Deleted Scene from Slated by Teri Terry
for YA UnsceneNote from the Author:
The cut scene I have for you is from near the beginning of chapter 4. It is Kyla’s
first morning with her new family after leaving hospital. She wakes early wheneveryone else is still asleep, and is looking out the window in her bedroom.Below, the glistening grass, fallen leaves in swirling patterns of so many richcolours, and most especially the flowers along the house, all beckon. I pull thewindow in quietly and slip across the room. Amy lies still and silent, chestmovements slight and even.My feet fly down the stairs to the front door. I turn the knob to the left as
I’d seen done yesterday, but nothing happens. And again: nothing. I try turning it
every which way; pulling, pushing; still nothing. I step back in frustration. Andthere, on a hook to the right of the door, is hanging a small bunch of keys.It must be locked. Dare I?Three keys, cold metal in my hands. The second one turns and there is aslight click inside the door, which then swings open as I pull it towards me.The concrete step is cold and rough under my bare feet. Three stepsdown. The brightening sky is clear
no rainclouds in sight
yet when I step ontothe grass, it is wet, dripping wet. I kick at damp leaves and twirl around, armsextended. Then stop and draw them in close to my body as the chill begins topenetrate my skin, my bones, standing there in a thin, too long nightgown Amyhad given me last night.
. It was never cold or hot in the hospital, always a uniformsameness. Slightly cooler at sleep times when under a blanket, a little warmerduring the day. Even the shower was a perfect warmth that could not be adjustedbut was always just right. Amy had taken care when showing me how the bathworked last night that I understood that
too much hot water could burn. I’d
deliberately turned it up when she left to see what it felt like, until my skin turnedred and I had to turn the cold tap up to cool it down.My arms start to prickle as if something is walking over my skin, and Iextend them again. Little bumps run up and down my arms.Then I remember why I am here and swing back around to face thehouse.
: I’d checked at dinner last night, and that is what they are. I kneel
down and reach out, cup my fingers around the curved, pink blossom drooping atthe end of a stem. So soft. One petal falls when I touch it and I hold it in myhand. The roses are going off now, Mum said last night; winter is coming. But itis soft, like velvet. A rich, sweet, almost sickly smell rises when I crush it in myfingers.So delicate. Yet roses have thorns, I remember, from some lesson. Andsure enough little triangles with a sharp point appear at regular intervals up anddown the stems of the plant. I touch one lightly with my finger tip; then tap itharder, until it hurts. I hold it up, and wait. There: a tiny red spot. Blood.My arms and legs and up and down my body seems to vibrate all byitself: am I shivering? I stand there a moment longer, try to stop it but cannot.