The Perfect Balance

Chapter 2

I guess a good thing about working in the book store is that my best (and only) friend Diana works alongside me. But other than that, and the employee discounts, there isn't much good to say about the book store. Okay, I guess it's good to have money in my pocket, too. But no cute boys come around because, let's be real, what teenage boy actually reads books anymore? If any cute boys that like to read do come around, they definitely don't come during any of my shifts.

Other than stocking and working the register, there isn't much work to be done in the book store. Organizing books sounds fun and it is; it mostly consists of me taking pictures of the books I want to purchase in the future. Working the register, on the other hand is obnoxious. I usually have to deal with girls from my school and preteens in need of stories for their book reports, which is no fun at all. My job is pretty bland. The only time I'm able to do something different (though always the same) is when I have my break. I buy a book (if I finished my last one) and then walk over to the coffee shop next door, order a hot cocoa, and read for fifteen minutes before returning for the rest of my shift.

When my release finally comes around, I find myself skipping the first part of my break. Disregarding the counter completely, I leave the book store with my empty hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets. I enter the small coffee shop, purchasing the hot cocoa before making my way to my usual seat at the window. I stare at a couple walking by, hand in hand. With narrowed eyes, I turn my attention back to my empty table. I begin to draw circles along it, thinking about all of the relationships I'm not in. I should just write my own romance story. First, I just need to find a guy. Good luck with that, Orion.

Once my shift is over and I'm finally free to go home and sleep, my father comes by and picks me up. He offers me a hesitant smile as I get in the car, which puts me more on edge than I already am. "Hey, Ri," he greets me cheerfully.

"Hey," I mumble.

"I've got some things to talk to you about," my father starts as he pulls off down the street.

"What?" I inquire, ready to receive a lecture on the C+ I got on my Calculus test. I scold myself for leaving it on the desk. In my defense, I was studying the content before I got too involved with my stupid book.

"You know my friend Joseph, right?" my dad asks. Not what I expected, but I'll go with it if it means not having to deal with being yelled at for one bad grade.

"Yeah," I respond slowly. "Of course I know him. You have him over once a week for beer and a game."

"Well, he's going on a business trip for a month and I offered to take in his son and his dog," my father responds.

"We don't even have room, dad. We have six people already," I remind my father. Since we're not really allowed to use our parent's bathroom, we all have to share the one in the hall. That means that if this son of Joseph's does come, there are going to be five people trying to use the bathroom. I don't see how that's going to work. It barely works now.

"We have the guest room," my dad attempts.

"Yeah but my stuff is in there," I start. All of my schoolwork is in there because that's where the big desk is. Whenever I want to organize my binders and my folders or study for a few hours, that's where I go. The desk in my room is already cluttered with my textbooks and notebooks, not to mention it's barely three feet wide. But if I were to switch desks, the larger one wouldn't even fit in my room.

"You'll have to either take your stuff out and move it to your room or just wait until he's back home," my father says.

"Isn't he, like, 18? Why can't he just stay home alone?" I question.

"Because he's known for getting into trouble," my father explains. "His dad doesn't trust him to be alone there for a weekend, never mind a month."

I suddenly put two and two together in my mind. "Wait, wait, wait. Am I thinking about the right kid? Hasn't he been arrested, like five times?" I ask my dad, who sighs and shakes his head.

"He was brought down to the station twice but released with a warning both times," my father explains.

"And you think he'd be a great addition to the household?" I ask my father.

"The boy's gone through some stuff. His mom's out of state and his dad's rarely home. He's not a bad kid. He's just made a few mistakes," my father tells me and I shake my head.

Before I can begin asking the rest of the questions on my mind, like when this is going to be happening, we pull up to the front of the house. My main question is immediately answered when I lay my eyes on a shiny, black motorcycle parked in the driveway. "He's here? Like, now?" I ask my dad and gain a nod in response. He walks around to the back of the truck and grabs two suitcases, which I hadn't even noticed.

"I swung by his house before I picked you up to get these. He's inside," my father informs me and I repress the urge to sigh. Why can't my parents just occasionally drop by his house and check on him to make sure he's alive and not doing anything too illegal, like running a meth lab in the basement?

"How long has this been a thing?" I question my dad.

"Only a few days- it was a last minute arrangement and Joseph couldn't let the business opportunity pass him by. The kid usually goes with his mom when Joseph goes on business trips but it's the beginning of the school year and Joe doesn't want him to fall behind," my father clarifies.

"Just great," I mumble and my dad shoots me a reprimanding look.

"You'll be welcoming of him into our home," my dad insists. "Be nice to him."

I jump in front of my dad as we walk up the steps to the house and mock him silently. 'Be nice to him,' shut up, Dad. Rolling my eyes, I open the door for my father and he leads the way upstairs, lugging the suitcases behind him. I'd have offered to help if I felt like it.