Have you been thinking about transitioning to natural hair, but don't know where to start? Then Kinky Coily: A Resource Guide for Natural Hair is for You! This book is a collection of the best resources to help you begin your natural hair journey. You'll find the books, the bloggers, tools, product and more. You'll learn how to develop a hair care regime, how to determine the tools and products you'll need and how to track your progress. Whether you have a relaxer, press 'n curl or you're already natural, Kinky Coily has something for you. So get ready to experience the true beauty and versatility of your natural hair.
Kinky Coily Excerpt
Transitioning to natural hair will require you to think differently about your hair. You’ll need to believe in the beauty and versatility of your natural hair. While the process will be frustrating at times, it will also be rewarding and fulfilling. If you make the commitment, I guarantee that you’ll end up with an appreciation of your kinky coils as well as greater confidence in yourself and your hair. Before we begin, here are four tips that are crucial to a successful transition.
A Positive Mindset
You’ll need to embrace a whole new mindset about the beauty of your natural hair to have a successful transition. Many of us with kinky hair have been raised to believe that we cannot take care of our own hair because it’s too unruly, difficult and just plain “bad.” That’s bull.
Start your natural hair journey with an open mind. Allow your hair to be all it can be and love it for its beauty and flexibility. How many straight-haired women can sport kinky curls, twists, locs, Bantu knots, micro-braids and cornrows? None I know.
My point is you’re going to have to erase all those negative notions you have about your hair. You have the most fabulous hair in the world. Embrace it!
Time
I’ve heard many women say that going natural takes too much work. Really? I can remember spending three-to-four hours in the beauty shop, and that doesn’t include my two-hour round-trip commute. If I was getting a weave, the entire day and night might be lost.
If rocking your natural hair is important to you, you’ll have to make the decision to investment in yourself. Yes, deep conditioning once or twice a week, moisturizing and sealing your hair on a daily basis and styling your natural hair will take time. But so does anything worth having.
Commitment
In addition to time, you’re going to need to be committed to the process. There will be times when you are disappointed because your hair isn’t growing fast enough. Transitioning to natural hair is not going to happen overnight. Hair growth takes time. Particularly if you hair is damaged.
You’ll need time to learn your hair and what products respond best to it. You will probably get frustrated and overwhelmed and feel like giving up. Don’t.
Think about the last diet or exercise program you started, but didn’t finish. Somewhere along the line, you just got tired of the bland food and gave up. Now think about the last diet or exercise program you did finish. How proud did you feel after reaching your goal? Transitioning to natural hair is something you’re doing for yourself. You deserve it. So make a commitment to yourself to stick with it no matter what.
Patience
This is the most important tool of all! The beautiful natural hair you want isn’t going to happen overnight. It’s going to take a lot of work and patience on your part. Along the way, there will be successes and failures. Products you love. Products you purchase after watching a tutorial on YouTube that end up being a complete waste of your money. It’s all part of the process. Somewhere along your journey, you’ll find out what works for you and the results will follow. So practice patience! You won’t regret it!
PAMELA SAMUELS YOUNG TOP 5 HAIR TIPS
* Be patient. Transitioning takes time and effort.
* Develop a weekly hair care regimen and stick to it.
* Educate yourself about the care of your natural hair.
* Join a natural hair MeetUp group to share resources.
* Keep a hair journal to track your progress.
Meet the Author
Pamela Samuels Young is a practicing attorney whose fast-paced legal thrillers tackle law and crime. Pamela’s first non-fiction book, Kinky Coily: A Resource Guide for Natural Hair, goes on sale in April, 2014. A former TV news writer, Pamela currently serves on the Board of Directors of the L.A. Chapter of Sisters in Crime, an organization dedicated to the advancement of women mystery writers. To invite Pamela to your book club meeting or event, email Pamela via her website at: www.pamelasamuelsyoung.com
Is Anybody's Daughter Ever Safe?
Thirteen-year-old Brianna Walker is ecstatic. She's about to sneak off to meet her first real boyfriend—a boyfriend she met on Facebook. But Brianna is in for a horrifying surprise because her boyfriend doesn't exist. Instead, Brianna unwittingly becomes the captive of a ring of drug dealers- turned-human traffickers who prey on lonely girls from dysfunctional homes. But they’ve made a big mistake in targeting Brianna because she doesn’t meet either of those criteria.
Brianna’s Uncle Dre, a man with his own criminal past, is determined to find the niece who is more like a daughter to him. Rather than sit back and rely on police to bring Brianna home, Dre scours the dark corners of Los Angeles looking for her. He is stunned to learn that the trafficking of children isn’t just happening in other countries. It’s occurring at epidemic levels right in his own backyard.
