Avril leaned back in the passenger seat and watched Jo from beneath long, lowered lashes. She wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. She knew from Chris’s letters that the reporter had helped the boy find his missing friend and get into Jobcorps. Standard goody-two-shoes material, she’d figured.
I’m having a harder time getting into Avril’s voice than I did Lily. I want to avoid making her a caricature. I want to show that despite her sometimes over-the-top responses she is a realist.
When Avril had been known as Bobby Boyle—she shuddered as she thought the name, that pale, hideous moniker—she’d made fun of people like Jo. Liberals who thought handing out bowls of soup at a shelter would make any damn difference to the big picture. That’s what she’d told her friend Katja once. Lord, hadn’t that turned into a late night debate.
But instead of the bleeding heart Avril expected to find, this Jo Sullivan acted hard and edgy. In fact, for someone who supposedly cared about homeless kids, she actually seemed pretty cold and callous to Avril.
And she drove like a maniac.
“The light! The light! Watch the light, woman!” Avril grabbed the dashboard and shut her eyes, then opened them again in time to see a startled pedestrian step back onto the curb then give them the finger.