I have always been told to make the best of my life. Have fun. Live free. Take chances. But how I see it, maybe throwing yourself out there isn't the only way.

My seventeen year old life isn't what I had imagined it being when I was younger. I'm not caught up in dramatic fights with my parents. I'm not sneaking out late at night. I'm not spending my days shopping. I don't have an adoring and perfect boyfriend.

No. I work in a small bookstore at the edge of town. I have friends, I'm not a loner. My best friend, Sierra, is basically the complete opposite of me. She loves to shop. She has model status looks. She is kind, caring, a freaking genius, and has an amazing talent in artwork.

What I do with my life: read, write, and schoolwork. What are my future goals? The average, get through high school. Get a job. Don't live in my mom's basement.

Every good girls' parents tell them how much potential they have, how successful they can be, yatta, yatta. My parents are no different. Their little girl can do no wrong, she lives an absolutely perfect life.

A common misconception: I'm ordinary. My life is not ordinary, full of rainbows and popsicles. It may seem to be so, but there isn't anything ordinary about my life. Just, my story is not the same high school story some people may dream of. The jock who rules the whole school falls for the shy little schoolgirl. Not exactly the cliché happy ending I get.

No, but this is the story of me. Jordan Green. And though I may be presumed to be simple and predictable in my little story, I most certainly am not.

***********************************

The light turns red and the 'walk' sign shows up. I cross the street quickly, my arms crossed, keeping out the crisp cold air. The small bookstore is straight ahead of me. It is only a few blocks from my school, so I walk straight here when the bell rings, signaling the end of school.

A little bell jingles when I enter the door. I walk around the counter and set my backpack down. I clip my name tag onto my shirt and grab the book I am currently reading.

"Ah, Jordan. I was wondering when you'd show up. I was getting worried." Sheryl, the book store owner, steps out of the little back room to greet me. She is in her mid-thirties, fairly tall, and is very pretty. She has long black hair and dark blue eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I would've been here sooner, but my teacher was talking to me and kept me late to tutor one of the star boys on the basketball team. Needs to keep his math grade up to play," I say.

She laughs, softly. "Let me tell you, I am more than glad I'm not in high school anymore."

"True statement."

We get started as usual. I flip the sign to say 'OPEN' and add some new books onto the shelves that just arrived today. Sheryl sits at the counter, humming to herself and typing things into her computer.

The bell chimes and a little girl walks in. She looks, maybe nine. Her blonde hair is pulled back into two pony tails on the sides of her head. She's grinning from ear to ear.

"Come on, Gramma!" She squeals. "I want to get a book! You promised!"

A little old lady enters after her, rubbing her hands together to rid them of the cold. She wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck.

"Lizzie, what kind of book do you want?" The lady asks.

"I don't know, Gram. This place has so many books!" Lizzie says. I smile to myself, watching them out of the corner of my eye while I place the amount stickers on the new books.

"Excuse me, Miss," Lizzie approaches me. "I was wondering if you could help me find a book."

I smile, nod, and step into a new aisle. The little girl follows me. I scan the rows of books, trying to find the one I am looking for.

"Ah, here it is. This was my very favorite book when I was your age. I know you'll enjoy this one," I say. I hand her a copy of Because of Winn-Dixie.

She smiles with her two front teeth missing and takes it from my hands.

"Thank you, Miss!" Lizzie says.

I laugh a little. "You can call me Jordan," I tell her.

"Thank you, Jordan," she says before turning away and skipping back to her Grandma.

I catch the lady looking in my direction. She makes eye contact with me and smiles. Then they purchase the book together and exit the store. Old ladies that smile always make me feel so sad and happy and I have mixed emotions sometimes... Why is life confusing?

I can't help but think of myself as a little girl, wanting books instead of Barbie Dolls. Wanting a brand new clean notebook instead of princess coloring books.

I remember when I attempted writing my own stories, but I didn't want to start writing in my new notebooks because they looked so pretty. I had to come up with the most perfect idea before I could begin, so I wouldn't ruin the new pages with something that wasn't meaningful.

I was thebomb.com.

************************************

People came and went. The night grew longer. Not many people were here today. Mondays are usually not busy. I spent most of my day reading in one of the soft chairs placed at the front of the store. Sheryl doesn't mind me doing so, because what else would I do?

I basically live at this bookstore. Sheryl could be my second mother. I love it here. Being the weirdo I am, I would much rather sit in here and talk to this woman about books I've read or what I'm writing now than listen to high school gossip. Sheryl talks to me about everything. She understands me better than most people. It may seem strange, but it is true.

"How's your mom doing?" Sheryl asks.

"Oh, great. Still working, you know how she is," I sigh.

"That workaholic, your mother."

"She loves it."

"I'm sure she does, seeing as she spends so much time there."

"Yeah, it gets kind of lonely without her, though. Dad's always out of town for work and Jacob's off in California for college," I sigh, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Jacob's your brother, right? I haven't seen that kid in so long! Has he been doing well?"

