Each weekend the Weekend Writing Warriors share an 8 - 10 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other authors. You can find them here.
Last week, I started sharing a new story, a Middle Grade/YA science fiction adventure. It's a work in progress, so suggestions would be great. This snippet follows last week's. BTW, the narrator is Mara, an almost 15-year-old girl. Sorry for the confusion last week.
Please excuse the creative punctuation, necessary to keep this within the guidelines. It's also edited from the original.
Of course, where I’d really rather be is in the pit at spaceport taking apart the engine of a Gilean Cruiser or, better yet, at Pamyria Tech learning how to fly one. I can’t wait so I don’t have to listen to—
“. . . Mara?”
How in Smilian's Pit does Teacher always know when I’m not listening? Reluctantly, I get to my feet because he insists we stand when speaking like we’re in a real classroom on a Central Planet instead of his study in a mining village on the Outer Rim. Since there are only eight of us older kids, we sit in two rows, one in front of the other. Usually, I sit in the back row with my buddy Jako, but today the others got there first, and I had to sit in front. Lukus always sits in the front row whether or not he comes in late, like today—he missed the linguistics and mathematics lessons that were a lot more interesting, where I always know the right answers. Now, he gets to see me humiliated—not that I care what he thinks of me, I don’t.
Teacher waits as I try to figure out what question he asked, while part of me wants to crawl under the table and hide, instead I continue to stand, back straight, head up, my face burning hotter than the Laborian Desert.
My father is gone! Taken by the Queen of Compara’s agents. I have to rescue him before the Queen tortures and kills him.
Never mind, we’ve had a rocky road lately. Instead of the kind, loving father I’ve always known, he’s become demanding, critical, with impossible expectations—not just as Father but also as the only teacher in our frontier outpost. I’d rather scoop zircan poop than listen to another boring lecture about governments on Central Planets. Give me a starship engine to take apart or, better yet, fly, and I’m happy.
Never mind, Father promised I could go off planet to Tech Institute next month when I turn fifteen, where I’ll learn to fly starships.
Never mind, I ran away because I’m furious with him for reneging on that promise. Father is my only parent. I have to save him.