SNOWED Excerpt: Meet Charity Jones
Meet Charity Jones, An Excerpt from SNOWED
We’re celebrating Maria Alexander’s birthday by giving YOU a present, please enjoy this SNOWED excerpt:
I open my eyes the next morning to the sight of Mr. Spotty’s yellow oval eyes. Mr. Spotty’s grounded because I used his catapult arm to throw rocks at Charles. I didn’t mean to hurt him. He was hiding in the bushes with his friends smoking pot. I just wanted to startle them, not take a hunk of flesh out of my brother’s forehead.
Although, I’m kinda glad I did.
The other two robots aren’t grounded, just temporarily decommissioned as I work on a new, far more sophisticated robot. Her name is Les Femmes Nikitas and she flies. In three parts. She could seriously wreck the house — even the garage — so I only test her outside.
I claim the bathroom before the boys can. As I brush my teeth, I glower at my ridiculous hair in the mirror. My dad is black. My mom is a ginger. My hair is doomed. By the time I’m out of the shower, Charles is banging on the bathroom door.
“Innaminute!” I yell.
Charles continues to assault the door. Mom chimes in. “What’s going on in there?”
“Just doing my fracking hair!”
Mom yells, “Some women would kill for your hair! Ask Alex Kingston! You look just like her.”
“Alex Kingston,” I yell back, “is perfect in every way and is married to The Doctor.” I punish the rebellious strands with more conditioner, tie them back, and apply mascara.
My dad shouts from the master bathroom, “River Song is not married to The Doctor, honey. That was in a timeline that no longer exists.”
“River Song is totally married to The Doctor!” I burst out of the bathroom. “Love is—”
Aidan stands there, toothbrush in hand.
His eyes are a milky blue color, like that neon fluid you find inside glow sticks. Otherworldly. Alien. Beautiful. I fall into them for a moment.
I then realize my bathrobe is open. I clutch the collar closed and feel embarrassment burning up to my earlobes.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Your mother said to wait here.”
“It’s okay,” I sputter. Did he already shower? He smells good. I can’t even look at him, I’m so mortified that I might have flashed him. “I’m done.”
“Thank you,” he mutters. As if paralyzed, he doesn’t move until I try to step past.
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