b2b b2c infomations

So this is an excerpt from the second chapter. Unedited, and not yet finished, but still. I just want to know what you think.
I led Carter over to one of the tables set up, but he claimed he had to go to the bathroom, and walked in the direction of the new girl, swinging her hips for the whole world. I didn’t see Carter the rest of that night, nor did I see her. I thought it was strange, but I over looked it. Made up excuses on Carter’s behalf. He loved me, or so I thought. I walked out to his red pickup, reaching toward the door, when I heard the car rattle. I got quite, it couldn’t be, but I felt the feeling in my chest. I tip toed up the window and peered in. None the less, I saw the new girl straddling Carter, naked no doubt, and him smiling up at her. And then he saw me, and they both laughed. Laughed like I wasn’t even there. I ran, ran away from him, from her. From the awful dance I never should of went to. And I heard them continue to laugh, wherever I went. The lake, the creek, the fields. No where I went erased the image of him below her. Their smiling faces.
When I got home, my eyes were clouded, and Momma couldn’t say anything to stop my shaking. My dad didn’t know what to do either, so I ran upstairs, and slammed my door shut. Rummaging through my closet for the one piece of equipment I was looking for. When I finally found them, I took the razor to the pretty blue dress. Slashed it up, still on my body. Blood and fabric mixed together on the floor, and I collapsed in pain. I took the dress of and continued to destroy it. I raked my past, I killed Carter, and I diminished love.
So why had I still felt so hurt? Because Carter was still laughing in my mind. He was still ruining my pride. That night I stayed up, wandering the shores of the creek banks, throwing rocks at fishes, and cradling my destroyed stomach. I didn’t come back for three days. I slept in the woods, and ate berries. I didn’t want to see the faces that reminded me so of the one I loved. When I heard them calling my name, I ran farther into the woods, I was so close to county line, I could have run across there, and been done with the night mare. From there I could have ran to the Mississippi River, and hoped on a strangers boat, ridden with them all the way up north. I could have started new, become the girl I always wanted to be. But I couldn’t, everything I ever known was there in Goodman. So I turned around, blocking out the musty smell of the river, running back towards my father’s worried voice.
When I got home, I laid in my bed, and starred at the ceiling. I didn’t know it then, but I had started a routine, to get up every morning, and just look at the ceiling at the stenciled stars. I couldn’t stand to think during those two hours when sleep shunned me, but life wasn’t ready for me yet, and I couldn’t imagine either. I just sat there devoid of emotion, devoid of pleasure, hate or rage. I was just the me I was always supposed to be. Fate was acting upon me, and I couldn’t act against it. My brain wasn’t in my hands, and I wasn’t in the right of mind during those two hours when I was dead. Each morning, you can count how many hours that makes me lifeless.
But I don’t think it’s my fault. Momma says I should hold my head high, that one day, a boy will come along for me. And I will love him, and he’ll love the real me. But how am I supposed to trust her, when the only thing I know it lies. Sometimes I wish my life were as easy as the new girl’s, but then I’d be bad. Not just bad as in the literal term, but I’d be a spoiled fruit, banned from Heaven. And I’ve been to too many church seminars to wish Hell upon me.
I’ve realized something, when my brain came back to me, I realized I was just like my father. As much as I tried to hate him, to reject him out of my life. I’m just like him. I hold grudges, and pose threats, though my words aren’t as strong as his. And my actions never as great, but deep down, I’m slowly turning into a card board cut out of my father. Not my Momma who’s sweet loving and kind, but the mean old man who sits on our front porch with a shot gun in hand, and beer cans around his feet.
Sometimes in life, the things we work for the most, maybe it be money, or a job, or in my case a different personality, are the thing we never get. And I’ve learned that hard way, but there are thing I didn’t know either. I didn’t know how my life was going to change it’s course in the matter of a year after the Carter incident, and I didn’t know I’d be stuck in this town forever. Just as stuck as the men who picked cotton in our back yard a hundred years ago.
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it’s about a girl in a small racist town in Mississippi that hold her to close for comfort. It’s about the love of her life leaving, and the new boy coming into play, the native American whom everyone hates.
It’s not really a story you’d expect out of a love novel, it’s called Nothing of Love, Everything of Hate.

It’s really good. I think your book has a good chance of getting published.