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

glad to be woken up. I’d had a nightmare.
    Caribbean danced around his tank when he saw me get up. “Yeah, yeah.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ll feed you when I get home.”
    I’d dreamed robots took over the world and I was Robotatouille’s slave. They didn’t need chains, or whips, or guns. They knew what we thought, all our thoughts. They knew if we were running away, if we were plotting against them, or if we liked something. Whenever we had a thought they didn’t like, they made screaming noises in our head.
    We gave them our complete submission. We had no other choice.
    But it was just a dream. And Robotatouille was just a feeling, and probably thinking, robot.
    Having him around didn’t seem possible anymore. Not to mention having him cook and clean. How could the manufacturers not notice this little problem?
    How am I going to tell Mom and Dad about this? Telling Mom was not an option. Talking to Mom ever again was probably not an option. And if I told Dad, he would have to choose, to pick a side. I sighed. I couldn’t tell Dad anything.
    Maybe I could tell Sydney, or Jayla. I shook my head. No one would believe me. They would think I made it up, being overdramatic.
    Maybe a scowl didn’t mean anything in robot expressions. Maybe I was working myself up over nothing.
    No. All the research and robot owners’ manuals I had read indicated the same thing. The manufacturers had been clear on that. Robots weren’t supposed to have expressions.
    At all.
    Only now I had a new search to try.
    Class with Professor Rosquet was good, as usual. My next class started in thirty minutes. I headed for the library. I needed books. More books on robots. It would be harder for anyone to track me this way than with an IP address from an Internet search.
    Nothing was going right anymore. My home life was falling apart, my dating life was falling apart, and the outside world was falling apart—bricks shattering to dust and the dust wouldn’t be able to rebuild anything, leaving me, possibly leaving us all, in ruins.
    I entered the library and found it was the same librarian as last time. Bingo . One less explanation I’d have to give.
    “How is everything going? Have the books been helpful?” she asked.
    “Great. I’ve already started going through them. I just had another thought, though.” I leaned in close over the counter. “Would you happen to have anything on the possibility of robots having emotions or feelings? I was thinking of maybe trying to find a way to work that into my essay.”
    “Emotions, you say?” She frowned and adjusted her glasses. “That’s such an odd concept but maybe in the online journals there’s something you can find.” We spent the next thirty minutes hunting but with no luck. There was nothing published about even the possibility of robots having feelings. Humph.
    “Don’t worry about it,” I said, as I checked the overhead clock. “It was just an idea.”
    She gave me a wobbly side smile, and I waved back at her as I dashed to my next class. The poor lady probably thought I was nuts.

Chapter 8
    Timmy T’s lyrics reached my ears as I walked through the front door. I was glad Mom was off painting, or whatever she did, in her studio. I didn’t know how to act around her.
    Robotatouille scurried around the kitchen.
    I didn’t know how to act around anyone anymore.
    I headed down the other hallway, past Mom’s studio. The music was still blasting so I didn’t have to worry about tiptoeing around the place.
    “Vienna?”
    Everything kept getting worse. How did Mom know I was home? I turned around, facing Mom.
    Mom tapped her fingers together. “Vienna, I . . .”
    I pulled a strand of hair from my ponytail and twirled it.
    The silence stretched, neither of us talking. I don’t know why Mom started this if she had nothing to say. I got it. She couldn’t talk to me. So why didn’t she talk to one of her artist friends? They were her go-to people, people closer to her than I