Maybe joy was pushing it a little but whatever. I did like that I had bowling class first period. It meant I could park Milo, sit listening to music until the first period bell rang, and head right to the activity bus. It let me put off dealing with the gauntlet of judgy upper-tier kids in the social hierarchy. Aka the hallways.
In case you never went to public high school (you lucky thing you), here are the tiers:
First Tier: Predators. At the top of the high school food chain are the carnivores. The lions, grizzlies, and sharks. Beautiful but sometimes deadly.
Second Tier: Scavengers. They lie immediately below the predators. These are the kids who hang out on the outskirts of the popular crowd trying to get in. Like vultures, they live off the meager scraps the popular kids leave behind or on a lucky day toss their way. A few dung beetles in here too.
Third Tier: Secondary Consumers. Snakes. Snakes are rare. See * below.
Fourth Tier: Herbivores: Nerds and bowlers (but I repeat myself) are one level above algae. This is the peaceful, minding-our-own-business and just-trying to-survive layer. Think deer, mice, bunnies, and even elephants. Our goal is to survive high school. We stay alert, trying to dodge the carnivores and snakes. Survival tactics include blending into the background, hiding or burrowing. The foremost goal for my social tier is to avoid being the chum in a feeding frenzy. Trust me when I say you do not want to be chum. It’s vicious and painful.
Bottom Tier: Grass, algae and bacteria. These are the stoners. They sort of exist seemingly doing nothing. They don’t appear to mind being on the bottom, but then they’re high half the time. *The one exception is when a stoner plays a sport. That moves them up to the secondary consumer tier: snakes.
Adults in your life will tell you it’s always been this way. They lived through it and we will too. Basically, suck it up, Sparky. Supposedly this social jungle disappears after high school. That was my light at the end of the four-year-long hallway, but I wasn’t holding my breath.
See why getting off campus for bowling was nice? Maybe you love school. Maybe you’re a beautiful lion and can’t wait to stalk the halls. I’m not an introvert, but I’d been in the spotlight (not in a good way) as gossip swirled around me in my last school.
I’d been chum.
I had two words about my experience. Never. Again.
So bowling was my place to burrow and hide. Bowling had given me precious time with my grandma I would always treasure. Bowling had saved me last year when my family fell apart. It gave me a reason to get out of the house and helped me block out some of the ugliness—at least for a few hours. If my plan worked, bowling would be my ticket out of here.
The bell rang and I took my time grabbing my bowling ball and shoes. By the time I got on the activity bus it was almost full. I liked to get on the bus last so I didn’t have to sit awkwardly by myself for ten minutes waiting for the bus to load. I slid into my regular seat, the one right behind the driver’s seat, placing my bowling ball bag between my feet so it wouldn’t slide around once the bus got moving.
“Hello, Ali,” the bus driver said. “Have a good summer?”
“Hey, Mrs. Mathews.” Stop. Don’t even say it. Because, yes, other kids have been kind enough to inform me how nerdy-weird-uncool it was to be friends with the bus driver. Whatever. Our eyes met in the rectangular mirror over the front window and I had the urge to blurt out that it had been the worst summer of my life. “It was okay. You?”
“Wonderful. I slept in every morning and enjoyed visits from my grandkids.”
“Nice,” I said.
Outside my window the last stragglers—probably the ones who slapped the snooze button too many times—wound through the cars and into the building. The noise level on the bus sounded like the inside of a busy bee hive.
Mrs. M fired up the bus and the floor rumbled under my feet as Coach Looper, the gym teacher and wrestling coach, jumped aboard. He held onto the silver pole and called roll from his clipboard.
I stared down at my unpainted fingernails while I half-listened for my name.
“Ali Frost?”
“Here.”
“Paige Smith?”
“Here!” Her voice came from the back of the bus.
Oh, fun. Class with P3 all semester. And Paige never went anywhere without one of her side-kicks so that meant—
“Gwen Itzlrab?”
