How To Save A Life Read Online Free Page B

bubble in my stomach. Hopefully, he’ll come away with me. Hopefully, we’ll—
    "Thank hell," Tim curses as I round the corner. His hands are wrapped around the metal frame of a chair he's putting out on the sidewalk, tucking it under the table in front of it. He jerks his head toward the interior of the cafe. "Get in there; we've had another walking group."
    "Sorry, on it," I mutter, at the same time as I complete my usual Saturday morning ritual of imagining new and creative ways to inflict pain upon my boss.
    Impaled by one of his own cafe chairs that has been dipped in hot lava beforehand.
    Yep.
    Nice.
    I slink through the crowd of twenty women clustered by the register, and a confused-as-hell looking Ana who is manning the till.
    "So you want a double shot of sustainable beans frappé, with a caramel insertion and chocolate on top, on soy?" She narrows her eyes, and I smile. It's going to be one of those mornings.
    To be honest, we get those mornings at least once a fortnight.
    The View is situated right on the beachfront in our coastal town, and is known as the place to get your morning coffee, thanks to a good write-up in the state-wide newspaper. And, since it's located a short five-hundred metres from the start of the infamous Five Cliffs Hike, a trail that attracts many nature enthusiasts due to its stunning views and plentiful assortment of wildlife, we often get coffee requests such as these, aka Coffee For Hipsters From The City.
    I scoot in next to Ana and stow my bag under the counter, grab my apron and tie it around my waist. Then I check that the machine has already been brought to life. Tim usually does it the second he opens the doors, to make sure he can start making a dollar as soon as someone walks up. He sometimes makes light of it, and says he turns it on before he turns off the alarm.
    I don't even think he's joking.
    "We have a few dockets already." The subtext in Ana's voice says even though we're not technically open , and she shoves three pieces of paper along the steel counter toward me. Tim loves to do that—take orders from go so he can milk every extra dollar out of our wages and the tourists. I nod. Looks like it'll be a busy morning.
    There's something oddly soothing about making coffee.
    Grind.
    Click.
    Whirl.
    Pour .
    It's a rhythmic dance that's easy to get caught up in, to lose yourself inside of.
    Before I know it, it's one, and not only have the twenty hikers left and come back to get "one more for the road", but the lunchtime crowd is easing and ordering wine instead of coffee, allowing Ana and I to take a step back and relax a little.
    We lean against the counter behind us that has grown hot from the constant hum of the coffee machine throbbing against it.
    "Water?" She offers me a bottle from the fridge, and I gratefully accept, knocking back half of it in one long gulp. It's so cold it hurts, but the burn is worth it.
    "Thanks." I screw the lid back on tight and place it next to me, enjoying the breather.
    "Isn't it nice to just sit and—"
    "Lia, will you restock the wine fridge?" Tim's voice cuts through Ana's speech, and she winces. Sorry , she mouths, and I shrug and head out back to the storeroom located in the car park behind the venue.
    It's dark out here, and cold, the concrete roof of the parking lot trapping in the cool air as well as blocking a lot of the sun. This car park has stock rooms and entrances to each of the three businesses that share this block—The View, a tattoo studio, and a karate training group. I push the sleeves of my black long-sleeved shirt over my fisted hands and make my way to the door furthest on the right, the room where we keep all our spare booze, aka Whatever's On Special With A Shop-A-Docket.
    I unlock the door from the key ring I have tied around my wrist with a rope. I wear it every time I work—the jewellery of The View employee. Inside, the room is darker still, and I flick the switch for the light but nothing happens.
    "Freaking