A British Girl’s Guide to Hurricanes and Heartbreak by Laura Taylor Namey EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Laura Taylor Namey
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Emotions & Feelings Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
JULY
If that man would quit staring o into nowhere and move two measly steps, my
next shot would be perfect. I arm my camera and hover my nger over the
shutter button. Waiting. He must sense the impatient tapping of my foot against
the pavement because he nally moves along. Now it’s perfect.
I passed this row of vintage motorbikes on my way into work. I’d hoped
they’d still be parked in the designated bay a few streets over from my family’s
tea-and-pastry shop when my break time came. The post-drizzle gloom at this
time of day makes the best lighting for my photos.
Click, click, click.
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I shoot the parts tightly, framing the promise of power and movement. Raindotted pipes, rotors, calipers. The gleaming bikes must belong to some kind of
club. Millie, our grandfather’s restored Triumph Bonneville that Orion took to
uni today, would t right in with all the polished logos and buttery leather.
Nothing sounds like these machines; Millie’s an angry, growling bitch.
It’s only when I pause to check my memory card that the time stamps clue
me in. Christ, I’m late. I should’ve been back nishing strawberry empanadas at
Maxwell’s twenty minutes ago. It’s a miracle Lila didn’t text me nineteen and a
half minutes ago.
Luckily, I’m not far. I stride along, clutching my Canon DSLR. I bring it
nearly everywhere and usually sacrice my lunch break to shoot around the
High Street. When Nan gave me the camera a year ago, she hoped it would
become a fun hobby, but it’s become my everything. The lens holds some of
what I can’t carry inside. Point and shoot. Capture. Refocus. The black case cages
the secrets that stain my ngers like the fruit glazes Lila and I make. Eventually,
I’ll work through what I’ve hidden. And then there’s the e-mail from Greenly in
my box from yesterday—I’ll work through that, too. I want to speak this time.
To share about Mum. But two months haven’t released the vise grip over my
tongue, the fog lling my head. I don’t know how to do what they’re asking.
I stu the anxiety back where it came from, but my stomach dives for
another reason as I round the corner to Jewry Street. The Maxwell’s queue is
monstrous. I elbow inside past eager customers, tucking away my camera and
searching for my apron on a supply shelf. Perplexed, I actually look myself over
and—bugger—I never took it o. My front’s stained with strawberry puree, and
I must’ve looked like a walking crime scene out there.
“Sorry! I know, I know, I know,” I say to Lila Reyes when she pokes her head
out from the kitchen. I pick up a rag and try to look productive.
“Don’t worry, amiga,” she calls from the back. “I’ve already got the baker’s
version of burpees and squat jumps planned for you.”
“Of course you bloody do, and I love it!” Give me her annoyance over bland
enabling any day. I know what to do with a little piss-o.
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