he says, again avoiding the shot I teed up for him.
I turn my attention back to the still complete set of pins waiting for me, and shuffle my feet forward, pushing my shoes together and squinting as I align the ball with the center. Tory’s still in my periphery, and I catch him walk away but do a full turn and come back, stopping a couple feet to my right.
“Can I?” he asks.
I turn my head to face him, finding his open palms waiting tentatively, slightly reaching toward me. I nod quickly.
“Go on,” I say, twisting my lips.
“Oh, sure, you’ll take his help,” Hayden hollers. He’s joking, but there’s a hint of jealousy in the tone. I think.
“She wants help from winners,” Tory says back, glancing to his brother briefly before meeting my gaze and winking at me. There’s a sudden lightness to his face and his smile reaches his eyes.
Tory places one palm along my back and holds my shoulder with the other, pushing lightly as I scoot to my left with his guidance.
“You’re lining your body up, but the ball is to your right, in your hand. You have to sort of correct for that. Make sense?”
It does. I nod.
He taps his foot into the side of my shoe a few times.
“Relax your legs, soldier. This isn’t marching band.”
A breathy laugh falls from my lips as I realize how tense I am. I do as he says, even adding a few inches of space between my feet, and bending my knees.
“Okay, so now . . . instead of the pins,” he says, timidly moving closer to my shoulder until he’s so near I can smell the spearmint of the gum he spit out in the parking lot on our way in. I don’t flinch but I can’t help but react to his closeness, turning my head to face him just as he does the same. When our eyes meet, he swallows hard. I can’t help but see it. Hayden is watching, and I’m sure Tory doesn’t want this to seem weird. It’s not weird. Only, it feels weird.
“The arrows,” he finally mutters, clearing his throat. His eyes shift out toward the lane, and I follow the direction of his gaze.
“What arrows?” I ask, scanning the pins. Tory leans in more and points toward the middle of the floor, where the small arrows are painted on the lane.
“Those aren’t for decoration?” I ask.
His body shakes with a short laugh at my side. “No, Abby. Those aren’t decoration.”
I glance at him briefly, catching the smirk. I shrug in response, partly to signal that he should make some space. He seems to get my hint, and drops his hands down to the pockets of his jeans, shuffling backward.
“Well, go on, then,” he says, nodding his head toward the pins.
Using Tory’s technique, I take a deep breath and line my arm up with the center of the lane, using the arrows to guide me. With nothing to lose, I pace forward and let my arm swing the surprisingly light ball, letting it go in just the right spot. I leave my hand in the air and walk back as it rolls forward, aiming for dead center.
“Go, baby! Go, baby!” Hayden’s voice echoes behind me, and soon his hands are on my hips. My ball makes contact and knocks over seven pins, and Hayden lifts me up, spinning me in his arms and swinging me around in a giant bear hug as if I just achieved world peace . . . at the Olympics.
I smile because I’m proud, even as Lucas reminds us all that it’s only a seven.
I catch Tory’s eyes over his brother’s shoulder and he holds up his hands and gives me a golf clap with a nod.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
My God, that is the first time I have ever said those words to this boy.
The strange undertone of competitiveness between the twins carries us through the next nine frames, but by the time we start the second one they seem to have settled whatever silent pissing match they had going on. June kicks all of our asses anyhow, breaking two-ten for the first time, which I guess is a really big deal in bowling.
When Tory gathers our shoes to return to the counter and Hayden and Lucas drift over to the pool tables, I pounce on the free moment with June so I can finally tell her my news. I sit in a seat opposite her and fold my