“What was that? Knock knock. Where was she? “I’m coming in!” a voice said. Abigail rubbed her eyes and looked around. Fluffy duvet. Pillows. Private bathroom. Floral curtains, still open. Dark outside. That’s right, she remembered. I’m on a different planet now. She smiled groggily. “Dinner time.” The voice was Becky’s, who was in the bathroom turning on the shower. “Jump in, get dressed. Do you need some clothes?” “Yeah, thanks.” The shower (like everything else) was the Priciest Mother-Shower ...brought down from Priciest Planet-Shower to hurt fair-skinned Scots who’d only ever experienced a feeble dribbling. Blimey, Americans did things properly. “Clothes on the bed!” Becky yelled. “See ya down there!” When Abigail had dried herself with the impossibly fluffy towels, she put on the high-waisted denim shorts Becky had left for her, and then braved another glance in the mirror. She’d never worn shorts before. Her legs were blindingly white. The T-shirt was black, with a painting on the front of a bunch of faceless teenagers who looked like zombies.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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