Shout out to @authenticbot-for the beautiful cover! There were so many amazing entries and it was very hard to choose! I'd like to thank you all again for the support and I appreciate you all so much!

I close my book and huff loudly. I stare at the hardcover literature piece as I grip it tightly in my hands. Tossing it onto my covers beside me, I sigh. Have you ever read a book or watched a movie that took place in a horrid situation- like, say, a post-apocalyptic world, and the main character finds love? There can literally be seven people in their group but one of them is around the protagonist's age and just so happens to fall in love with her and vice versa.

But here you are, sitting on planet Earth with seven billion people and can't seem to find someone who likes you back? If your answer to that question is no, then good for you. But if your answer is yes, then welcome to the club. Population 2, or maybe more. Who knows? Maybe we can fall in love...or maybe not.

I don't know why I torture myself with these stupid romance novels, especially now when I'm supposed to be studying for my upcoming tests. No matter how hard I try to keep myself from reading them, I continuously find myself falling into the alternate universe of two people's relationship. And don't get me started on the love triangle books- a girl can find two guys that are interested in her but here I am struggling to get a guy to notice me. I hate pitying myself but sometimes, after reading 400 pages of pure sappy love and cheesiness, I feel like I deserve it. And it's not even like these books are realistic. None of them cater to their audiences of normal teenagers in a high school with a population in the hundreds. But I guess I'm generalizing. Perhaps there's a kindhearted but rebellious jock out there with a preppy and slightly snobby cheerleader on his arm, sharing a kiss after winning their homecoming game...

    Before I can delve too deep in my self deprecating thoughts, I turn to find the door to my room being shoved open by one of my three brothers. "What?" I ask in annoyance, slightly startled. I want to ask if he's ever heard of a thing called knocking but the answer is obvious; he hasn't.

    "Are you working today?" my eldest brother, Calum, asks curiously. His curly blonde hair appears in my room first, followed by his slightly tanned skin and large brown, glasses clad eyes.

    "Yeah," I answer in short. "Why?"

    "Because I'm heading in that direction. I was wondering if you need a ride," he explains.

    "No, I'll walk," I reply sarcastically, earning an eye roll from him. I should be a bit more grateful but he startled me and for some reason, it irritated me more than usual.

    "So you don't need a ride?" he retorts and I sigh, giving up.

    "Yes, Calum, I do," I answer.

    "Then be ready in twenty minutes or I'm leaving you behind," he calls as he slams my door. I stare at the wooden panels before heaving myself out of bed, grabbing my book as I go. I put it on my desk before pulling open my closet and shoving my legs into my jeans. As I continue to dress, I search for my name-tag. I finally find it sitting atop of the dirty clothes in my hamper, so I stick the pin into my shirt and fix it so it's straight and neat. Orion S.

    "I'm about to leave without you!" my brother nags from the hallway. I ignore him as I run my brush through my dirty blonde hair, which cuts off an inch before my shoulders. It's straight and has only a small amount of volume. Sometimes, if I tilt my head back far enough, I look like a potato with hair that starts at my ears.

I tie my hair back into a braid and slowly examine my face. Like my brother's, my eyes are brown and large, making me appear innocent. Whether I am or not, I refuse to acknowledge. I'm considerably tall. I guess it runs in my family. My mom is almost 6'0" so it only makes sense that I'm 5'9" and thankfully, I'm finished growing. My brothers are close in height; all of them are taller than me; the same goes for my father.

    Deciding not to test my brother's patience any longer, I skip doing my makeup and go straight for my bag hanging on the back of my door. Slinging it across my back, I flip off my light and leave my room. I venture through the house, hopping down the steps and passing my two other brothers, Nate and Benjamin, before slipping outside and into the chilly October air. Calum is waiting in the car and, when he sees me taking my time traveling down the porch steps, he lays on the horn, which causes a few birds resting on a nearby tree to flutter off into the foggy sky.

    "Thanks for helping me find the car. If it weren't for the horn, I definitely would've gotten lost," I mumble as I buckle my seatbelt.

    We drive in silence, aside from my brother's stupid humming to whatever song is stuck in his head. I don't bother listening and instead, I stress the thirty minutes I'd have to wait around before my shift starts. There isn't much to do in the plaza where I work. There's a coffee shop, where I find myself on my breaks, and a nail salon, along with my place of employment- a book store, which is where I get all of the stupid romance novels at a discounted price. Perhaps if I didn't work at Books and More, I'd have a social life. Maybe I'd even have a love life...

