Sparked (The Metal Bones Series Book 1) by Sheena Snow Read Free Book Online

walk.”
    “Vienna, I—”
    “Don’t.” I looked toward my room. “Save it for someone who cares because you gave up caring about me a long time ago.”
    Robotatouille dropped his head.
    Mom reached out a hand. “Vienna—”
    I jerked my arm away. “I’m going to my room. Please, leave me alone.”
    Like you always do.
    I flung my door shut and I threw my book bag on my bed. This was the worst fight yet. I’d exposed too many of my feelings. Things I had never said. Things I shouldn’t have had to say. Now, Mom would know my buttons. She could twist and turn me in her direction.
    I crumpled on the sofa, the words we said tearing through my body. I pulled my knees up to my chest.
    I was stupid. So stupid to tell Mom those things. I rocked myself back and forth on the sofa. My eyes traced the goose bumps that formed on my arm.
    A note slipped under my door. Feet shuffled and then the front door banged shut. I stared at the note. Did I care what Mom had to say? I rocked myself on the sofa. Would it be an apology? You couldn’t apologize after a fight like that in a note. Mom never apologized for things anyways. I pulled at a strand of hair and played with it. Maybe it said I was the daughter she had always wanted. I shook my head. Why do that to myself? I stared at the note. It was a thin sheet of paper folded in four pieces, and for some reason it scared me. I pulled my hair across my lips. Maybe the note was simple. Maybe it simply said, I love you .
    I rocked myself back and forth again. I looked back at the note. It seemed further away this time, as if daring me to pick it up and look at it. I bit my lip and stepped onto the carpet.
    The thick wool pressed between my toes as I crept toward the note. I stared down at it, pretending I was the master and not the note. The ends of the paper dipped when the heater came on, as if laughing at me.
    I picked up the note.
    I won’t be home for dinner. I’m filling in at a painting class. Dad’s at a funeral, his co-worker passed away. There’ll be food on the stove.
    So it would be Robotatouille and I. I crumpled the note in my hand. What did I expect to happen, a revelation to occur? I collapsed on my sofa and watched the note fall to the ground. I had always felt something was wrong but had never wanted my suspicions to be true. I put my head in my lap. I had never wanted to acknowledge my fear. Now, I couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. This fight had only confirmed what I’d believed to be true my whole life. I rocked myself and let the feelings wash over me. My eyes shut, closing out the images but not the words.
    My realization was worse than having a mom who hated you. It was having a mom who didn’t care about you. And my mom didn’t care.
    Boom!
    The sound reverberated from the kitchen. My heart stopped beating as I shot off the sofa. My legs wobbled under me and I gasped for air, falling on my bed, my heart now hammering in my chest.
    What in the world was that?
    I stood up and made my way to my door—trembling, terrified of what I might find there.
    “Robotatouille?”
    My head snapped up and I ran in the kitchen, only to come to a complete stop in my tracks. Pots littered the ground and the areas between them were splattered with yellow liquid, celery, carrots, and onions. Robotatouille, dishtowel in hand, knelt on the floor beside the mess.
    “What happened out here?” I demanded.
    Robotatouille stopped wiping the floor and looked up at me.
    “Oh. I forgot.” I rubbed my forehead. “You can’t talk.”
    It went back to its task, making me feel useless standing there.
    “Here. Let me help.” I started placing pots on the counter. It looked like a bomb exploded in the middle of the kitchen. I glanced down at Robotatouille.
    What if it had a mechanical malfunction? What if something exploded inside it?
    Its blond head kept bobbing up and down to the rhythm of the motion.
    “Are, er, you okay? I mean, is everything all right with you, er . .