Varsity series box set, p.48
Varsity: Series Box Set, page 48
Hayden moves toward the balls to take his turn, brushing into his brother’s shoulder, clearly on purpose. Tory’s body twists from the force and his half smile lingers on his lips as he looks down at the money in his palm. His mouth finally shuts into a tepid straight line and he pushes the money into the back pocket of his jeans, the prize apparently no longer worth bragging about.
“Glad this isn’t awkward or anything,” Lucas says from behind me.
“He’s just going through things,” June adds, her eyes softening on mine. She’s trying to communicate to me without words, using our friend code, hoping I understand. I do. Hayden is a talker, and he’s opened up to me about how hard his parents’ split and the ugly way it all came to a head has affected him. Tory locks it all inside. I identify with him more than he thinks.
Hayden takes his turn, only knocking down nine. When June vacates the seat next to me to get her ball, Hayden slides in, a tight look on his face from the reaction from his brother. I can tell by the way he avoids his brother completely that it bothers him, but I’m not sure I’m the person who should step in to ease the situation. I tend to inflame things with Tory.
“Of course she bowled a double,” Hayden mutters as June spins on her heels and holds both hands up in the air to gloat.
“I mean, she does kinda work here,” I say, leaning into him. He leans back, meshing our shoulders together.
“Gotta love it when your girl kicks your ass in a sport,” Lucas grumbles teasingly, cradling his ball in both hands and bending forward to dust a kiss on June’s lips.
“That was sexist, but the kiss was sweet, so I’ll forgive you,” my friend says. Hayden and I both laugh, but stop at the sound of Tory’s feet slapping against the floor in his slick bowling shoes. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see his goofy grin or his hand up to high-five June for putting Lucas in his place; but instead, my gaze locks with his and there isn’t a smile to be found. His mouth is pure nothingness, a lifeless line. He’s in a dark place.
I wait for him to wander down the row of balls and out of earshot before I mention my thoughts to Hayden while Lucas takes his turn.
“Do you think you should go talk to him?” I spare another glance as I lean in closer to Hayden. His hand flattens along my thigh, his fingers curling to scratch at the frayed threads of one of the holes in my jeans. It tickles, and I let out a little giggle that catches Tory’s attention.
“Nah, he’s just moody. Probably stressed about therapy next week.” Hayden’s words conflict with my gut and the look on Tory’s face, but I don’t need to poke my nose into more drama. I have enough of my own.
“You’re up!” Hayden brings me back to the action on the lanes, and I stand, wiping my hands along my hips. I have no clue what I’m doing.
“Green ball, I’m gonna make you my bitch,” I say, wrapping my hands around the ball June used. I bring it toward my stomach, masking the strain I feel because this shit is way heavier than I thought it was.
“Just remember, your goal is straight,” June encourages, clasping her hands together like she’s praying. She’s probably hoping I don’t launch this sucker at her feet.
“Need help?” Hayden gets up from his seat, and I can imagine how this whole scene plays out, with him standing behind me, holding my arms and helping me push the ball forward from between my knees like a child. It’s a cliché romantic scenario but I’m having none of it. Hayden is sweet, and comforting. But we are not doing the romance thing. And I won’t be handled like a baby.
“I got it!” The words come out forcefully, and his slight flinch tells me I might have offended him.
I work to soften it.
“If you help me, nobody is going to believe I got this strike all on my own.”
Hayden’s mouth curves on one side and he sits back down with a nod and a chuckle, knowing that I’m talking shit I can’t back up. This is my way.
My focus returns to the line of pins sixty feet or so away from me. This ball in my hands feels twice as heavy as it did before, when I tested it. No matter. It’s just a rock. And I just need to push this rock on the floor with enough umph to knock over one of those things at the end. Easy.
Doing my best to mimic the approach everyone made before me, I hold the ball in front of me and stretch my palm as wide as it will go, inserting my fingers in the damn holes that I can barely reach. After I line up my ball with what I estimate to be about the middle, I slide my slick bowling shoe-clad feet along the floor toward the line where the lane officially begins. My arm drops to my side, swinging as my hand clenches with every bit of strength I have not to drop this heavy fucker on my feet. The ball rocks back then swings forward across my hip and I let go when my body is lined up with the pins as good as it’s going to.
