Authors: Susan Wu
Returning her smile, I murmur, “Hello, Fallon.” She looks even more beautiful than she did last night and I feel that familiar ache in my chest.
We are friends,
I remind myself with a sigh.
I start to lean over to give her a hug and think better of it midway, instead jutting my hand out awkwardly between us. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she bites her bottom lip suppressing a smile, but she takes my hand and shakes it briefly. Her hand feels so small and fragile in mine and I really hope mine doesn’t feel too clammy. Feeling like a total idiot, I turn and lead us to my mom’s car. I hold open the passenger door and Fallon climbs up the massive SUV. Shutting the door and making my way to the driver’s side, I roll my eyes at the night sky.
Handshake, Hayes?! What am I thinking?
Before I even start the ignition, I notice that Fallon is already gripping the armrests so hard her knuckles are white. She looks more pale than usual, her lips pressed in a hard line. The engine turns over with a gentle hum and the dashboard automatically lights up. I pause and look over at her before putting the car in gear. Her eyes are wide with fear and she seems to be holding her breath, she’s so still.
My hand pauses on the gearshift as I try to ease some of the tension written all over her face, “My driving isn’t that terrible, I promise.”
Flushing, Fallon replies in an embarrassed voice, “It’s not your driving. Riding in cars make me nervous. Motorcycles make me nervous. Any motorized vehicle makes me nervous.”
I frown. In such a small town with no public transportation, this is surprising to hear. “You don’t drive?”
“I have a driver’s license,” she mumbles. Deflecting, as usual.
Giving her my most reassuring smile, I shift into drive, “Well I’ve been driving on and off since I was eleven years old. No moving violations. Spotless driving record. We’ll be okay.” I hear her sharp intake of breath as I pull smoothly into the street.
I try to talk to Fallon as I make my way to the highway. The roads are pretty empty but her terse, monosyllabic replies tell me she just wants me to shut up and focus on the road. Switching on the CD player, faint notes start playing over the speakers. I hit skip until it’s on track three.
Her voice is so soft, it takes a moment for me to realize she’s singing along as I drive. “You know this song. It’s post Renaissance.”
Unexpected as always, her answering laughter is tinged with a bit of sadness, “I guess it is. I used to listen to this song when I was little.”
“Me, too. When I was four years old, we were on a family vacation at the beach. My mom had her hands full with Scott and my dad was off doing whatever my dad does. I remember dragging my little red sand pail and shovel and singing this song to myself. I’m so into the song that when I look up, my mom and Scott are gone. My parents had drilled it into me not to wander around looking for them if I ever got lost. There was an older boy, probably like ten or twelve, with his parents and he noticed I was alone. So he invited me to help him build a sand castle. My mom was furious and terrified out of her mind when she finally found me. I just wanted to stay and finish building the sand castle.”
We approach the exit for Lakeside and Fallon has relaxed marginally or at least become distracted by my story. I pull into the parking lot for Lakeside Lanes as the song ends. As I turn off the engine, she breathes a sigh of relief and her hands disengage from the armrests to unbuckle her seatbelt. Her hand resting on the handle and facing away from me, she says quietly, “This song is one of my mom’s favorites.”
Fallon doesn’t pause before exiting, letting the door swing close behind her. I am scrambling out of my seat and hitting the lock button, scrambling to catch up as her long legs eat up the short distance to the entrance. I think I see her taking a quick swipe under he eyes as she waits for me by the door. Her hair hangs over her shoulder, effectively covering her face and her voice is strained, “Shall we join the festivities?”
Without thinking, I reach over and sweep her hair off her shoulder tucking it behind her ear. Her green eyes go round and her nostrils flare at my touch and I immediately drop my hand.
We are friends. We are friends. We are friends.
I did always have a problem with impulse control. Damn hippy parenting techniques.
Holding open the door, I mutter, “It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”
I follow her down a narrow wood paneled hallway. It’s dimly lit and smells of lemon wood polish. Loud pop music pours out of the speakers mounted on the walls as we wait in an awkward silence at the counter for our bowling shoes. When I try to pay for her shoes, Fallon pushes my hand aside handing the cashier a ten dollar bill, “I can pay for my own shoes.” When the cashier steps away to get her change, she turns to me with a serious expression, “This isn’t a date.”