    One of the reasons my love life isn't excelling is probably because I don't put myself out there. Another reason being that I have too many brothers. Oh, but the most obvious reason being that I'm a plain-Jane. I know- every girl in every book thinks they're plain, but I really am. The only remotely quirky thing about me is that I'm slightly tall. If it weren't for my height, I'm sure I'd blend right in everywhere. But because I'm half a foot taller than most girls my age, I stand out a bit. Other than that, I look like a girl from the prairies with my average clothing and emotionless face. It also doesn't help that I don't talk much.

    "Get out of my car," my brother complains as I take my time unbuckling my seatbelt.

    "Are you coming to pick me up when my shift's over? Or is dad? Or mom?" I ask curiously.

    "What do I look like? The family planner?" Calum asks and when he finds me staring at him in annoyance, he sighs. "What time does your shift end?"

    "8," I tell him dryly. Just like it does every time I work, unless I have to close, which is rare. I work from 2 to 8 on the weekends and on Mondays and Tuesdays, it's from 4 to 8. It's not hard to remember.

    "I think dad's picking you up," he tells me, earning a nod in response.

    "Thanks," I mutter.

    "Whatever," he answers before looking at me pointedly. "Now get out of my car."

    I roll my eyes and slip out of his vehicle, slamming the door shut as I go. This gets an annoyed shout from him but I ignore it and walk towards my job with a tired sigh. Another day, another dollar.

+ + +

    I guess a good thing about working in the book store is that my best (and only) friend Diana works alongside me. But other than that, and the employee discounts, there isn't much good to say about the book store. Okay, I guess it's good to have money in my pocket, too. But no cute boys come around because, let's be real, what teenage boy actually reads books anymore? If any cute boys that like to read do come around, they definitely don't come during any of my shifts.

Other than stocking and working the register, there isn't much work to be done in the book store. Organizing books sounds fun and it is; it mostly consists of me taking pictures of the books I want to purchase in the future. Working the register, on the other hand is obnoxious. I usually have to deal with girls from my school and preteens in need of stories for their book reports, which is no fun at all. My job is pretty bland. The only time I'm able to do something different (though always the same) is when I have my break. I buy a book (if I finished my last one) and then walk over to the coffee shop next door, order a hot cocoa, and read for fifteen minutes before returning for the rest of my shift.

    When my release finally comes around, I find myself skipping the first part of my break. Disregarding the counter completely, I leave the book store with my empty hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets. I enter the small coffee shop, purchasing the hot cocoa before making my way to my usual seat at the window. I stare at a couple walking by, hand in hand. With narrowed eyes, I turn my attention back to my empty table. I begin to draw circles along it, thinking about all of the relationships I'm not in. I should just write my own romance story. First, I just need to find a guy. Good luck with that, Orion.

    Once my shift is over and I'm finally free to go home and sleep, my father comes by and picks me up. He offers me a hesitant smile as I get in the car, which puts me more on edge than I already am. "Hey, Ri," he greets me cheerfully.

    "Hey," I mumble.

    "I've got some things to talk to you about," my father starts as he pulls off down the street.

    "What?" I inquire, ready to receive a lecture on the C+ I got on my Calculus test. I scold myself for leaving it on the desk. In my defense, I was studying the content before I got too involved with my stupid book.

    "You know my friend Joseph, right?" my dad asks. Not what I expected, but I'll go with it if it means not having to deal with being yelled at for one bad grade.

    "Yeah," I respond slowly. "Of course I know him. You have him over once a week for beer and a game."

    "Well, he's going on a business trip for a month and I offered to take in his son and his dog," my father responds.

    "We don't even have room, dad. We have six people already," I remind my father. Since we're not really allowed to use our parent's bathroom, we all have to share the one in the hall. That means that if this son of Joseph's does come, there are going to be five people trying to use the bathroom. I don't see how that's going to work. It barely works now.

    "We have the guest room," my dad attempts.

    "Yeah but my stuff is in there," I start. All of my schoolwork is in there because that's where the big desk is. Whenever I want to organize my binders and my folders or study for a few hours, that's where I go. The desk in my room is already cluttered with my textbooks and notebooks, not to mention it's barely three feet wide. But if I were to switch desks, the larger one wouldn't even fit in my room.

    "You'll have to either take your stuff out and move it to your room or just wait until he's back home," my father says.

    "Isn't he, like, 18? Why can't he just stay home alone?" I question.

    "Because he's known for getting into trouble," my father explains. "His dad doesn't trust him to be alone there for a weekend, never mind a month."

    I suddenly put two and two together in my mind. "Wait, wait, wait. Am I thinking about the right kid? Hasn't he been arrested, like five times?" I ask my dad, who sighs and shakes his head.

    "He was brought down to the station twice but released with a warning both times," my father explains.