“Ohhh, shit!”
Lucas’s exclamation registers in my mind a fraction before I realize what I’ve done. My arm did not swing straight at all. Far from straight, actually. More of a veering extremely to the right. And the ball slipped out maybe a little later than I planned, causing it to fling rather than roll. Not that it matters, because it bounced two full lanes over, careening into the gutter of lane six, then swishing its way toward the dark pins still guarded by that thingamabob that lines them up.
I want to repeat what Lucas just shouted, but all I can seem to do is stare at my results with my mouth gaping open. The ball is slowing, and by the time the slow drawled “fuuuuck” leaves my lips, the green sphere that I was so sure I could handle is stalled in the middle of lane six’s gutter.
“Here.” Tory’s tone isn’t his usual tongue-in-cheek, and I’m sure my expression shows how surprised I am by it when I turn to face him. He’s holding an orange ball, an eight stamped in its surface. His eyes dip and see what I’m noticing, so he shifts his hand and covers the number completely.
“It’s just a ball. That one isn’t made for you. This one is, though.” He isn’t laughing, and that’s odd. No jokes about how I can’t even handle throwing a ball straight. Tory D’Angelo must truly be broken because he’s not even picking on the low hanging fruit to tease me. His low-key demeanor is unsettling.
“Ohhh-kayyyy.” I cock my head slightly in trained suspicion. Tory breathes out a short laugh through is nose.
“Fingers go in the holes,” he finally says through a crooked grin.
“Double entendre in that statement?” I plunge my fingers in and hook my thumb in the final hole, lifting the ball from Tory’s palm in a brisk, confident movement. It’s lighter, and the right fit.
“Just helping a girl out,” 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 legs under me.
“You know Jordan Shotcraft?” I know she does. She has seen every single one of his movies. He’s dad hot, and married to one of our favorite singers, Lillian Ash.
“Oh, my God, did you get to meet him?” June is literally sitting on her hands and swinging her legs. She’s gonna die when I tell her.
“Better,” I say, letting my sly grin sit there to hold the moment. Her eyes widen slowly.
“No!” She grabs my arms and pulls them toward her, causing me to laugh and lose my balance. I unfurl my legs, but not in time to stop my fall. Before I hit the ground, though, Tory wraps his arm around my body from the empty seat next to me.
“I have that effect on women,” he says, giving me his classic wink as he rights me in my seat. The mint scent from his gum is now replaced by the faint aroma of his cologne. It’s different than Hayden’s—maybe richer, woodsier, if that’s a thing.
I’m trying to form a clever response when June kicks her feet forward and touches my knees with the toes of her shoes. I shift my focus to her and her eyes are still wide.
“Abby Cortez, you better tell me now. And if it’s what I think it is, you better take me with you.” Her head shakes on its own just to show me how firm she is about this.
“You’re looking at Jordan Shotcraft’s surprise teenaged daughter in his next rom com.” June’s screaming before I get the last word out, and within a blink, she’s wrapped her arms around me, practically sitting in my lap.
My eyes tear with happiness. I squealed when I got the news, but seeing my friend’s reaction just makes things so incredibly real.
June’s reaction draws Lucas and Hayden back to our seats, so once everyone gathers around and June leaves my lap, I feed them the details.
“It was down to me and another unknown actress, and I guess they liked my attitude.”
Tory snorts a laugh, so I shoot him a glare.
“You’re hardly unknown,” June says. “You’re the face of Allensville Yogurt!”
“This stuff is great!” Lucas pipes in, pumping his arm just like I do in my biggest commercial deal to date. The yogurt company ad paid me the most of any job I’ve ever landed, even more than the modeling spreads that have been in major magazines. This movie deal, though . . . it’s a game changer.
“Filming starts in early March,” I say, leading to a noticeable hush from everyone.
“Wow,” June says, shaking her head while keeping the smile plastered on her face. I knew this would be the hard part. We had plans, she and I.
