Free How To Save A Life by Lauren K. McKellar

even awake?" I ask, a smile curving my lips.
    Kat shrugs, and hands me a bottle of something red and kind of fizzy looking. "Yeah, but it wasn't that raging. I thought you could use a pick-me-up."
    I narrow my eyes at her offering. "Why and what?"
    "You've been really tired and stressed recently," she says. As soon as the words leave her mouth, I feel it. She's right. With exams fast approaching and the performance of my life hot on their heels, I have been getting a little uptight. Add the nightmares to the mix ...
    And that things with Mum have been getting worse.
    Not that Kat knows that. She might know where I live, but she's never been inside.
    We start walking, turning left at the cul-de-sac and onto the grassy path by the lake.
    "Is she getting sicker?" Kat chews on her lip, and guilt rushes through me again at the mention of yet another little white lie I've told. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—parents who were 'sick' didn't want their kids to have friends over. They had an all-time excuse for not showing up at student-teacher nights, at school functions and events.
    And she did have an illness.
    Just probably not the kind Kat was imagining.
    "I can't tell," I reply honestly. "The other day, it seemed as if she were a little better? But y'know ... it's ..." I let the sentence hang, because the thing is, Kat doesn't. And even if I told her, I don't know that she would. How do you explain to someone close to you that your mother is basically incapable of keeping her shit together?
    She links her arm through mine. "Berocca." She nods to the drink now in my hands. "It's Berocca."
    I grin and give her arm a squeeze. She gets it. Sometimes, saying nothing is the easiest lie of all.
     
    We stop out front of The View, and a crowd of around thirty women are there, clad in the usual designer lycra, sunglasses perched atop of their heads. They mill around the register, and Ana rushes past me, shoving an apron around her waist and frantically attempting to connect the ties at her back.
    "Looks like I gotta—" Words seize in my throat. Because she's here again.
    Early.
    "Thanks so much for walking me in, Kat," I say, giving her a quick hug. "I'll see you later."
    "No worries." Kat smiles, but I'm not looking at her, because Ellie’s pushing off the telegraph pole she was leaning against and walking this way. Toward us. Toward my new life.
    "What time do you get off again?" Kat asks, and then it happens.
    Step.
    Crash.
    Collide.
    "Lia."
    I press my eyes tightly shut and hope she'll go away, and that this is all a dream.
    "Who's this?" Kat asks. I prise my eyes open in time to see her grin. "Hi, I'm Kat, Lia's—"
    "Four. I finish at four," I interrupt, standing in the way of Kat's gaze and blocking Ellie completely.
    Kat frowns. "Lee Lee, what are you do—"
    "I gotta run, but I'll see you at Duke's then, yeah?" I ask, and I hope that she can read the message in my eyes, the message that I'm fairly sure is screaming get the hell out of here, now.
    "Ooookay," Kat says slowly. She bunches her forehead. "I'll see you around four."
    Kat walks away without further question, and I release the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, then I spin on my heel, heading for the machine. I stow my bag beneath the counter and grab my apron from the hook, tying it around my waist and giving Ana a small hip bump by way of greeting.
    But Ellie doesn't leave. I can feel her eyes drilling into me from where I left her standing, even through the crowd of wannabe walkers. They're laughing and bitching about the fact I haven't even started making coffee yet, but I can still hear her voice through the din.
    "You can't do this forever, Lia."
    I don't tell her that I don't have to.
    Only for the next 145 days.
    ***
    The morning rush dies down, but she doesn't leave. She just sits there at the table, ordering chai latte after chai latte, till I worry that she's going to spew all over our silverware, because dear God, that's far too much