“It’s just a three dollar shoe rental,” I reply exasperatedly. Shoes in hand, we enter the main bowling area. It’s more crowded than I would have expected for a Sunday night. Sam waves us over from lane eleven. I almost don’t recognize Sam without his letterman jacket but I guess we are technically in enemy territory.
He clasps my hand and slaps me hard on the shoulder in greeting. He surprises Fallon by pulling her into another one of his signature bear hugs, lifting her feet off the ground. A blonde girl wearing a tight, low cut beige sweater clears her throat loudly and Sam sets Fallon down. He is grinning broadly at me, he wriggles his eyebrows at me knowing Fallon can’t see. She is flustered, straightening herself out from his enthusiastic greeting.
“Samuel,” I say formally, a hint of warning in my voice.
Sam’s smile doesn’t waver and he winks at me before turning to face his date for the evening. He definitely has diverse tastes in girls. “Cassidy Browning, these are my friends from Everest Heights, Ethan Hayes and Fallon Pierce.”
Cassidy is blonde, not naturally, with blue eyes, also not naturally. Despite being very slender, she has curves where it counts. A hint of her impressive cleavage peeks out from the vee of her sweater. She unfolds her slender legs which are encased in tight black leather pants and stands up to shake our hands. Her stiletto ankle boots make her tower over Fallon. Geez, did Sam say she was still in high school?
Shaking her hand, I return her polite smile. She gives Fallon the once over and her smile is less polite. Fallon returns with a less-than-warm smile of her own as they shake. I don’t really understand Sam’s tastes in girls. But I guess his appetite for girls is vast and this town was only so big.
Cassidy’s forced, fake smile turns into a full-on megawatt, beauty queen smile as her attention returns to Sam. She wraps her arms around his elbow, tucking herself close to his side, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He chuckles and bends down to whisper in her ear and I roll my eyes as she swoons. They walk off arm-in-arm toward her group of friends, leaving Fallon and I trailing behind. Another interesting evening ahead. The four of us are bowling on one team against two other couples from Lakeside.
Sam makes a show of limbering up and stretching while Cassidy giggles and watches admiringly. Fallon is watching them as she loosens the laces of her bowling shoes, some indecipherable emotion in her eyes. Jealously? Longing? Who can tell what girls are thinking?
I kick off my boots and tuck them beneath the bench, putting on my rented bowling shoes. “Have you been here before?” I ask her as Sam enters our names into the computerized score board.
“Yes, I did grow up around here,” she replies matter-of-factly. “There’s not really anything else out here. Bowling alleys are a popular place for birthday parties, family time, hanging out with friends, dates, pretty much everything.”
Lacing up my right shoe, I pause, “How are you at bowling?”
Fallon gives me a sly smile and stands up, “Not terrible.”
Our names pop up on the screen above the lane. Cassidy is up first. She and Fallon are about the same height minus the ridiculous heels. She picks up a hot pink, six pound bowling ball. Smiling suggestively at Sam, she makes a show of rubbing the ball and then having him blow on it for luck. Without turning her head, Fallon looks at me from the corner of her eye and we both have to look away quickly, choking back our laughter.
Cassidy wiggles her leather clad butt before dropping the ball at the start of the lane. It rolls slow as molasses down the lane before veering into the gutter halfway to the pins. Pouting, she crosses her arms, pushing her chest out. I almost spit out my soda and start coughing loudly as it goes down the wrong pipe. She shoots a glare at me before turning her attention back to Sam.
Sam reaches across the table separating the benches and thumps me on the back, hard. He smirks knowingly, “You okay, buddy?”
“Yep, I’m--I’m fine. The soda--soda is very cold,” I manage to sputter out.
Wow, she is way over the top--worse than Mackenzie. Fallon’s eyes are fixed purposefully ahead at our scorecard but I see the corner of her mouth lift as Cassidy gears up for her second go. She’s a bit more successful this time and knocks down four pins.