“I know. Prom . . . and maybe graduation, but—”
My best friend grabs my hands and gives them a little shake.
“No buts. This is huge. Massive! We’ll have our own celebrations, and you deserve this.” Her boost to my doubts does the trick, and for the first time since I was offered the contract, I feel one-hundred percent ready to take this leap.
“I’m going to need to run a lot of lines over the next couple months,” I say through nervous laughter.
“Okay.” My friend nods, tears forming at the sides of her eyes from what I can tell is genuine pride. “No kissing scenes for me, though.”
“Damn,” Lucas adds, drawing a laugh from all of us.
“That’s what Hayden’s for,” I say, turning my attention to the guy who probably deserved to get this news from me one-on-one. He doesn’t seem upset, though. In fact, he stands and holds one hand to his chest, his other out in front of him.
“Romeo, Oh Romeo . . .” he starts, clearly showcasing his insincere acting skills.
I kick at him and he grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet and hugging me.
“I’m actually really bad at that stuff, but I’ll do whatever I can,” he assures.
“You sure you don’t mind me taking over your weekends for a while?” I ask, already knowing my mom will be too busy working. When I feel the sway of his embrace pause, I peel back to look him in the eyes.
“Weekends, huh?” His mouth falls into a regretful grimace.
“Your new job,” I respond, piecing it together. I guess I knew he’d have to work weekends a lot. Basketball practice and the season are pretty intense, so weekends are really his only chance to pick up hours.
“Hey, but Tory can fill in. Actually, of the two of us, he’s the actor.” Hayden moves to my side, his arm slung over my shoulder, and a sudden tightness grips my chest at his suggestion. Tory seems equally surprised by the suggestion, popping his head up fast and flitting his attention between me and his brother.
“Me?” He points to himself. “I mean, nah, I’m not the best to practice with.”
“He’s being modest. Yo, check it.” Hayden drops his arm from around me and pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his videos and pictures while I awkwardly smile at Tory and he awkwardly smiles back. “Yeah, here it is. Look.”
Hayden holds his phone out for me to watch his screen, and a tall, skinny near-exact version of his younger self is standing at the center of a stage under a spotlight.
“If music be the food of love, play on.” Tory is probably in seventh or eighth grade in this video, and the fact it’s on his brother’s phone still baffles me almost as much as that I’m watching him recite a monologue from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Knight.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Tory says, swiping the phone from his brother’s hand and closing the video.
“Dude, you were good. He was good,” Hayden says, glancing around at all of us. I wonder if the dent between my brows is as deep as the ones on Lucas and June’s foreheads.
“You did theater?” I ask.
“Yeah, I mean nah. Not really.” Tory leans against the bar top near our seating area and exhales heavily. “I auditioned for a bunch of things one summer. I thought maybe I’d try acting, but ya know . . .”
He holds out two open palms.
I tilt my head to the side.
“He always got in trouble for being a smart ass,” Hayden blurts out, slapping his brother’s chest. He takes his phone back and points at his brother. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t good, though.”
Tory shrugs.
“So, will you?” I ask. I already regret it, but the panic of not being ready with my lines down by the time filming starts overrides the epic bad idea this is.
Tory’s face wrinkles in hesitation as he takes a long breath.
“I don’t know. I mean . . .” He glances to his brother first, then to June, almost as if he’s taking a vote or eliciting permission. He doesn’t bother to look to Lucas, making his own mind up instead.
“Fine, yeah. We can run lines. But don’t make fun of me when I’m not that good.” He stands straight and dives his hands into his pockets while he rigidly scrunches his shoulders.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure there are plenty of other things I can make fun of you for,” I say, falling into my more familiar role with this D’Angelo. A sharp laugh leaves his chest.
“No doubt,” he says. He smiles at me with tightly closed lips, then pivots, pausing when June stands up in front of him. “No doubt,” he repeats, for some reason speaking directly to her.
What a fucking weird day. I bowled a forty-one. I have a boyfriend. Tory D’Angelo has acting chops. And I just made plans to spend every free weekend in the books with him. Lord help me if I get a call to star in the reboot of the Twilight Zone.