Dre is not alone in his desperate search. Loretha Johnson knows this world well. A social worker who previously lived “the life,” Loretha now dedicates her time to saving as many young girls as she can find. She turns out to be an invaluable resource for Dre, who ultimately gets a lead on The Shepherd, a mastermind in the trafficking world whose every move is fueled by ego and greed. Dre vows to bring his reign of terror to an end.
While Brianna makes a futile effort to thwart her captors, Dre is getting closer and closer to finding her. The woman he loves, attorney Angela Evans, knows the dangers faced by sexually exploited children because she represents them in juvenile court. Angela lends her moral support and, eventually, an important clue to Brianna’s whereabouts.
Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) by Pamela Samuels Young Available for Kindle Download OR Paperback: http://amzn.com/B00GC7UI8E
Pamela Samuels Young
NAACP Image Award Winner
Outstanding Literary Work- Fiction!
When attorney Pamela Samuels Young isn't fulfilling her duties as legal counsel for a major corporation in Southern California, you can usually find her penning her next legal thriller. Her acclaimed novel, Anybody's Daughter, is what garnered Pamela her first NAACP Image Award win in the category of Outstanding Literary Work (Fiction), and her nomination puts her in league with the likes of Walter Mosley, Terry McMillan, Sista Souljah and Victoria Christopher Murray. It is a confirmation of her hard work that she is the only independently-published author to be nominated in her category.
Fed up with never seeing people of color, especially women, depicted as savvy, hot-shot attorneys in the legal thrillers she read, the Compton, CA, native decided to create her own. Despite the demands of a busy legal career, Pamela accomplished her ambitious goal by getting up at 4am to write before work, dedicated her weekends to writing and even spent a large portion of her vacations glued to her laptop. In doing so, she discovered her passion for writing.
A graduate of UC Berkeley's School of Law, Pamela has a bachelor's degree in journalism from USC and a Master's Degree in broadcasting from Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism. She formerly served on the Board of Directors of the Los Angeles chapter of Mystery Writers of America and is a diehard member of Sisters in Crime-L.A., an organization dedicated to the advancement of women mystery writers.
Pamela is also a frequent speaker on the topics of writing fiction, discrimination law and pursuing your passion. She lives in Southern California and attends Hope in Christ Community Church. Visit her website to read excerpts from her books, to see the more than 380 bookclubs she has visited and to follow her online: http://pamelasamuels-young.com
“A fast-paced, well-written thriller that’s grounded in important social issues.”
--Kirkus Reviews
“One of the best thrillers I have read in a long time.”
--Digna Dreibelbis, Autumn Blues Reviews
“I was in tears for most of the book and in shock for the rest! ... This is a 5-star read and every parent needs to pick it up!”
5.0 out of 5 stars; Written by Ella Curry, Black Pearls Magazine
I've read all of Ms. Young's novels, and was waiting for the release date on this one. As the mother of a 13-year-old daughter who just received a cellphone this summer, I had to read this story. And Ms. Young did not disappoint. It was a second-by-second, heart pounding read. At times I had to put the book down and step away because it was too intense. But I was able to finish it in two days flat. Bravo to Ms. Young for writing and publishing such a courageous book for us (square) parents. 5.0 out of 5 stars; Written by Barbara Joe Williams, author of Double Proposal
CHAPTER 6 Day One: 7:30 p.m.
Dre stared across the table at Angela, an eager smile stretched across his lips. From the second he’d knocked on her door at exactly seven that evening, he’d been trying to tamp down his excitement. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself.
He could tell by her furtive glances around the restaurant that Angela was impressed with his selection. Café Del Rey had a chic, relaxed vibe with the added plus of being able to gaze out at the boats docked along the marina.
“It’s good seeing you again,” he said, taking a sip of his Pepsi.
She was still as fine as ever. Dre liked her pert nose and natural spiral curls. Her low-cut coral sweater matched the color of the blush that highlighted her cheekbones.
“Same here.”
Angela’s words came out flat, nonchalant. But then she cocked her head and smiled with those lips. Those full, soft lips that he hadn’t been able to kiss for three months.
Dre had started to believe that Angela didn’t intend to see him again. Ever. But his heart knew better. Despite all the drama that had gone down, there was still something special between them.
“So how’s the law business?”
Angela tinkered with her napkin. “I’m handling a lot of juvenile cases now,” she said. “It’s kind of depressing at times. What about you? How’s your business?”
Dre stiffened and palmed his glass with both hands. That was a dig. The kind of dig black women knew how to fire off with the skill of a sharpshooter.
“You know I’m not about that anymore.” He smiled so the hurt wouldn’t show on his face. But the edge in his voice gave him away. “I quit dealing before we broke up.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
Dre turned away and gazed around the restaurant. It hadn’t been like this before. Bland conversation, long gaps of silence, the air so thick with tension you could hardly stand to breathe it. He should just ask for the bill and take her prissy ass home. Only Dre didn’t want to take her home.
