Page 7 of Dungeons and Drama

“What about Dungeons and Dragons versus Pathfinder?”

“I’ve heard of Dungeons and Dragons,” I say, shrugging.

He snorts. “Well, I’d hope so.”

We pull into the parking lot and I follow him inside, but school is still on my mind. If I’m going to be taken seriously, I need a compelling argument. I glare around at the store. I’d have plenty of time to pull together a plan if only I wasn’t here every freaking evening. Instead, I have barely any free time between school, homework, and store hours.

Nathan stands to my left, looking at a board game. His dark hair is in desperate need of a cut, and as usual, he’s wearing a gamer T-shirt, this time with a video game I don’t know. I roll my eyes at his new presence in my life. Why is he at the store when he’s not scheduled to work today? And somehow he even beat Dad and me here.

“Hey, Nathan, you got a second?” Dad calls.

Nathan looks up from the game, his eyes flicking to me before focusing on Dad. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I know you aren’t on the schedule today, but a shipment of new games came early and I’d like to get them out on the floor. Do you mind taking Riley through that process before your game starts? Unless that Algebra Two course is already kicking your butt and you need the time for homework?”

I squint in confusion. Dad knows Nathan’sclassschedule? I’m not even sure he knows my schedule—but then, that would require us having real conversations. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s closer with Nathan given how much they have in common.

“Yeah, I can do it. No problem,” Nathan replies. Maybeit’s my imagination, but he seems annoyed before replacing his scowl with a politely neutral expression.

“Great!” Dad claps him on the back and looks between us. “This is terrific. You two will finally have the chance to get to know each other better.”

Lucky me.

We stare stonily at each other, and Dad’s voice falters. “Er…well, I’ll be on the phone with distributors if you need anything.”

Dad leaves and we stand for another second in silence. Dread fills me. I was already frustrated, and now I have to work directly with Nathan? Tonight just went from mildly annoying to absolutely miserable.

He jerks his head to the left and I follow him into the stockroom. It’s a chaotic mess. There are stacks of boxes everywhere, along with packs of dice, containers of paint, and tons of cardboard leaning against the walls. My eyes widen. “Does no one organize this?”

He glares at me. “Of course we organize it. It’s very…” He looks at it and waves his hand. “There’s a method to the madness. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

I shrug. “I’d rather not be here long enough to figure it out.”

“Then why’d you take the job?”

His tone is too sharp for me to give him a real answer. “My parents wanted me to,” I reply coolly.

“If you don’t want to be here, then you should look for something else. Some of us actually like it here. And could use the hours rather than having them wasted on you.”

I bristle. “You’re working right now, aren’t you? If you’re desperate for more money, take it up with my dad.”

He turns his back to me and picks up a box from the top of the nearest stack. “I don’t think you appreciate how amazing it is to work at a place like this. The way you’re sulking around makes it seem like it’s a punishment or something.”

My eyes flick to the back of his head. Nathan is more observant than I gave him credit for, but there’s no way I’m getting into my punishment when he’s already so judgmental.

“First off, why are you watching me? Second, the only real punishment here is working with you.”

“Believe me, I was trying to ignore you, but your clothes are so loud you might as well be walking around with a bullhorn to announce your presence.”

He glances at my outfit with a look of disgust. Today I’m wearing a red pleated skirt with an oversized pink and red polka-dot sweater vest over a bright blue button-up. Tasteful it is not, but I still look cute.

“At least I have a point of view with my clothes. You probably only own Spider-Man T-shirts.”

Nathan scowls at me over his shoulder, and I match his narrowed eyes with a defiant smirk. He hands me a box cutter. “Here. We need to start by opening these. Careful, that’s really sharp.”

“Which end?”

His eyes widen slightly before he realizes I’m joking.

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