    "And you think he'd be a great addition to the household?" I ask my father.

    "The boy's gone through some stuff. His mom's out of state and his dad's rarely home. He's not a bad kid. He's just made a few mistakes," my father tells me and I shake my head.

    Before I can begin asking the rest of the questions on my mind, like when this is going to be happening, we pull up to the front of the house. My main question is immediately answered when I lay my eyes on a shiny, black motorcycle parked in the driveway. "He's here? Like, now?" I ask my dad and gain a nod in response. He walks around to the back of the truck and grabs two suitcases, which I hadn't even noticed.

    "I swung by his house before I picked you up to get these. He's inside," my father informs me and I repress the urge to sigh. Why can't my parents just occasionally drop by his house and check on him to make sure he's alive and not doing anything too illegal, like running a meth lab in the basement?

    "How long has this been a thing?" I question my dad.

    "Only a few days- it was a last minute arrangement and Joseph couldn't let the business opportunity pass him by. The kid usually goes with his mom when Joseph goes on business trips but it's the beginning of the school year and Joe doesn't want him to fall behind," my father clarifies.

    "Just great," I mumble and my dad shoots me a reprimanding look.

    "You'll be welcoming of him into our home," my dad insists. "Be nice to him."

    I jump in front of my dad as we walk up the steps to the house and mock him silently. 'Be nice to him,' shut up, Dad. Rolling my eyes, I open the door for my father and he leads the way upstairs, lugging the suitcases behind him. I'd have offered to help if I felt like it.

    Upon arriving to the second floor, I find that the dog is a large one. It's a predominantly black German Shepherd with small tufts of dark brown fur. Though it's on a leash, it seems to take a liking (or disliking) to me. The boy holding the leash is surprised as the dog jolts forward in my direction. I immediately take a step back, readying myself to run downstairs and outside if need be. However, the guy manages to keep the dog at bay with a sharp tug. The canine doesn't even flinch at the pulling but returns to its owner's side, lying on the ground in it's previous position. I look up at the boy who has the dog's chain leash wrapped around his hand. I find that he too is looking at me.

    He's tall, definitely taller than me but no taller than 6'3". I can't see properly so it's hard to tell. It also doesn't help that he's leaning against the wall beside his new room. His hair is a dark, jet black color, contrasting from his tan skin, but in a nice way...a very nice way. He's slim and tall, but not lanky. He's not what one would describe as a string bean. Instead, he appears to be built in a way that isn't too intimidating. What makes him intimidating is the somewhat mischievous look in his eyes, which I quickly lock onto. I've been trying to avoid making eye contact with him but when I do, it's hard to look away. His eyes are a mix between green and brown, creating a hazel hue. They're average size and are hidden by a fan of lashes. His thick but neat eyebrows furrow and his full mouth purses slightly as he assesses me. His gaze is captivating but in a way that makes my skin burn; it makes me want to look away in discomfort because he's attractive.

    You'd think I'd see more of this stranger seeing as his father and mine are the best of friends and have been since we were in middle school, but it seems to be the opposite. I only ever see him in school and when I do, it's rare. So far this year, after only two weeks of being in school, he's been in class a total of roughly two times. After he got kicked out on the second day, he stopped showing up altogether. Maybe he dropped the class or maybe he just doesn't bother with it. Come to think of it, I have both of my first period classes with him and he doesn't show up to either of them. Maybe he just likes to sleep in and come to school in time for second period.

    If I remember correctly, his name is-. "Orion," my father cuts off my thoughts. I turn to look at him, breaking eye contact with the familiar stranger. "You remember Diego right?" my dad asks, looking from me to the boy who is now kicking off our wall. I glance down at his boots, which are black and surprisingly clean. Rather than answering verbally, I just nod. "Diego, do you remember my daughter? Orion?"

    He nods slowly as he stares at me and I look at my dad before pointing to my room. "I'm going to go study," I tell him and my voice slightly cracks. My father waves a brow but nods.

    "We'll be sure to keep it down," my father assures me. I cross the hall and open the door to my room, glancing back one last time to find Diego staring at me. I quickly shut my door and look at my carpet. Oh boy.

+++

    I don't see much of Diego for the rest of the night. I manage to shower without anyone banging on the door complaining about having to pee. It's odd- enjoyable- but odd. I'm grateful that my family has made the decision to behave on the first night of our new house guest being here. Hopefully, it's like this for the next month. I can definitely get used to it.

    It's not until I'm all showered and clean that I realize I need access to the large desk in Diego's new room. I need to get my school work and even my personal notebooks. I'm suddenly scared to have to cross the hall and knock. I contemplate whether or not I should just wait until the following day before I realize that I have a calculus test on Tuesday that I need to study for.