“Here, barely. Do they sell coffee at the bowling alley?”
“Not to students,” Coach Looper said without looking up from the clipboard. “Dax DeLeon?”
DeLeon? My gaze flicked up to the overhead mirror and searched the faces. Yep, Dax DeLeon sat in the back row with the cool kids. A smirking Dax DeLeon as his laughing eyes met mine in the mirror. I pried my gaze away and back outside to the blur of live oak trees on the ten-minute drive to the alley.
So what? So, some of the annoying popular kids were in my class? I’d simply make sure to pick a lane far from them and do my thing. This was my time. My time to practice. My time to escape reality. I wouldn’t let anyone mess that up.
The bus pulled up to the front entrance and Coach stood, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “Listen up. Head inside to the front counter for shoes. Once you’ve got those, proceed to a lane marked with a red cone. Pair up. That person will be your bowling partner for the semester.”
I exited the bus first and hustled my behind to stake out my lane, nodding to Mr. Jones on my way past the shoe rental counter.
“You better have a teacher with you, Ali, or your ass is grass,” he said.
“I do. And don’t say ‘ass’ in front of me. I’m a young impressionable kid,” I said without slowing down. I made it down to the farthest coned-off lane, dropped my backpack, and sat to change shoes. In the middle of tying my second shoe, a pair of sneakers entered my view.
I knew those sneakers.
“You can’t sit here,” I said, not even looking up.
“I can too,” Dax said, doing exactly that, taking the chair next to me.
“No.” I sat up like my back was attached to a spring. Because anywhere Dax was, Paige and crew were sure to follow.
“OMG, Frosty has her own bowling shoes!” Gwen squeaked.
“And her own bowling ball.” Paige managed to make it sound pitiful.
Nope, nope, just no.
“All right, people,” Coach said from down at lane number one. “Make sure you’re with the partner you want because you’ll be stuck—I mean, you’ll be partnered—with them all semester.”
“I’m not kidding, DeLeon. You need to take your fan club and leave.” I stood and lifted my chin at him. “I’ve already got a partner.”
Dax stood also, an imposing wall of football player. “Who?”
I darted my eyes down all the lanes and back. I found my white knight two lanes over. “Nolan! Nolan Baker’s my partner. Right, Nolan?”
“No. Get lost, Frosty.”
“Thanks a lot, Nolan.” Dang it. I forgot he hated me ever since I’d ruined our electricity project in physical science last year. And accidentally shocked him. Sure. I guess five milliamps will stay in your memory for a while. Especially because we got a “D” on the project and Nolan had a bald spot on his scalp for a few months.
Nolan smiled at Paige. “But Paige can be my partner.”
“Are you joking?” Paige wrinkled her nose. “I mean, bless your heart.”
“Yeah. As if, Baker,” Gwen said.
“I’ll be your partner, Dax,” Paige said, sidling up to him. They looked good together. Like a matched set. The cheerleader and the quarterback. Barbie and Ken. Sandy and Danny.
Dax took a casual step away from Paige which put him right next to me. “No thanks.”
“Smith and Itzlrab. Frost and DeLeon.” Coach scribbled down the teams, setting them in stone for the semester. “No partner, Baker? You’ll be with me. Now let’s all have fun.”
It was a toss-up as to who was the most peeved: Nolan, Paige, or me.
Paige pouted, Nolan shot me a glare (how was his having to bowl with Coach my fault?), and I turned my annoyance toward Dax.
“What are you doing, DeLeon?”
“Picking a partner like everyone else.”
“There are twenty other kids here—some of them are even on the football team.”
“True. But none of them have their own bowling ball.”
“So?”
“So, I’m a competitive guy. I figure you must be pretty good to have your own ball.”
“I could just be a weirdo who likes to carry a bowling ball around.”
“Are you?”
“If I say yes will you go find another partner?”