"Yeah, he's great. He told me he has some cool teachers." He sends me letters full of pictures every other week. He usually emails me or texts me to check in. I'm pretty lonely without him because we're like, hashtag besties. Gosh, that was painful to even think. Those words, they burn my ears.

"That's great, good for him," Sheryl smiles.

"He's happy, yeah," I nod.

"Well, take care, Jordan," Sheryl says.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow," I say, stepping out the door.

It's already completely dark outside. The wind is blowing hard, throwing my long brown hair in front of my face. I hurry through the dark streets. There is almost nobody outside at this time. The dim street lights give an eery effect to the road.

I walk faster when I notice a man behind me. I grip my book and take sharp breaths. This usually doesn't happen. My brother almost always picks me up. But he's in California for college. He's a genius, got in on a full ride scholarship.

Another problem, I realize, is the fact that I left my cell phone in my room this morning. So even if I get into trouble, I can't call my parents at work.

I have only three possible outcomes of tonight: I get mugged, I get murdered by a gang, or I disguise myself as a tree so they can't find me.

My house is still a few blocks away. The guy is speeding up as well as I am. I am beginning to hope that the miracle that happens in all books around this point happens. Some gorgeous young man pulls up and asks the girl if she needs a ride.

But no. With my luck, instead of a Prince Charming showing up, rain begins to pour. No, it is not a light drizzle. It is a full on downpour. I groan and walk faster, if that's possible. I end up sprinting.

I shove my book into my jacket to protect its pages and put my hood up. The wind is throwing the rain straight at me. I can't see, with all the rain droplets flying at my face, and I can't walk quickly because of the force pushing me backwards. And, again, my luck continues when I slip and fall on my butt into a puddle. If I wasn't soaked before, I am now.

I turn my head slightly, to see if the man is still there. He isn't. I sigh. Of course, that's just me. Getting all worked up over some dude that probably was just wanting to get home as much as me.

I press forward until my house comes into view. I hurry up the steps and wipe my shoes on the 'WELCOME' mat. I take the key out of my pocket and unlock my door. Once I step inside, I feel a gust of warmth.

I throw off my jacket and backpack. Then I head into my kitchen to heat up some leftover lasagna that my mom made last night. I actually really hate lasagna, but I'm too lazy to make myself something else.

My cat, Penelope, curls herself on my lap. I stroke her ears and ponder the meaning of life as I so often do.

I spend the rest of my night reading and listening to the loud thumps of rain against my window.

***********************************

"I'm serious. Just do the problem. It's really not that complicated."

Once again, I am stuck tutoring Jack Martin, a sophomore who is on the basketball team. The only problem is, that I agreed to this. When Mrs. Layton told me that tutoring looks good on applications, I agreed to this for the rest of the semester. What a stupid idea it was.

"I don't get it," Jack says. He leans back in his chair and drops his pencil onto the desk.

"No," I say, handing the pencil back to him. "Do the problem. I just explained it all. I promise you, it's a lot simpler than it seems."

"What if I don't want to?" He asks, kicking off his shoes.

"Then you'll fail math and get kicked off the basketball team. You'll never go to college with those bad grades, and no way are you getting a scholarship in basketball without being on the team. You will have no education from this school, so you will leave here being the idiot you are. There will be no hope for someone like you. So you'll end up as a miserable homeless man on the sides of the street," I explain.

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks for that confidence booster."

"Whatever. Do the problem."

After about twenty more minutes of explaining the simple methods for solving to find X in a triangle's angle, he still refused to be taught. So I got up and left him. I went to lunch early, since this was a free period for me, supposed to be taken up by tutoring.

The lunch ladies don't say a word when I walk in, so I grab a tray and put a sandwich and some grapes and macaroni on it. They don't really question me. I sit down in my usual spot.

I eat in peace until people begin to file inside. I spot Sierra in the crowd. She waves to me with a bright smile on her face. I smile back in return.

When she sits next to me at the table, she gives me that weird look she gives me when she doesn't believe a word I tell her. But I haven't even spoken to her today.

"What?" I ask.

"You're not acting normal. I will assume it was tutoring. How was Jack?" Sierra says.

I just groan in return.

"Well, so much for 'It will be easy!'" Sierra says.

"You got that right."

I angrily shovel the sandwich into my mouth, along with the rest of my food.

"Whoa, don't take your anger out on the food," Sierra says, prying my fork out of my grasp. I glare at her.

"I was eating with that," I hold my hand out, waiting for her to return my fork.

But being the stubborn person Sierra is, she throws it across the room, hitting Martha (a girl in my history class) in the head. She turn around and picks up the fork with a frown. Then she throws it away, dusting off her hands.

"What was that for?" I demand.

Sierra shrugs. "I was doing you a favor. You're lucky to have someone to keep your anger issues under control."

"Well, thanks for that. Now I get to eat macaroni with my hands."