“Hey! One sec,” he says, the phone muffling with his movement.
“Hey, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to someone there with him.
I hear a door shut and the background noise disappears.
“Sorry, we were ballin’. I needed a break. Good timing!” He’s panting a little, and I hear his water bottle filling up in the distance. I picture their fridge, the kitchen counter I sat at with Tory when I first practiced the part I’m playing now. I’m glad he rehearsed with me. If I hadn’t started early I never would have been prepared for the schedule change.
“Just you and Tory?” I ask, wondering if his brother came inside, too.
“Us, and”—he stops while he takes a drink—“Cannon, his cousin Zack, and Chaz.”
“I thought you hated Chaz?” I protest.
“I thought you hated Cannon,” he fires back.
“I do!” I realize I’m being loud so I duck my head back between my shoulders and pull the zipper up on my coat, holding my phone inside the insulated cubby I’ve made for one.
Hayden laughs and says something about needing a fourth or whatever. Their tournament is next week. It starts the day I leave, so I won’t be able to catch any games, which bums me out.
“How’s Mr. Shotwell?” He asks this every time. My friends are more star-struck than I am, but maybe that’s because I have to maintain a level of cool. I wouldn’t be able to produce tears in front of the man if I stopped to realize how mega-huge his fame really was.
“I didn’t get to see him when we wrapped. I think he’s back in New Zealand until we start back up again in two weeks.”
“Wow, New Zealand. He invite you to his posh palace to yacht and dine and all that stuff?” Hayden teases.
“Yes, we’re besties.” I roll my eyes.
“Two weeks off, huh? What are you going to do?”
“Well . . .” I lead. “Guess who gets on a plane tomorrow?”
“Jordan Shotwell,” he answers, purposely being wrong.
“You’re an ass,” I throw back at him.
“I’m kidding. You. You’re getting on a plane. When do you get in?”
“Not until like four. And we have to do some legal things before the weekend, but I hope maybe I’ll get to see you guys by Saturday?” I say we in a generic sense, but I’m pretty sure Hayden gets the implication.
“That can probably be arranged. You know June has a shift, but she gets off at two. Maybe . . . we bowl?” He throws that idea out there because after my first showing, I swore to him I was retiring, knowing I would never best my big honkin’ forty-one.
“I don’t know. I’m officially on the Champion’s Tour, and my sponsors don’t like me falling back to amateur status.”
“You know the Champion’s Tour is for seniors, right? Like fifty-five-plus?”
“You’re kidding!” I protest.
I’ve moved through the door of the parlor, so I tuck myself into a corner to finish our conversation before it’s my turn to order the Unicorn Dust Sundae, my flavor choice of the day.
“All right, bowling it is,” I relent, actually a little excited about my sophomore attempt at the game.
“It’s on. I better get back before they try and take on Cannon without me. Dude’s six-foot-three and absolute trash at basketball,” Hayden says.
“Okay. Tell everyone I say hi.”
He ends the call with a quick, “I will,” and I wonder if he means it.
I get to Eight Lanes early. I texted Hayden after our call a few days ago and told him to keep my arrival a surprise for everyone else. To make it work, I have to slip in while June’s on break. It’s been easy to hide from her in lane one because every other lane is full of league bowlers. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes watching them from afar to pick up tips.
The secret is in the swag. I need one of those wrist-guard thingies, and this lotion that goes on your thumb. And some of them have balls that actually glow. I want a ball that glows.
I’m mesmerized by a man next to me. Bud Fox. I know that because it says so on his ball. And on the front pocket of his bowling shirt. And on his ball bag. I bet his name is tattooed on his wife. I’d say she could do better but really, in terms of bowlers, I don’t think she can. Bud Fox is epic. I wonder if he’s on the tour.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Hayden says, slipping into the