I’m up next. It’s been a while since I bowled. I weigh a couple different colored balls in my hands, settling on a fifteen pound black ball. I look back at our group. Cassidy is sitting practically in Sam’s lap, nuzzling his ear as he laughs. Fallon is watching me curiously. I hope I don’t make a total fool of myself.
With the ball in hand, I walk over to Fallon and lean down so our faces are level. Against her ear, whispering low so that Sam and Cassidy can’t hear me over the music, “Do you want to blow on my ball for luck?” Her quiet laughter is a delicious sound in my ears. She covers her mouth with her right hand and blows on the ball.
I straighten up and turn to face the pins, taking three quick strides before releasing the ball. I watch the course of the ball and resist the urge to punch my first in the air when I knock over nine pins. I don’t pick up the spare but I’m still satisfied with my turn. Fallon’s turn is up next.
Her right sleeve is pushed up revealing her slender wrist which looks even tinier adorned with a variety of bracelets stacked almost up to the middle of her forearm. Fallon picks up a dark red, thirteen pound ball with surprising ease for someone so small. She raises her eyebrows at me before stepping up and releasing the ball in a swift, coordinated motion. It shoots off like a bullet down the lane, hitting square in the center of the middle pin.
The pins trip over each other as they all fall down with a sound like thunder. Fallon looks over her shoulder and gives me one of her signature shy smiles before turning around and watching her score appear on the screen. I shouldn’t be that surprised since she seems to be good at everything.
Sam high fives her on his way to choose his ball. He picks up a forest green sixteen pound bowling ball. Squaring his shoulders, Sam charges forward and hurls the ball in an impressive show of strength. I stand up to get a better look at the trajectory of the ball. The boom is like canon fire as the ball makes contact with the wooden floor. Surely he put a dent in the floor, but the floor is unharmed and the ball continues its journey, knocking over eight pins.
Sam turns around, a goofy smile on his face, flexing his right bicep. Sheesh, if Sam wasn’t my friend I would want to clobber him. I see Fallon smiling back at him and I have to sit on my clenched fists to fight the urge to punch something. He gives me pointed look inclining his head toward Fallon and back again in my direction before going to retrieve his ball. I scoot down closer on bench with the pretense of looking at the score so we’re sitting with our legs almost touching. Her breath hitches as our knees touch but Sam releases the ball, making her jump back at the deafening boom. He picks up the spare and our team is in the lead despite Cassidy’s lack of bowling prowess.
By the fourth frame, the rest of the group is antsy. They stop to take a break and get some snacks. The game is taking longer because Cassidy is sitting on Sam’s lap and they are locked in a passionate embrace, making out unabashedly. Just like I had predicted.
I peel my eyes away from the entangled couple and turn to Fallon. Her cheeks redden as our eyes meet. The impulse to reach over and stroke her face makes my fingers tingle. My hands are almost numb from being curled into tight fists all night and I command them to stay still.
I try to lighten the mood, “You’re really good at this.” Fallon is leading the pack with 67 and Sam is a trailing behind her with with 59. She is creaming my paltry 51 points. My bowling luck is starting to run dry.
Fallon shrugs modestly, starting down at her intertwined fingers, “It’s all about physics.”
Lifting my right eyebrow, I repeat skeptically, “Physics?”
“Yes, physics is really important to bowling. You have to take into account friction, gravity, momentum.”
I deadpan, “And you apply the principals of physics to bowling?”
She tilts her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into a crooked smile, “Everyone does, Ethan. I just use the principals of physics to my advantage. Plus, I got a lot of practice applying these principals. I used to be in bowling club in middle school.”
This girl never ceases to surprise me, “You were in bowling club?”
“Yes, that’s how Sam and I...” She trails off but I finish her sentence in my head. That’s how she and Sam started dating. Yikes, I really don’t want to go down that road right now. Especially with Sam and Cassidy making out a few feet away.
Instead, I change the subject, “Do you want to get some nachos?”
“I would love some,” she practically leaps off the bench.
It is almost 10:00PM as I pull up to Fallon’s house. Just as before, she sighs with relief and unbuckles her seatbelt as soon as the engine is off. This time she doesn’t reach for the door handle right away. Instead, she is wringing her hands together on her lap and gnawing absently on her bottom lip. She’s nervous for other reasons now.