Dear Reader,

In the fall of 2010, I wrote a series of short stories about my young adult character, Claire Morgane. A year later, in a major revision of Claire Morgane Almost Saves The World, many of the details of Claire’s world changed.

I originally removed the stories from the website, thinking I would rewrite them to make them match the changes I made to the novels. Looking at the stories now, I realize many of them just don’t work in the new world I’ve created.

Because nothing ever really disappears from the internet, I’m annotating the existing versions and reclaiming them.  They are no longer part of Claire’s history as a character, but they are certainly part of my history as their author.

Best,
Johanna

* * *

TOO HOT

by Johanna Harness

Too damn hot. Again. Claire slammed a fist on the greenhouse counter and kicked the tiny solar generator. Piece of crap. Jumping up on the counter, she wobbled as she reached for the ventilation crank.

“You’re going to fall again,” said Amelia.

Claire jumped until she had a firm hold on the handle and she let it steady her while she cranked.  She ignored the weird little ghost.

“You kicked the power thing–just like last time. The mist will start soon–just like last time. You’ll slip in the water and fall on your ass–just like last time.”

“I know what I’m doing,” said Claire. “You want to help, you could always keep an eye on the generator for me.”

The little motor turned over and the ventilation system started up again.

Two seconds later Claire looked up at Amelia from the floor of the greenhouse.

“Or I could warn you about impending danger based on your own stupid behavior,” said Amelia, “but really, why should I waste my time when you don’t listen to me anyway?”

Claire jumped up and wiped mud on her overalls.

“It’s these damn hips,” said Claire. And it was true. Every day her teenage body developed different proportions.  How was she supposed to adapt gracefully?

Amelia shook her head.

“And the big feet.” Claire pointed. “My balance is all screwed up.”

She drew water into a bucket and started making the rounds, supplementing the malfunctioning drip system.

Running her fingers across parched leaves, Claire’s throat tightened. She couldn’t swallow. Breathing in little gasps, she felt plant life ebbing away.  Tomatoes always suffered before they died, but peppers usually fought back.  These died too quickly.

Her research wouldn’t show it, of course, not if she kept screwing up her experiments with generator failures.  But something more happened here. The plants had not been without water that long. Their spirits sizzled.

Plant frustration seeped into her skin and deeper into her pelvis.  Too. Damn. Hot.

“The boy from the next farm over likes you,” said Amelia.  “You should blow off some steam.”

Claire scooped water into her hands and splashed her face.  She shook her head.  “The goatherd?  Not interested.”

“You can’t keep pining over Gareth.”

“I don’t pine,” answered Claire.  “And really, speaking of helpful, you couldn’t tell me he’s not interested in girls? You had to let me make a fool of myself?”

Amelia giggled.

“I hate ghosts,” muttered Claire. “Even you can’t resist embarrassing me.”

“You want me to be helpful?” asked Amelia.

Claire growled and gestured wildly.  “Yes!” she shouted.  “At what point was I unclear?  Am I talking to myself?”  She tried to find words to adequately express her frustration, but a guttural wail came out instead.

“Feel better?” asked Amelia.

“You want me to blow off steam?  Well this is me, blowing off steam!”

“In the spirit of helpfulness, I feel I should tell you the goatherd is standing right behind you,” said Amelia.  She grinned.  “Bye now.”

Claire’s eyes widened.  Oh crap.

“Claire?” The boy put a hand on her shoulder and she turned into his arms.  He leaned in just above her and asked softly, “You okay?”

Oh gods.  He smelled like grass and milk.  And he had nice eyes—gentle, brown, soft, with just a touch of I-Think-Shouting-Girls-Are-Hot.  She could do him.  In a heartbeat.  She ducked under his arm and checked the tubing.  Water flowed again.

“Alexander, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Xander,” he said, “but you know that.” He tucked a finger into the soil of a plant near him. “You’re wet down here.”

She turned and blinked at him and he held her stare.  “Yeah, thanks for that,” she answered. He had some nerve coming around on a day like this.  Could he sense her frustration way up the hill?

And anyway, she knew his name was Alexander. Damn straight she knew. She knew his mama too.  Knew the woman ran off to the city with that extradition man.  The kid could trim his name to Xander if he thought it was cool, but she knew it didn’t change a thing. With the coming food shortage he’d do well to hold on to as much of himself as he could.

She adjusted the water level, reminding herself that he didn’t know.  He couldn’t know.  It wasn’t his fault they wouldn’t all survive.  And it’s not like she’d never considered a carpe-diem kind of thing with a boy. They’d all be dead soon anyway. Xander was cute enough and it wasn’t like she had expectations.

She turned to find him leaning against the door frame.  Forehead creased, he smiled and opened his arms to her.  She let herself fold into him and then, ear against his chest, she listened to his racing heart.  She looked up into his eyes and saw fear mixed with hope. Well crap. She couldn’t do this to him.  Not this day anyway.

“It’s too hot,” she told him. “Go home.”