“So what kind of juvenile cases are you handling?”
“Most of my clients are minors charged with soliciting prostitution.”
“Any dude who’d mess with a child is sick.”
“Absolutely. These girls are victims, but they’re treated like criminals. The johns only get a slap on the wrist and the pimps rarely get prosecuted because the girls are too afraid to testify against them. But one of my girls did really well in court today. I’m proud of her.”
Dre’s smartphone vibrated. He ignored it.
A waitress with bright-pink lips and matching nail polish walked up to the table. “How are you guys doing tonight? Have you had a chance to peruse the menu?”
They both listened as the woman recited the specials. Dre ordered chicken piccata. Angela chose the grilled tilapia.
“How’s your son?” Angela asked.
Dre beamed. “Growing up way too fast.” He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and showed her a picture. “This is Little Dre and my niece, Brianna.”
“Wow,” Angela said. “Both of them look just like you. She has your hazel eyes.”
“Yep. She’s more like my daughter than my niece. Smart as a whip too. She wants to be a lawyer. Maybe I can bring her down to your office and you can talk to her sometime.”
“Sure.”
He swiped through a few more pictures.
“Who’s that?” Angela pointed to a woman pictured with Dre and Brianna.
Dre smiled. “That’s my sister, Donna. I’m taking them all to a Lakers’ game next week. Why don’t you—”
The smartphone vibrated again. This time, he read the screen, then placed it face down on the table.
“My sister, Donna,” he explained with a shrug. “She can wait.”
Angela arched a brow and gave him a yeah-sure-it’s-your-sister smile.
Dre frowned. “You don’t believe me?”
Angela responded with a hunch of her shoulders.
“I’ve never lied to you.”
Angela chuckled. “Depends on whether we’re talking about a straight-out lie or a lie by omission. Like your never telling me you were a drug dealer.”
“An ex-drug dealer,” Dre corrected her. “And I did plan to tell you.”
He scratched his jaw. He didn’t like being judged.
“If you’re still trippin’ about everything that went down, then why’d you come tonight?”
Angela waited a long beat. “Because I missed you.”
Dre smiled at the first green light of the evening and exhaled the anxiety right out of his body. He leaned in over the table. “Angela, I—”
The loud vibration of his smartphone cut him off a second time.
He grimaced. “My sister’s a drama queen. Whatever she wants can wait.”
“Sure it’s your sister.” Angela clasped her hands and set them on the table. “Guess I’m not the only woman who misses you.”
“I’m not seeing anybody. I haven’t been with anybody since you.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s the truth.”
Angela propped her right elbow on the table and extended her palm. “If that’s really your sister, then let me return her call.”
Dre briefly looked away.
He had babes jockin’ him every day of the week. He didn’t have to take this crap. Still, he turned back to her, picked up his smartphone and placed it in her outstretched hand.
“Go ’head. Knock yourself out.”
Angela redialed the last incoming number.
As she raised the smartphone to her ear. Dre locked his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m a friend of Dre’s,” she said, her eyes on him. “He asked me to return your call.”
Dre’s lips angled into a smug smile as he waited for her doubt to fade. But in seconds, Angela’s expression went from skeptical to distressed. Her eyebrows fused into a single line and when she pressed the palm of her free hand flat against her chest, Dre sprang forward.
Knowing Donna, she might think it was funny to pretend that she was his woman, not his sister. If she did that, he’d never get Angela to trust him again.
“Hold up. What’s she saying?”
Angela raised her hand, quieting him.
Dre waited a few more seconds, but couldn’t take it. As he reached across the table, ready to take the phone, Angela thrust it into his hand.
“You better talk to your sister.” Angela’s voice echoed the same level of panic that now filled her eyes. “Brianna didn’t show up at school today and nobody can find her.”
Loretha Johnson watched the young girl wobble along Long Beach Boulevard dressed in a halter top, cut-off jeans, black stilettos and sparkly red lipstick. She couldn't have weighed more than one hundred pounds. The awkward manner in which she forced her bony hips from side to side underscored her adolescence.
Standing in the doorway of an abandoned donut shop, Loretha waited for the right opportunity to approach. There was a steady trail of cars slowing down to check out the merchandise. She spotted two other girls on the opposite side of the street.
"You want a date, baby?" the girl in the halter top called out in a child's voice.
A beige Camry pulled over to the curb a few yards ahead. The girl scampered over, barely able to balance herself on her too-high heels. She bent low, allowing the potential john to get a glimpse of her nonexistent cleavage. Loretha clasped her hands, then absently twirled a finger around her shoulder-length locs. She sucked in a breath, praying that the girl didn't get in the car.
