Page 1 of Camping with the Boss

Chapter One

Canyon

Monday, June 9th, 7:00 a.m.

I duck as the baseball whizzes by my head and slams into the wall behind me. My brother still has a great arm. “Get up, River.”

He pulls the pillow over his head, muffling his words. Not that it matters. I already know what he’s going to say. “Fuck off.”

I close my eyes, exhaustion weighing me down. Or is that guilt? I wallow for a second. That’s all I allow myself. “You’re going to get fired.”

“Good.”

I leave him to it. He’ll get up. He has to.

Our house is quiet except for Taffy meowing pitifully at my feet. After getting her breakfast, I stare at the coffee pot, urging it to brew faster. I finally give up and pour myself a cup before it’s finished. River complains that we should get the pods and a coffee maker that uses them. But it’s not like he makes the coffee. Pods—and the coffee makers—are expensive and bad for the environment.

It used to be more about the environment. Nowadays, it’s all about the money. I sip my coffee, enjoying the first few hitsbefore setting it aside and cracking my knuckles. No sense in putting it off. The numbers won’t magically change.

When River and I were kids, back in a simpler time, a circus came to our small town. My brother loved the high-wire acts. Anything with adventure or danger. He’s the risk taker. Still. And he takes enough risks for both of us.

I liked the elephants. The clowns.

The jugglers.

I was so enamored that I taught myself to juggle. My mom finally banned me from doing it inside the house. She probably wouldn’t appreciate the baseball-size holes in her walls.

But she’s not here. And it’s my house now.

Just not for long.

No sense in focusing on the past, so I concentrate on the numbers instead.

How can I juggle them today? The mortgage or the car? We can’t afford to lose either. But one more missed payment could result in our car being repossessed, according to the frequent calls from the bank. I can make a partial payment if we only eat ramen for the next two weeks.

I rub the spot on my chest. Right over my scar. It won’t help. Nothing will. We’ve been in this hole too long to dig our way out. The sick feeling in my stomach is always present, lingering like a persistent cough that never seems to go away. I can’t fix this.

What’s the point anymore? Why keep trying? Eating ice cream and binging Disney Plus sounds like the perfect way to start the week. It won’t cure anything, but maybe I can chase this feeling away for an hour or two.

Then I remember we can’t afford ice cream. Or streaming services.

And watching the live-actionBeauty and the Beastfor the hundredth time won’t fix anything. There are no princes or fairy godmothers or dwarves to make things better.

Not all stories have happy endings.

Take care of your brother.My mom’s words haunt me. It’s not just that I’ve failed. It’s the pure epic-ness of my failure. Nothing is getting better no matter what I do. And if River gets fired? We’re screwed. My job is not enough for us to live on.

“River!” I load all my frustration into his name. “Get up, now!”

“Chill, bro.” His voice comes from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him get up. He strolls into the kitchen like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“River,” I say with warning in my voice.

“I’m twenty-five, Canyon. I can take care of myself. You don’t have to do this.”

Then prove it.But that thought adds to my guilt. Because this is all my fault. “I know.”

He laughs. “Sure you do.” As he grabs his coffee, I notice the way he’s dressed. Basketball shorts. Tank top.

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