Five Star Reviews for Atlantis Academy:
"Omg this book was amazing I couldn't put it down or stop reading. I carried it with me open on my phone while I did everything just to keep reading. I need more of all of this. Epic story, epic content, epic...
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I jog downhill, speeding along the sidewalk, houses and overgrown lawns flying past in a blur. I'm way out of breath by the time I reach Highway 101, but at least I've arrived.
The restaurant-slash-bar that I work at is simply called "The Rock," in reference to Ashford Rock and the mythical battle our town never fought.
A quick peek through the front windows tells me I haven't missed much. All I see is our two regulars, drinking coffee in a booth. That's good. Hopefully my boss'll be up front. He doesn't usually yell at me in front of the customers.
I enter through the side door, trying to catch my breath.
Dammit. Keith isn't up front. He's in his office, doing money-counting, office-y things. Working on the budget tends to make him irritable.
I try to tip-toe past his half-open door.
"You're late!" he barks. His bald head's shining under the fluorescent light in his cramped office, and he pushes his glasses down over his large, ruddy nose to give me a dirty look.
"I'm sorry." I hang my head and stare at the cracked linoleum, trying to look contrite.
I don't even bother with an excuse this time. I ran out of good ones a long time ago, and now they just sound like the bullshit they are.
Had to visit some trees. Stopped to say "hello." Sorry, sir.
He turns back to his calculator, ignoring me.
Guess I'm getting off easy today. My shoulders sag with relief as I hang my jacket on a hook. I'm wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that has "The Rock" printed on it, and I check to make sure I'm not also wearing any dirt or Redwood needles before putting my apron on. My tennis shoes are a little muddy, but oh well.
The chair creaks in Keith's office, and I freeze as the door swings open with a bang. He leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl on his face.
Uh-oh.
"Tell me, Miss Hart. Why shouldn't I fire you?" His voice drips with contempt. "You're constantly late. And how many dishes did you break this week? Four? Five? Worst of all, I had three new complaints about you from last weekend. You can't seem to manage your tables in a timely manner or get their orders right. That loses me money." His whole face is red now. "And how many times have you messed up an order this month alone? How many meals had to be made twice? Well?"
I swallow and try to find some words. He's angrier than I've ever seen him before.
"Do you know," his voice rises, "how many people are waiting in line for your job? I know of at least three girls in this town that I can call right now who would love to take your shift tonight."
I wasn't aware of an actual waiting list, but I'm nauseous at the thought of losing tonight's pay to someone else. Of losing all my pay. Forever.
