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, "I don'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 further 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 of Waitress, laughing and debating whether the actors would come out for autographs after the show. And now...

"Are you sure we can't rethinking 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 the best decision 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 to 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's store?" 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 log. 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 of the 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 his 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 more 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 brough them together to begin with, but it certainly wasn't a similarity in looks—or interests either.