"Ten dollars!" the girl yelled, springing back to her full height. "You must be crazy! I charge fifty for a blow job." She tottered away cursing as the man drove off.
Loretha glanced up and down the street, making sure the girl's pimp wasn't watching. With a kid this young-surely no older than thirteen or fourteen-her pimp had to be close by. If the girl was seen talking to Loretha, she'd get a beating. Hopefully, the pimp was busy keeping an eye on somebody else in his stable.
Confident that he wasn't nearby, Loretha followed the girl, remaining a few strides behind.
"You don't have to be out here on the street selling your body," Loretha called out. "You know that, right?" Loretha pulled her sweater tighter across her chest and marveled at how the girl could look so comfortable dressed in next to nothing. It was barely fifty degrees.
"I'm from Harmony House," Loretha continued. "I can help you get away from your pimp." Though the girl wasn't facing her, Loretha could see her body go rigid. She took a quick glance at Loretha over her shoulder.
"I ain't got no pimp," the girl snapped. "So just get outta here and leave me alone. My daddy warned us about you." Good, Loretha thought. That meant the girl's pimp viewed her as a threat.
"Don't worry," Loretha assured her. "Your pimp's not around. I won't get you in trouble. I know you can't be seen talking to me. Just keep walking and I'll stay back."
"I told you, I don't have no pimp," the girl spat, continuing her stroll. "I have a boyfriend." It would be a waste of time to explain to the girl that boyfriends don't sell their girlfriends to other men.
"If you ever need a place to go, you can come to Harmony House. All you have to do is call. Anytime, day or night, and I'll come get you."
The girl stopped, put a hand on her hip, but didn't turn to face her. "I already got a place to stay."
The bravado didn't fool Loretha either. She knew it was all an act.
"That's fine. But if you ever want to leave, I have a place for you to go. What's your name?"
The girl stepped off the curb and raised her hand high, trying to wave down a car that had reduced its speed. "You want a date tonight, honey?" she yelled out to the driver.
The man rolled down his window, gazed hungrily at the girl, then spied Loretha and sped off.
"You messin' with my business!" the girl yelled. She finally turned around to get a good look at Loretha, but kept moving. "Get the hell away from me!"
"What's your name?" Loretha asked again, matching the girl's steps stride for stride, but careful to stay a safe distance back.
"Lady, I gotta make my quota. Leave me alone!"
"I'm just here to let you know you have options. What's your name?"
The girl finally turned around. "Peaches. Why you messin' with me?"
"Nice to meet you, Peaches. I'm Loretha Johnson. How old are you, Peaches?"
"Nineteen."
The streetlight provided a solid glimpse of the cocoa-colored, plump-faced girl. There was no way she was nineteen. Up close, she looked even younger than Loretha had first thought.
"Why you out here tryin' to be somebody's fairy godmother?"
"Because I used to walk this track myself," Loretha replied. "I know what it's like."
That got the girl's attention. She glanced back at Loretha again. This time, her expression had softened, but only for an instant.
Loretha had indeed lived this life. Every horrible second of it. Older and wiser now, she was doing everything in her power to rescue others. One girl at a time.
She understood that Peaches and girls like her saw no way out. But to meet someone who had managed to escape, meant that it was possible for them to find their way to freedom too.
"I don't mean to hurt your feelings," Peaches continued, "but you don't look like you got what it takes. You must'a been out here a long time ago."
Loretha didn't take offense at the girl's intended slight. "Walking the track is hard work," she said. "Makes you age much faster than you have to."
It had been years since she'd strolled this very block, but the memory was like a deep wound. Though healed, the resulting scar would never go away.
These days, Loretha put extra effort into not looking pretty. Her skin was no longer porcelain smooth. Her hair still fell past her shoulders, but she didn't wear it bone straight anymore. Her locs were dyed auburn and were usually pulled back into a bun. She'd also picked up twenty pounds or so and found comfort in her bare face and loose-fitting clothes. Though her exterior appeared shabby, on the inside, she finally felt worthy. That was the kind of beauty she wanted these girls to experience.
Loretha's smartphone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, instantly recognizing the number. Another child who needed her help.
"I have to go, but I want you to call me. My number's easy to remember. It's 888-373-7888. Loretha pointed up the street. "I'm going to leave my card on the bus bench underneath that streetlight over there. I want you to pick it up and keep it with you. If you ever need help, call me and I'll come get you."
Loretha rushed past the girl, dropped her business card on the bench and turned down a side street toward her car. Minutes later, when her Prius reached the corner, the card was no longer on the bench.
She smiled and shook her fist in the air. "Thank you, Jesus!"
In Loretha's world, that simple act was a victory.
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