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When his mom says, "You have perfect grades, and that still might not be enough," Riz tries to let it slide off his back. All his life he's been told, You can be anything if you work hard and get good grades. And he knows adults don't always tell the truth, okay? He knows people lie to kids all the time. But he doesn't know how not to try and try and try. Ever since his dad died, his life has been late nights and too much coffee and running himself ragged trying to keep up with everyone else. He works himself to the bone because he knows no one's going to give a goblin any easy opportunities or second chances. No one would be crying if he failed and ended up dead in a ditch somewhere just like his dad.
He knows his mom tries so hard too, and he doesn't want her to worry, because she's sacrificed so much for him. He remembers after Dad died and she was working back to back shifts trying to keep the lights on and her shaky smile when she made dinner for him and lied through her teeth that she'd already eaten at work. He knows now that she skipped meals so he could have more. He knows the other Bad Kids don't get why he's so careful about not wasting the free cafeteria food, and that's okay. He's glad Fabian and Adaine never had to wait to eat until they went to school because they just couldn't stretch the grocery budget far enough that month. He's glad Fig can be so blasé about throwing away things she doesn't like and that Kristen feels comfortable buying a snack from the vending machines twice a day and Gorgug always has a bunch of snacks to share whenever they all hang out at his place. He doesn't resent them for it. But it's still kind of lonely, knowing they don't get it.
He knows he's not normal. He thought for a long time that he was just mature, not being interested in girls. Then he thought that maybe he was gay, because all the guys were talking about girls. Then he thought maybe he was bi, because he didn't get excited about guys either. And then when he realized that he didn't feel anything for anyone at all, he felt terror at not knowing what he was. And he watched his friends fall in love and get all weird and horny and he knew he was lacking something.
Baron was a lie that still haunts him. The years will go by, and everyone will find someone that matters more to them than you still keeps him working late into the night because he knows that if he just holds on tight enough and works hard enough, then he won't lose anyone else. They won't leave him if he's useful.
He won't ever fall in love, and that's lonely as hell. He won't ever have a person that's unequivocally his. He wants so badly to have someone. He doesn't want to be alone. So he keeps throwing himself into the next thing and the next, keeps making boards and finding clues and shooting bad guys. He keeps being useful. There's a word for what he is but that still doesn't stop the loneliness and the feeling of looking in from the outside.
He starts a board for extracurriculars, just in case all his hard work already isn't enough by itself. It's ridiculous, it not being enough, but what's one more thing on his shoulders. He's saved the world three times in the past two years. What's some extra work on top of that? He can do this. They'll all get into the same college, provided that Fig can get her grades up, and they'll all be friends forever. He'll make sure of it. He won't lose them. He can't. They're the best friends he's ever had. The only real friends he's ever had, actually. Because for so long he was Briefcase Kid and That Goblin Kid and the little weirdo who's super into mysteries and the kid with the dead dad and no one ever saw him. And when Ragh called him The Ball, he thought, dammit, here we go again. But it wasn't like that. Fabian calls him the Ball and it means, you're my friend. It means, you matter to me. And he's terrified of losing that.
And he still has nightmares about losing them. He still wakes up in a cold sweat with Adaine dead with a hole in her chest tattooed behind his eyelids, still dreams of Fabian dying on Leviathan in a million different ways, of Kristen dead for centuries on a temple floor, of Fig plunging a dagger into his heart and never coming back from it, of Gorgug losing his mind and not knowing what's real and what's fake, and every other terrifying moment where he almost lost them. He's known grief, known it since he was nine and his mom told him his dad wasn't coming home. It's made a home for itself in his chest, like the grit at the center of a pearl. At this point, he's not sure who he would be without it. Even now, having seen his father again and knowing he's still out there, he can't quite bring himself to stop latching on hard because he can't lose anyone else. He refuses.
He knows he should enjoy the downtime, even if they are in danger of failing completely. He knows he should be happy to have a break. But him and breaks have never agreed. Hell, his worst fear in the forest was sleeping on the job. He'll sleep when he's dead, as they say. He just needs to keep going and keep clinging onto what he has because it's the only way he gets to keep it. If he stays up a little too long and drinks a little too much coffee and runs himself into the ground in the process, so be it. He can't stop. He'd rather drive off a cliff than hit the breaks because at the end of the day he's terrified of what will happen if he stops.