Chapter 58: Uneasy Alliance
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After my very interesting meeting with Sean, I had to hurry home to go bowling with Tobey. We had arranged that he would pick me up at four and I hadn't been home for five minutes when I heard his car pull up. Mom wasn't home -- out with some friends, the note on the counter said. I left my own note and ran out the door.
"Hey now," I greeted Tobey as I sat down and he put the car into gear.
"Hi. Ready to bowl?" he grinned wickedly.
"I cannot believe I agreed to this. Just tell me one thing, is this like golf? Where a low score is good?"
Tobey started laughing. "If you want to play that way!"
"I guess not then, huh?"
"Nope. But don't worry, I'll show you how."
"You had better, or I'll most likely end up breaking my arm or something. Then Sean would come after you." Or maybe not. Might just fix everything up perfect for Mr. M.I.T. "Do you bowl often?" I asked.
"Nope, I haven't been in a while. Me and Lance went a few weeks ago, but we hardly ever have time with hockey practice."
"My brother work you hard?"
"Are you kidding? Between him and Coach, I don't need to go to class to get yelled at," he quipped. "What's he like at home?"
I thought for a minute. "Well, he can't cook so I usually end up doing it for him. He's a total slob and never cleans up his room. Let's see... He's been known to get grounded for doing really stupid things. Or at least doing really stupid things and getting caught doing them!"
"Sounds like he's no different than he was at Breck last year," Tobey laughed. I agreed with him.
"College is not the cure-all people say it is."
I sucked at bowling. I mean, I knew I wasn't going to do very well but I was surprised I could be internationally ranked in one sport and do so badly in one that seemed to be so much easier. After my third gutter ball in a row, I sat down, dejected.
Tobey took his ball, walked up, swung the ball back, and let it go. Another strike. I groaned and Tobey turned around.
"Hey, for never having tried it, you're not doing so bad," he pointed out.
"That's what you think. I can do a triple jump on a little piece of metal but I can't get a big ball to go where I want it to," I whined and slumped further in my seat. "Oh, and I don't like these shoes either."
"Is it that bad?" Tobey asked.
"Actually, no. I just wish I was better at this."
"Come here," Tobey jerked his head to the side. Warily, I walked over to him.
"What?"
Tobey raised his eyebrows and gestured toward my bowling ball. "Pick it up." I complied. "Now, this is how you hold it," Tobey said, demonstrating with his own bowling ball. See, no, wrong finger... then your thumb.... Okay, you've got it."
"This weighs too much."
"No it doesn't," Tobey dismissed. "Now hold up your right hand like this," and he demonstrated. "Then put your left hand here."
I did as he showed me and waited for the next instruction. "Good," he encouraged. "Now swing your arm back like this very slowly. How does that feel?"
"Weird?"
"Katie..."
"Yes," I said.
He sighed, and laughed. "Okay, try that all again but this time swing the ball forward, too. Then let it go."
I prepped the huge, heavy ball and swung back, then swung forward. Finally, I let go. PLUNK!
"Okay, Katie. You have to let the ball go before you get it back up to your waist. Try letting it go about here," Tobey demonstrated. I followed his advice and got a beauty of a gutter ball.
"You want to try something else?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Fifteen minutes later I was kicking his butt at ice ball. We had driven to an arcade in Saint Paul and gotten a cup full of tokens for $10 each. My tickets sputtered out of the machine as I finished my sixth game of ice ball and tied for the highest score of the day.
Tobey stood behind me with the tokens and shook his head. "If you're good at this, you should be good at bowling."
"C'est la vie."
"Tu es irresistible."
That stopped me. I turned back to my tickets and counted them, as if it mattered. People don't usually understand it, but I'm really uncomfortable about being complemented on my looks or... anything that isn't my skating. Kallie claimed I had 'intimacy issues' but I really doubted it. I just hated it when guys tried saying stuff like that or moved too fast. For me, it was almost always too fast. To cover up my uneasiness, I took two more tokens out of the cup and started my seventh game of ice ball. Tobey must have sensed something was wrong because he set down the tokens and started his own game of ice ball. When we had both finished our games, he challenged me to a game of air hockey.
"I'm not going to play air hockey with you, I'll lose."
"I'm not a goalie," he pointed out.
"Nope. I don't feel like losing again. Bowling was enough."
"Please?!"
I looked at him, him with his puppy dog look and wickedly delightful smile. No wonder every girl (and a few boys) in school thought he was heir to the throne of Most Eligible Bachelor. Something about that scared me, just like the French compliments. I couldn't put my finger on it, so I smiled, letting him win. He got his way and he won the game.
Soon after that, I looked at the clock and realized Mom must be worried about me. When I said that I had better be going home, Tobey handed me his cell phone. Another thing I didn't really like. What use does a high school senior have for a cell phone? I took it and dialed home. Mom wasn't home, so I checked the messages to see if she had called earlier. She had.
"Katie! I hope you're getting this. I just ran into Mrs. Dixon, that woman who was living in London last year. We're going out to dinner tonight to talk about your father and I going to London. I should be home before nine. Please be home when I get there, no later than eight thirty. Remember, you need to get that homework done. All right, bye."
I disconnected and handed the phone back to Tobey.
"Was she there?"
"Nope, she went out to dinner."
"What about your dad?"
"He's in Atlanta trying to figure out how to win some case because a paralegal messed things up when she was given the wrong date for the trial. Todd's at his apartment. So I guess I'm home alone. You ready to go?"
"Sure."
Text Copyright © 1998-2001 Collette Mills