“Nope.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and all he did was grin. Fine. Whatever. I stood, keeping the ball return between us and laid down the rules. “If you took this class as a blow-off then go find another partner, because I’m dead serious about this class. No goofing off, no wasting time, and absolutely no gossiping on this lane. I don’t have the time or patience for that. Got it?”
“Uh huh.” Dax moved until he was in my space with only the ball return separating us. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“What did I ever do to you? Because most people like me.”
“Congratulations. Do you mind if we stop talking about you and bowl now?”
“Well, I can see why you don’t have any friends.”
“You know nothing about me.” He didn’t know I didn’t have friends. I mean, I didn’t but that was a personal choice.
“I do. I know about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in Dr. Boyd’s office enough that the secretary knows you and you give Kevin Twinkies at lunch. Also, you have a unique way of dressing.”
“Those are observations. Not knowing, but good try.”
“That’s the point. I’m trying to be friendly here. Everyone needs friends.”
“I don’t.” I picked up a ten-pound bowling ball and slammed it lightly into his stomach. “Now bowl.”
5
Are You Stalking Me?
Dax
Student Parking Lot, 3:20 p.m.
I was heading to the parking lot after school to grab my football gear when I spied with my watchful eye my new bowling partner shoving stuff into the trunk of a vintage Volvo. If you’d have asked me to pick Ali’s car out of this full parking lot, I’d have guessed correctly. Before you get upset thinking I’m making some derogatory comment about Ali Frost—settle down. Totally the opposite. That Volvo was unique—just like Ali. A lot of kids I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in a beater car like Ali’s. I liked that about her.
Considering how much I’d annoyed her in first period, I shouldn’t bug her again. Not until next bowling class anyway. Yet…
“Hey, partner!” I called, lengthening my stride in her direction.
She slammed her trunk closed before turning to look at me with a sad, pitiful head shake. By the time I arrived next to her car, she’d already buckled in and started her ignition. It sure looked like she was in a hurry to avoid me the way she threw her car into gear, gripped the steering wheel with two hands, and began to pull forward through the empty parking space in front of her.
Oh, whoa. I did a double take on the pavement.
“Stop!” Jumping forward, I tapped the hood of her car twice.
She stopped so abruptly her car rocked. She stabbed me with a narrow-eyed gaze before lowering her window. “DeLeon. You are seriously—”
“Hold that thought.” I walked in front of her car and picked up the guitar case she came within a foot of crushing. Lifting it a little higher and giving it a wiggle, I grinned at her before turning to the group of guys three car spaces over. “Grady! One day someone’s going to run your guitar over.”
“Whoever does will have to deal with me.” He came over and grabbed it from me. “This Fender is irreplaceable.”
I walked around next to Ali again, resting one hand on the roof of her car. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“I saved you from running over Grady’s guitar.”
“You want me to thank you for that? It’s not my guitar. I’m also not the genius who put a black guitar case on the black pavement and left it unsupervised.”
She was absolutely right about that.
“We keep running into each other.” I grinned. “Twice in one day. It almost feels like you’re stalking me.”
“Stalking you?” She raised one eyebrow at me. “I’m sorry, who just sprinted across the parking lot to talk to me? Who was it who switched into my bowling class after sneaking a look at my schedule? It’s like you can’t quit me.”
“Maybe I can’t,” I said, mouth quirked into a small smile.
The sun brought to life yellow streaks in her light green eyes. Gorgeous eyes. So gorgeous my thoughts scattered and I stood dazed, like I’d taken a hit to my helmet.
“Dax! What are you doing? You’re going be late for practice.”
Right. I waved to TJ who’d called from two rows over where he was grabbing out his football equipment from the bed of his Takoma. “Be right there!”
“If you’re late and coach makes us do extra up-downs, I’ll spit on your lunch for a week.”
He wouldn’t. I knew he was bluffing, mostly because he couldn’t spit worth a darn and he’d end up dribbling it down his shirt.
