Page 234 of Scorching the Alien Empire
My heart skips when I spot Sandra’s door—not solid, but wavering, shivering under the sterile orange and blue lights overhead.
She’s back!
I don’t even think. Ileapthrough the stomach-churning barrier like a sugar-addled banshee.
“Hello, gorgeous!” I sing out, arms wide, fingers fluttering like I’m revealing a magic trick.
“Oh!” Sandra gasps, clutching her chest. “Lexie! You scared the life out of me!” she cries, jolting upright from her undersized floating bed like a startled zombie. “What time is it? I haven’t stopped all morning.”
“It’s time to eat,” I announce with a grin, shoving the plate of food under her nose. “Behold—French toast. Todd says it’s yummy.” I lovingly pat his roly-poly pudding body draped over my shoulder. “Isn’t that right, mister?”
He doesn’t respond, still draped sideways, lost in his food coma, probably baking a stink nuke.
I need to be quick.
“Um... thanks,” Sandra mutters, groggily rubbing her eyes before accepting the plate. “I am kinda starving...”
I scope the room. Same layout as mine. Same squishy rainbow furniture. Same criminally low ceiling. Except—ugh. The clutter.
I suppress a sigh, surveying the piles of clothes like some tragic shrine to poor life decisions. Shoes ring the mess like sacrificial offerings to the Terrible Fashion God.
Poor. Simple. Sandra. She’s so messy. If we lived together, I’d strangle her by week two.
Although... to be fair, back when Dracoth locked us up like adorable zoo animals, she kept me sane. If she’d had her clothes replicator back then, I probably would’ve been crushed to death by a landslide of gnome clothes. A fate worse than death: death by badly hemmed jeggings.
“Lexie...” Sandra says suspiciously, eyeing the French toast like it might hold the cure for cancer. “What the hell is this?”
“French toast, obviously,” I snort, moving over to her totem of shame. “Auntie Sandra’s so silly, isn’t she, Todd?”
Todd croaks—a deflating football sound.
“You go play here, now.” I lay him down on shoes covered in red-green furs that honestly look stolen from Santa’s grotto. Instead of frantic scampering like usual, Todd just kind of...slooshes forward a few inches, then flops sideways like an exhausted sumo wrestler buried in underwear.
Definitely starting him on a diet tomorrow.
“Yeah, but why’s half of it missing?” Sandra grimaces, pinching the toast as if it’s one of Michael’s disgusting, radioactive socks. “Is that—” She recoils, dropping it with a wetplop. “Slime?” she glares at me, sapphire eyes flashing like daggers. “Lexie. Are you trying to poison me?”
My eyebrows shoot up so fast it’s like I’ve been slapped. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I snap, peering closer at the so-calledslime. “That’s clearly syrup, Sandra.Syrup.” I sigh dramatically. “I mean, I know it’s not haggis, or shortbread, or the Loch Ness Monster, or whatever else you Scottish people eat.”
Honestly, so ungrateful.
“Ha, very funny. But last time I checked, syrup isn’t green, is it?” Sandra snarks.
Please. There’s only asmidgenof green.
“And the only monster here,” she adds, waving dramatically over the plate like she’s trying to exorcise it, “is wee Todd, after he slimed all over it. Right, Lexie?”
Busted.
My face heats up, but I forge ahead as Arawnoth teaches: with strength. “Well, if you werelistening, I did say Todd found it yummy.” I shrug, feigning indifference.
Sandra narrows her eyes, glaring like an angry little fox. “Unbelievable,” she mutters finally.
She turns toward the wall, speaking as if addressing some invisible butler. “Room service. I’d like aproperserving of French toast.No slime this time.” She shoots me a pointed look. “You want anything?” she adds.
“No thanks. I’m a stuffed turkey,” I grin, slapping my tummy like a drummer at a metal gig.
“That’s everything,” she finishes crisply to the invisible audience.
