Riley

Turbulence. Noun. [tur-byuh-luh-ns]. The haphazard secondary motion caused by eddies within a moving fluid.

"Riley!"

I bury my nose deeper in my book, hoping Merry Gene will leave me in peace.

"Riley, honey, can you hear me?"

Why does she have to be so nice? I lay my book down on the front counter next to the cash register and turn around with a sigh.

"Loud and clear. What's up?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your reading! What book is it?" She approaches the counter and picks up my paperback, examining the cover. "The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Hmm, what a strange title. I've never heard of a wallflower, but then again, I've never been much of a gardener." I bite my lip to stifle a giggle. "Do you like to read? I'm quite a reader myself. I like a good romance once in awhile to heat things up with Ronald and me. I don't like to let our marriage get old and stale, if you know what I mean?"

Merry Gene gives me an angelic smile and I shudder. I know exactly what she means; I mentally calculate the distance from the bedroom I share with Lucy to their bedroom. Too close. Far too close. I back away from the counter and tell myself to never ask to borrow a book from her.

"Did you need me to help with something?" I say, willing to scrub the floors with my toothbrush if that means I can avoid this conversation.

"You don't mind? I know things are slow here today, so I wanted to restock and clean a little bit."
I try to give her give her one of Lucy's trademark smiles, something to convince her I'm excited to be here, but we all know I'm terrible at pretending. "Sure. What can I do?"

"Would you mind refilling the ketchup and mustard bottles and then the salt and pepper shakers? The refills are on the bottom shelf in the storage room."

"Sure."

Merry Gene gives me a graceful smile as I trudge to the back room and I know she wants me to feel at home here, but I'm still slave labor. I can't get my conversation with Mom out of my head. No matter how many ways she tries to disguise it, Mom and Dad don't want me around. If I'm honest with myself, I know that they've never wanted me at all. I'm accidental baggage that they've shoved off on someone else.

I glance over the shelves in the back room and find the mustard and ketchup dispensers and haul them out to the restaurant part of the pizza shop. The bottles sit on the trash can next to the napkins and I trudge over, unscrew the lid on the mustard bottle, and refill it.

I guess I shouldn't complain about living here for the summer. I get to stay in the same place for three months, which by my standards is a pretty long time. And now I have endless hours of refilling ketchup dispensers and washing dishes to spend thinking about my very uncertain future. The thing is, I don't want to think about my plans. Any money I have is from my parents, so I don't have the funds to do what I want--whatever that is. They'll support me if I choose to return to Cornell in the fall, but I feel like it's too late for that. Maybe if I studied something other than business I'd like it, but I have no idea what my passion is. I hate the idea of working a monotonous nine to five job. If I ever settled into a job, it would have to be something I cared a lot about.

The only job I've ever really enjoyed was the summer I spent teaching kids to swim at the YMCA. There was an adorable, bespectacled kid named Bartholomew who I became friends with. He was an Army brat just like me, and I worked one-on-one with him for hours. It was more than just teaching him swimming; we talked about life, and how hard it is to make friends. Is it weird that an eight year old Army brat was one of the best friends I ever had?

Still, I'm not sure I'd be able to make it as a professional swim coach. Not after my recent dunk in the ocean. I could go back to Cornell for something else, but I'm not sure what I'd major in if or I'd even make it another year. I might quit again on a whim and just walk away, like I've done from every other challenge in my life. With my family's many relocations, I've learned to just leave when things get hard. That's pretty much what I did with Cornell, and that's what I'll do here when the summer ends.

"Excuse me."

My entire body stiffens as soon as I hear the guy behind me. The last time I heard this voice, it was telling me how stupid I was for swimming in the ocean. You've got to be kidding me. As I go rigid with shock, I squeeze the ketchup bottle in my hand and the slimy red liquid squirts all over me, covering my gorgeous red apron and dripping down my face. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more embarrassed.

I reach for a napkin and wipe off my face as I turn around to glare at the guy behind me. It's my knight in shining armor from the beach a few days ago; of course he would stumble into our tiny little pizza shop, and of course I would be refilling the ketchup bottles when he came in. Just my freaking luck.

