mine, either.
“I’m home . . . Yay!” I celebrate in a quiet, playful voice, my cheeks burning from all the attention I’ve gotten myself. I really blundered this.
“Abby!” June rushes me, ripping my hand from Tory’s so she can somehow lift me and twirl me around. I’ve got twenty pounds on her, so I’m not sure where her strength comes from, but it’s nice to feel so loved.
“Hey, Cortez,” Lucas says, waiting his turn. June holds my hand while I hug Lucas, and she keeps a hold on me while Hayden adds my name to the scoring screen.
“You knew about this?” Tory asks his brother.
A wave of nausea knocks me into a seat. June comes with me, glancing at me with concern. I play it off by kicking off my shoes and swapping them out for bowling ones.
“Yeah, she wanted to surprise you guys,” Hayden answers, not even looking at his brother as he readies the screen.
I look up as Tory’s eyes shift to me, and the hurt in them is undeniable.
“You talk a lot?” He’s asking me, but Hayden doesn’t realize this. He answers without giving it much thought.
“Sometimes. Just when we have time. Hey, you’re up first.” He shifts in his seat so his legs are out to the side and nods to his brother.
Tory walks back to the rack where he left the ball after I ruined my surprise entrance. He picks it up as though it’s made of Styrofoam, then takes long strides toward our lane. Without taking aim, he hoists the ball at the pins but sends it flying through the air a good ten feet before it thumps down on the alley.
“Ooops,” he says, laughing in that menacing style of his, the one he uses when he means to push buttons. He claps his hands together, like a gymnast dusting off chalk, and then pivots when he’s under the screen to look up at his score. The ball took out one pin, so he plays this up just to be an ass.
“This was a bad idea,” I mutter. June is the only one close enough to hear, but she doesn’t react other than sliding her foot over to rest against mine.
Tory finishes his turn and moves to the stools behind our seating area, propping himself on his elbows. I stare at him until it’s my turn, willing him to look back at me, but he doesn’t. Not once.
I manage to knock six pins down my first time, and seven my second. Lucas turns into my biggest champion, rooting for me like an obnoxious wrestling fan every time I take the ball in hand. When the game is halfway through, Tory finally leaves the shelter he’s hiding in and joins the rest of us.
Things finally find a natural ease, and I’m sure to everyone else, everything feels normal. But if any of them stopped to pay attention, they’d realize that amid our banter and celebration, Tory and I haven’t exchanged a glance, a word, or a touch, not once since the game began.
It’s my final turn of the first game, and after a series of single pin frames, I’m four pins away from beating my whopping forty-one record. I take a deep breath, the rumbling echo of Lucas pounding the floor like football fans do on the bleachers as my backdrop. My pal Bud Fox hushes him more than once, but Lucas doesn’t listen, continuing his homemade thunder.
I glance over my shoulder on a whim, just to see if Tory is watching, but he’s looking down at his phone. Dejected, I line up the ball, using his advice and aligning myself with the middle arrows. I shuffle forward and release, my thumb getting stuck and sending the ball in a sidespin down the right side of the lane.
“Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” Lucas hums behind me. I think he’s genuinely invested in my outcome. I’m only sad that Tory isn’t watching.
I take slow steps backward, stopping right in front of Lucas, who is down on one knee as if he somehow has the power to steer my ball down the lane in spite of my poor toss. My ball hits two pins in the front, and a third behind them, but not with enough force to fully knock it down. My hips roll along with the movement as the pin rolls on its base, finally falling to the side at the perfect angle and taking its neighbor down with it.
“Yeah!” Lucas rushes up behind