How To Save A Life by Lauren K. McKellar Page A

mother is! Lia, I'm at the end of my bloody tether. Broken bottles, upset customers, your rude refusal to speak to that paying customer who comes in every Saturday—"
    My heart falls. He's noticed that?
    "Don't think I haven't noticed it, because I have. Everyone else you're as chipper as a bloody Disney club member, but you won't give her the time of day."
    "I ..."
    Don't really have a good enough excuse.
    "You're done here, Lia. There are a dozen other kids out there I can teach to make quality coffee."
    My heart thuds so hard I feel it in my throat. No.
    No-no-no-no-no-no.
    I need this job. I need it to pay the rest of my way to Melbourne, to give Mum a few bucks to kick her life off without me.
    There's only 145 days to go.
    "But I ... I'm so sorry, Tim. I'll do more hours." The words rush out of my mouth.
    "Not good enough." He folds his arms and shakes his head. "It's the quiet ones ..." Then he shoulders past me and makes for the door.
    Tears are sticky in my eyes and panic crushes my chest. I grab onto his shirtsleeve. "No! Please. I'll—I'll take a pay cut."
    He freezes, and this time when he looks at me, a cruel smile lines his face. "Get outta here, kid."
    He walks out of the storeroom, and this time the tears aren't sticky. They're flowing down my face.
     

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    I run. I grab my bag and barrel out of that cafe, past Mum and Smith and their friends, ignoring their calls of goodbye. I tune out Ana's question and Ellie's stare and then I hit the beach, needing to get as far away from that part of my life as possible. I run and run and run, the thick, soft sand grains sucking my Cons in. Families tentatively braving the spring weather and attempting a nice beach day look at me, open-mouthed, as I bolt past them all until I reach the part where the lake meets the sea, where it's always deserted, and finally there I double over, my hands on my knees, the cool spring air ripping at my chest.
    I've stopped crying, I don't know when, and I wipe at my cheeks, the sand sticking to the tear track marks. My reflection stares back at me in the still lake. Long brown hair, and red, red cheeks and eyes.
    I'm a mess.
    Already my mind is running through what I've lost, calculating and devising a new plan of attack. I've lost my job. Okay. I've lost my job. I still need another few thousand dollars to make it to Melbourne with the help of the scholarship. I'll just—I'll ration our grocery spend. Yes. That. I'll apply to the other cafes in the area, although with the holiday season officially started, I know most of the hiring will be well and truly closed.
    Perhaps I could get a job in Sydney? I cringe at the thought of driving two hours each way, and shake my head. I don't think I'm cut out for that.
    Thoughts of the mysterious new bar owner float through my head, but I banish them just as quickly. A few hours on a Thursday night wouldn't earn me enough cash to make a difference. Besides, it's a bar, and I'm not eighteen. I can't work there, not even if I had a—
    I could get a fake ID.
    God, if only I could get a fake life to go with it.
    I shake my head, because the effort isn't worth it. I might hide the truth, but I'm not an out and out liar.
    Am I?
    I pick up a rock and throw it across the lake's still surface. It sends ripples spiralling out toward me, and I hate how life is like that, how one tiny action has a lake's worth of consequence. I hate how one stupid mistake my father made—
    I will not think about my father .
    Instead, I turn and trudge back toward home. The walk is quick, far more so than usual, and I shake my head, thinking how just a few hours ago Kat and I made this same trek. Then my biggest problem was guilt that she liked my boyfriend. Now, things are so much worse.
    Still, the thought brings me calm. Duke . I'll go see Duke. He'll make me feel safe. Make everything better.
    When I reach our yard, I jog over to the open front door, cursing Mum at the same time. Sure, we don't have a lot of