As I turn, I stare up into those ocean-blue eyes that I saw for the first time while I was choking on saltwater and flailing my limbs like a maniac. He's just as attractive in person, and the jersey t-shirt hanging over his torso brings a flashback of infuriatingly perfect washboard abs. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees me and then he grins.

"Well, hey," he says, taking me in with a sweep of his eyes.

My face turns red right away and for a half-second I'm grateful for the smattering of ketchup to disguise my blush.

"You, uh, have something right there." A half smile climbs up his tanned face as he touches his own cheekbone.

"Crap."

I turn away from him quickly, grabbing napkins and scouring my face. He's here. He's legitimately standing in front of me. I toss the reddened napkins into the trash can and remove my filthy apron, fleeing to the kitchen. What the heck am I supposed to say to this guy? My mortification has faded enough for me to realize I owe him a thank you, but after the exploding ketchup, how can I even face him?

"You're looking a little better than the last time I saw you," he says, following me to the checkout counter.

I turn around to seem him lounging against the counter on his elbows with a half-grin on his face.

I roll my eyes. "What a compliment."

"The ketchup's a nice touch."

I glare at him. Does he seriously not know when to stop? "Can I get you something?"
He completely ignores me. "So you're the girl who's staying at the Covingtons for the summer?"
He's heard of me? I shouldn't be surprised. The island's small so I'm sure news travels fast among the locals. I wonder what he's heard. Army brat. College dropout. Stuck-up rich kid. I've heard it all before.

"That's me," I say, opening up my book and tossing the bookmark on the counter. Maybe he'll go away if I ignore him.

"Welcome to Long Beach," he says. "I figured you were a tourist."

I fasten my eyes on the page in front of me, but my face still heats up. "Thanks, it was a great welcome. I love being hauled out of the ocean like a beached whale."

To my surprise, he laughs. "I'm guessing that's as close to a genuine thank you as I'm going to get."

I bite my lip to keep from smiling--the fact that he refuses to be offended by my sarcasm is slightly endearing. Just slightly.

"I'd say that's a pretty accurate guess."

I lower my book to make eye contact with him again, and for a half-second, I admit to myself just how attractive he is. His hair is curly, blonde, and untamed, bleached by a summer spent under the sun. He's tan and obviously muscular, probably just so he can drag half-dead chicks out of the water. His smile is what draws me in, though. It's crooked and effortless, and his eyes are kind. I like him much more now than I did when he was screaming at me for my horrible swimming. Granted, that's a pretty low standard.

He leans against the counter, looking up at me for a second, and then grabs my bookmark. It shows the Cathedral of Notre Dame lit up at night. Mom, Dad, and I vacationed there one year--it was a vacation, but Dad spent half the time working. Still, I got to see the Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, and a thousand other tourist sites while we were there.

"You've been to France?"

The wonder in his voice makes me give him a double take. "Yeah, while I was in high school."

"Dang. I've always wanted to go there." He runs his finger along the bookmark and sighs.

My cynical facade calls and I smile. "Honestly, it was incredible. Everyone should visit Europe at least once in their lives."

My words make him stiffen and he drops the bookmark. "Yeah, well, not all of us has that chance." He heaves a sigh. "Have you traveled a lot?"

I shrug. "I'm an Army brat. I've moved eighteen times counting this summer and I traveled a lot with my family for my dad's work while I was growing up."

Why am I telling this guy my life story? I know I should shut up and get back to my important role as ketchup refiller, but the way he leans against the counter and looks at me, drinking in every word I say, makes me want to tell him more.

"I have to tell you, I'm pretty jealous. I'd love to travel."
I want to ask him why he doesn't, but I realize I don't even know his name. I definitely don't know him well enough to ask him about his hopes and dreams even though I find myself curious about him.

"Yeah, well, don't be too jealous." I grin at him. "I'm still stuck here talking to you."

He looks up at me and matches my grin so we look like two idiots beaming at each other.

"That must be awful."

"You don't know the half of it."

~~~~~

Eeeek. I love this chapter! I think Ross is already growing on Riley, and I already love them together. What did you think of this exchange? I promise they'll get to talk for a little longer in the next chapter! For now, let me know what you think and vote for this chapter if you're enjoying it :)

~ Hannah