    Getting off my bed, I walk towards my door and yank it open. It's your house, Orion. You can go into whatever room you want! I venture across the hall and stand in front of his door, rubbing my hands against my pants before gaining the courage to knock. His dog, whose name I've yet to learn, starts to growl but immediately quiets down after a muffled command sounds from behind the door. There's a shuffling noise and the door opens. Diego stands before me wearing sweatpants and nothing else. I blink a few times, feeling my face heat up when I realize I'm standing before a shirtless guy. I can't help but notice how smooth his skin looks. I mean, I'm face to chest with his collarbones and neck. How could I not notice? It's tan and it looks very soft but also solid and definitely toned. I have the urge to touch him but I refrain. I can see a light colored scar stretching across the area beneath his finely carved collarbone and I start to hypothesize how he could've gotten it.

    "Did you come here for something or did you just want stare at me?" he asks in a deep, quiet voice. My face is already hot but it seems as if the temperature increases a few hundred degrees. I swallow heavily, struggling to form words. Why is this so difficult?

    "I have some stuff in here that I need to get," I tell him. He stares at me for a few seconds before opening the door wider and stepping aside. The dog perks it's head up and he says something to it in Spanish, which results in the dog lying back down with a quiet huff. I look at him shortly before approaching the desk. My stuff isn't how it was earlier. It seems a bit more...shuffled. Rather than having my C+ paper at the top of the scattered pile, it's off to the side and the rest of my graded assignments lay spread about. "Did you touch any of this?" I ask, already knowing the answer. I know my mom wouldn't touch it. She knows how I am about my schoolwork.

    "Yeah," he replies without an ounce of embarrassment or shame in his voice. Apparently, to him, going through someone's stuff isn't bad.

    "Why?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

    "Curiosity," he answers shortly. I stare at my papers, trying to pick out which ones to take with me to my room. I don't have time to go through every single paper here so I'll have to choose wisely. "You're smart."

    His compliment catches me off guard. I stand still for a second before continuing my search. "Thanks," I mumble quietly, unsure of what else to say. Normally, after receiving a compliment, you'd return with one, but I'm not sure what to say. 'You're physically appealing?' I don't think that would roll over too well. When I finally manage to get all of my papers gathered, I grab my C+ test and prepare to leave. Suddenly, I stop walking when I realize something. We go to the same school; I'm sure we have some of the same classes. What if he copies my work, hands it in, and gets credit for it? "You didn't take pictures of my assignments, did you?"

    He stares at me from under his thick, dark lashes and a smirk breaks out on his face. I keep my eyes trained on his face, though from this distance I can clearly see his abdomen in my peripheral vision. I can see faint lines along his stomach and I wonder what it'd feel like to run my fingers across them in a tracing motion. I suddenly scold myself. What am I thinking? What's wrong with me? I don't even know this boy and I'm imagining myself touching his stomach like some pervert.

    "Tempting..." he notes and I immediately think he's heard my mental remarks about his body before I realize that we we were having something of a conversation before my intrusive thoughts, well, intruded. "The idea hadn't occurred to me but I might have to take you up on that offer."

    "I-it wasn't an offer," I tell him as I clutch my papers to my chest.

    He shrugs as he twirls his slim phone a few times over in his hands. He glances down at the carpet and I notice that his dog is now lying on it's back, wriggling around like it wants it's stomach rubbed. If it didn't look at me like I was a meal, I would probably pet it. I glance down and immediately correct myself. It's a boy. "Funny. You think I care enough about school to bother with copying."

    I don't think to make a comment about how he should care about school. Instead, I simply continue walking out of the room. I don't want to encourage him to copy my work, even if in the process of doing it, I shed some light on the importance of education.

    I manage to get in a good amount of studying before I fall asleep a little before ten. I wake up at one in the morning in need of something to drink. I walk downstairs, rubbing my eyes in a dazed state. I sit in the kitchen after pouring myself a glass of water. Not even a few minutes into my kitchen adventure does the sound of the front door opening cause me to stiffen. Is someone breaking in? Do I have to fight them off?

    I look at the entrance of the kitchen, allowing my eyebrows to shoot upward when I see that the so called intruder is only Diego. We make eye contact and he stops short where he stands, dressed in black jeans, his combat boots, and a simple black sweater. We stare at each other for a few seconds before he advances towards the stairs, being as quiet as a mouse. I'm surprised his boots aren't clunking and clanking all over the place. As he hops up the steps, practically no sound is emitted and I wonder how he'd gotten so good at sneaking in and out of places. Then I realize that he probably has had a lot of practice.