Page 1 of Dungeons and Drama

Chapter One

Of all the punishments my parents could have chosen, I can’t believe they went with this one.

“Riley,” Mom says from the driver’s seat of our SUV, “Idon’t want to see you sulking today. You brought this on yourself, and part of the agreement is that you’re going to have a good attitude.”

I sink farther into my seat, the memory of myself and my best friend, Hoshiko, in these very seats still strong in my mind. Only a few days ago we were blasting the original Broadway cast recording ofWaitress,laughing and debating whether the actors would come out for autographs after the show. And now…

“Are you sure we can’t rethink this, Mom?”

“No.” She glances at me and back at the road. “I still don’t think you’re understanding what a dangerous decision you made Friday night. How are your father and I supposed to trust you at home alone after this?”

Okay, it wasn’t thebestdecision to take Mom’s car without her permission while she was out of town on business. And yes, I drove multiple hours on the highway at night to get to Columbus, with Hoshiko…and without a driver’s license. But we didn’t get pulled over or get in an accident! In fact, you could argue that I should’ve driven faster because then I would’ve beaten Mom home and I wouldn’t be getting this lecture right now. I don’t think I’m going to use that argument on her any time soon, though.

“But working at Dad’sstore?” I whisper.

She presses her lips together like she wants to sympathize but is fighting it. “Your father suggested you spend the afternoons with him since I’m too busy at work to be home after school with you. It’s not my fault he’s so attached to this store of his.”

The tinge of bitterness when she mentions Dad’s store only adds to my frustration. Mom has never liked the store. It was one of the main reasons for their divorce, and I’ve always been firmly on Mom’s side about the whole thing. It never even occurred to me that she’d agree to have me work there as a punishment. I really figured Mom would understand about my love for musical theater outweighing my logical decision-making (and state driving laws). Where Sara Bareilles is concerned, there is no line I’m unwilling to cross.

I’m about to argue more when she pulls into the parking lot. We both sit for a second, taking in the store. It’s not a particularly pleasant sight, despite the blue skies and sunny September weather. His store is in a run-down shopping plaza in Scottsville, my rural Ohio hometown, which has more than its fair share of run-down plazas. Quite a few ofthe other storefronts here are empty, though there is a local pizza place next door, and some of the letters have fallen off the signage. It’s not inspiring me to be in a better mood.

“Your father’s waiting,” she says.

I haven’t been in this parking lot since we drove by five years ago when Dad first scouted the location and they were still married. A dark, sinking feeling falls over me as my feet hit the concrete.

“Shannon.” Dad nods to her as she steps onto the sidewalk.

She nods back, though she keeps more of a distance than is strictly necessary. “Hey, Joel.”

They couldn’t be more different. Mom is as stylish as ever, with her blond hair pulled back in a low bun, wearing a blouse, wide-legged trousers, and heels that are too high for most people to pull off. Dad, on the other hand, has on ill-fitting jeans and a T-shirt with Deadpool riding a unicorn. I have no idea what brought them together to begin with, but it certainly wasn’t a similarity in looks—or interests either.

“And how’s my pumpkin?” Dad asks, his big smile reserved for me.

Hesitantly, I walk over and give him a hug. “Hey, Dad.”

“Ready for your first day as the newest employee at Sword and Board Games?”

He grins broadly at the idea, as if I’m joining him for summer camp instead of spending the next eight weeks working here as “probation,” grounded from extracurriculars and friends. I can only grimace and stare at the cracked concrete sidewalk.

“Sure you’re up for this?” Mom asks Dad, and juts herchin at me like I’m a convicted criminal ready to dig my way out of prison with a rusty spoon.

“I’ve been trying to get Riley to come here for years. I was hoping it wouldn’t take a rap sheet to make it happen, but I’ll take what I can get.”

I groan. “Okay, for the last time, I didn’tstealMom’s car! I just…borrowed it for one evening. It was more like joyriding, not grand theft auto or something.”

“Are you certain about that?” Dad asks with a raised eyebrow.

I am, actually. Hoshiko Googled it once we were on the highway and headed for the show.

“Well, you won’t be doing any joyriding for the next two months, young lady,” Mom says with a shake of her head. “Or having muchjoyat all.”

“I’m choosing to think of this as a twisted type of blessing,” Dad says, careful to look at me rather than at Mom. They almost never make eye contact. “I get to spend quality time with my daughter, and you can broaden your interests while you’re here.”

I sigh and hunch my shoulders. Half of me wants to kneel on this sidewalk next to the discarded napkins and cigarette butts and beg them to rethink this, but I bite my tongue. The other, rational half knows my punishment could’ve been worse. But the thing is, I don’t want to spend more time with Dad, and I don’t want to work at his game store. For the past five years I’ve spent every other weekend at his apartment—watching TV, eating frozen pizza, and barely talking—and that’s all the bonding time I’m up for. He made his priorities known when he chose this store over Mom and me. Heshouldn’t be allowed to have his cake and eat it too. But it’s clear that the time for debating this is over.

“Well…” Mom rocks back on her heels. “Have a good first shift. I’ll be back at nine to pick you up.”

I wave goodbye and try to keep a neutral expression as I follow Dad to the entrance. In the grand scheme of things, eight weeks is nothing. A blip in time. And luckily, preparations for our high school’s annual spring musical won’t start until late fall, so—if I’m on my best behavior and win back their trust these next few months—I should be ready to earn my place as the show’s student director before Starbucks stops selling PSLs.

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