So, I'm writing a YA that I'm sort of digging right now and figured this would be a great place to share. :D It's still untitled, which I need to change... but, here ya go... first page of my Carnival Saga~
“This is it.”
stared into her father’s excited brown eyes as he slapped the folded newspaper
down on the kitchen table, sending her spoon sailing through the air to land
with a plink on the nasty 80’s linoleum tile.
instead of eating a bowl of cornflakes, she was wearing the bowl of cornflakes.
she reached across the narrow kitchen and snatched the faded blue dishrag off
the sink to swipe at her Team Edward shirt. She sighed, biting back an
fact that she’d had to babysit the Smith’s brats two nights in a row just to
afford it. “Dad,” she groaned.
blunt fingers through his spiky hair. “Sorry, baby, sorry. But look,” he tapped
“I need to work, Flint. That’s what I know, that’s what I
She smelled like milk. Great. She couldn’t go to school smelling like this. First day of her Junior year, just freaking peachy. Now what was she gonna wear?
Tossing the rag away, she glanced at the highlighted article. He’d circled it in red, as if she couldn’t have pieced together which article had made him this excited. Dad only loved three things in the world.
Mom. Her. And the carnival. Especially a carnival in need of flyers. Or trapeze artists as most non-carni folks called them.
She sighed. “I thought you said no more of this, Dad. After Mom--”
He clenched his jaw, ten days worth of stubble looking sort of gray in the dimly lit galley kitchen.
easy for either of them. Mom’s accident. It’d happened five years ago, and Flint
had finally stopped having the nightmare of watching her mom plummet to her
death from the fifty foot high tight rope. She missed her mom, but it was no
longer the jagged ache it once was.
was different for her dad. She didn’t think he’d ever get over it.
started drinking again. He tried to hide it. She was pretty sure he didn’t want
her to know he’d fallen off the wagon, but it was pretty obvious when she’d
come home and find him passed out on their ratty sofa, t.v. on and breathe
reeking of Scotch.