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This is just the first page and a half. Just tell me what you think.

Mr. Boyd shifted nervously across from me. Most of my clients are uneasy around me the first couple of time they see me. He watches me move my pencil across the pad of paper.
“Tell me of your wife Mr. Boyd.” I ask continuing my scribbling.
“My wife’s name is Marge….She just had our son Jacob…” he paused a minute, often times my clients find it hard to remember things. I can often get fragments from them. A woman in her twenties fills my mind, I can see her clearly. A beautiful brunette standing in a nursery. She is wearing a dress late forties, floral. An infant cries in her arms as she sing to it. You are my sunshine…My only sunshine…A man walks in behind her. A young Mr. Boyd fresh out of service. He still wears his class B’s. I can feel that he is uncomfortable in civilian clothing.
“Mr. Boyd I want you to drift back now. What is the last thing you remember?” The energy began to shift as Mr. Boyed began to rock. The pictures are moving too fast in my mind. Fragment and voices all swirling around. I grabbed the Blue Lace Agate stone in front of me. It calms me with its energy. I breathe deeply and slowly, concentrating my mind. The fragments are becoming clearer, more in sync. Mr. Boyd is the age he is now. A man stands in front of him. He is angry. His fist shakes. I need to see his face but it’s hidden in shadow. Mr. Boyd yells obstinacies at him. I need to see his face. I hear a click of a gun. Mr. Boyd hears it too. His hands fly up in protest. “..Wait. Please…” He pleads. I feel his fear. I need to see his face. The man raises a gun level to Mr. Boyd’s chest. “…JACK! NO!” Mr. Boyd bellowed as a shot was fired, hitting Mr. Boyd in the heart. The force knocked me out of my chair. My candles blew out, leaving me in pitch darkness. I fumbled to find the light. Switching on and I looked over to the table. Mr. Boyd was gone. “Damn it.” I cursed feeling defeated.
Morning came way too early this morning. Can’t imagine why, I only went to bed five hours ago. Coffee is going to be my best friend today. I yawn and scratch my head. I don’t know how I am going to function today. Luckily I will be at school. After a long hot shower I finally trot my way downstairs. My dad is already there reading the newspaper. I shake my head, why can’t he get his news from the computer like a normal person. Trees dad, save the trees.
“Morning Freckles.” He greets me with a warm smile. I walk over and kiss his forehead. “Morning Daddy.” I love the way my dad smells. Like Old Spice and coffee. He has always smelled like that. When I was younger and missed him, my mother would let me sleep with one of his coats. I miss my mother. But now is not the time to think about her. I make my way over to the coffee pot and fix myself a cup.
“Late night?” My dad asked. Busted.
“Um...” I stalled. Giving my dad my most innocent of looks, but I could tell that it wasn’t going to work. Might as well fess up. “I know dad I’m sorry.”
“Young Lady you know better.” Oh boy I know that tone. In our house we have a rule. I am not supposed to talk to people after 10pm on a school night. Dead or Alive.
“I know dad, but I almost had a break though with Mr. Boyd...”
“Boyd? As in Clark Boyd? As in the case file I told you not to get into?” Nice going blabber mouth. I scolded myself. See here’s the other rule, I am not supposed to look at my dad’s case files without permission. That one is a really hard one to follow though. You see spirits tend to attach themselves to whatever was on their person either at the time of death or what they loved most in life. It’s not my fault that dad happened to bring home a box containing Mr. Boyd’s glasses.
“I know dad. I’m sorry.” I do feel sorry that I disobeyed, but I can’t very well ignore a man in my room now can I.
After a twenty minute grilling about how I need to focus more on school and friends. My father booted me out the door. Sending me thus forth into the hall of torture of Grimsley Senior High.

I completely agree with you. There is no depth in young adult novels anymore. When I was a kid when I thought of a hot sexy vampire. I didn't think of a sparkly vampire with self reflection issues. I thought of the Vampires from Fright Night and The Lost boys. True killers that embraced there darkness and lived for the carnage. Right now I am writing s story about a teen-girl with physic powers that sees the dead. She helps solves how they died. I am not afraid to talk about pedophiles raping and killing children. I mean there is a huge Following For JTHM and Nny Kills a pedophile in front of Squee. But honstly a really good teen novel I have read that is not too puke is Croak by Gina Damico. I love her concept of Grim reapers being Teens with anger issues and a summer job of collecting souls. That was a excellent concept.