“Oh, gross,” Ali said. “You should go.”
“I’m going.” I winked at her which normally had girls blushing. Not Ali.
“You did not just wink at me.”
“I did. I winked.” I grinned at Ali’s reaction. “Guilty as charged.”
“Take it back,” she demanded.
“I would, but I can’t. Winks are nonreturnable. But I’ll tell you what… You can wink at me and then we’ll be even.”
“Aaargh. I can’t even with you.” She huffed out a breath, gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, and sent me a look that loosely translated into “You’re an idiot.”
“See you in class, partner.” And you know what I did? Yep. I winked at her again.
Ali sent me one last narrow-eyed look and drove off. I felt sure she’d be thinking of me. Maybe not nice thoughts, but she would be thinking of me.
I grabbed my gear and hustled inside because I did not want to be the reason the team did extra drills. I’d have a whole lot of pissed off teammates. Not good for a quarterback who needed his teammates to come through with a big season. Coach Devlin said we needed to up our game every week in case collegiate scouts were in the stands.
I was counting on football to outweigh my average GPA and help me get into college. When I was young, I had the attention span of a gnat but the energy of a hummingbird. Constantly on the go. So, my parents signed me up for sports back in first grade to help burn off all that excess energy. It clicked with me and had grown to be as much a part of my life as eating and breathing. Being an athlete was who I was. I’d been working hard at becoming a better player every year. Eating healthy, extra workouts, hitting up the most challenging summer football and lacrosse camps every summer.
The next two hours I threw myself into practice. Drills, practicing the snap with our freshman center—working on the snap count—and a few rounds of fake hand-offs before focusing on pass plays with the receivers.
“Dax, you’ve got to pick up your receivers quicker to make that play work!” Coach yelled from the sidelines. “TJ, obviously you’ve got the speed but you’re overrunning your mark and making it harder on your QB. Let’s try a few slant routes.”
Near the end of practice my concentration took a hit when my dad’s car pulled into the parking lot. No doubt my dad was my biggest fan. He talked all the time about me following in his footsteps and playing for his alma mater. We both did, only I wasn’t sure I could pull that off. Some days I stood on the field feeling like an imposter. Like someone was going
to point out that I was doing it all wrong and then everyone would see I didn’t have the talent everyone had raved about.
I overthrew the pass. And the next one and the one after that. Dammit. I had to get out of my head and focus on what I was doing on the practice field.
“Water break!” Coach called. “Everyone hydrate and hit the weight room.”
I pulled off my helmet, wiped the sweat off my face with my practice jersey, and grabbed a water bottle as Coach walked up to me. “I know what you’re going to say, Coach. Get out of my own way.”
“You’re good, Dax. You’ve got natural instincts—a feel for the game on where to go with the ball—but you’ve got to trust yourself. In that split second when you doubt yourself you give the opposition an opening to attack. Doubt leads you to press too hard and then you’re over your head. You’re in—”
“Quicksand.” That was the reason we’d almost lost in the playoffs last year. I second guessed myself on one throw. My hesitation caused an interception. Luckily their defense got called for holding and our team went on to win and we’d made it into the championship game. Except I did the same thing in the final game only we weren’t lucky. We lost.
“Exactly. Mental quicksand.” Coach Devlin lightly tapped his clipboard on my shoulder. “Stop overthinking and trust your instincts. Get out of your head.”
“I’m trying, Coach.” Football was my future. My ticket to college. My dream since I put on my first shoulder pads. So, yeah, I worked hard to win. I hated losing almost more than anything. It was one thing to get outplayed, but causing my own downfall… That was hard to swallow.
“Depressurize. Stop worrying about scouts. And”—his gaze moved up the hill to where my dad sat in the parking lot watching and over to the cheerleaders practicing on the track before landing back on me—“get rid of distractions. Not even some cute cheerleader watching you from the sidelines.”
Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1) Page 3