“Not that it’s any of your business, but Jasmeen and I had an equal marriage. I supported her dreams,” Dad said, spitting out the words like they were marbles that had been stuck in his throat for five years. “And she supported mine.”
“My daughter did everything,” Poppy said, his voice rising. “She raised the kids, kept house, and used her salary to bail you out of every mess you make. Equal marriage? You take all the dreams and leave her all the stress. That was equal? You work her to death! ¡Pobrecita! No wonder my baby had the heart attack at only thirty-nine.”
At this revelation, Zoey’s own heart nearly stopped. Mami’s death wasn’t Dad’s fault. It… it couldn’t be. Right? She glanced at José to see what he thought, but her brother looked as shocked as she felt. His eyes were wide, staring at Poppy.
“I won’t have you speak about me that way in front of my own children, Rafael,” Dad said, his voice low and deadly. His eyes narrowed into thin slits.
Poppy crossed his arms again and an angry train of Spanish words barreled from his lips. The only word Zoey caught was her mom’s name, Jasmeen.
But Dad stood up so fast his chair fell backward onto the brown linoleum floor with a loud bang. “How dare you!” Dad roared.
Zoey gaped at him, shocked by his sudden anger and surprised that he’d understood Poppy. She’d thought Dad, the only non-Cuban in their family, spoke even less Spanish than she did. After all, it was he who’d hidden away all of Mami’s Spanish music CDs when she died. Taken away every reminder of her culture—from the drawings of guardian angels beneath their mattresses to the hourglass-shaped cafetera Cubana she’d used to make strong coffee when Dad went on business trips. But apparently he understood plenty.
“This is my house, I can speak the truth as I see it!” Poppy shouted, getting to his feet now, fists balled at his sides. Both men leaned forward menacingly with only the wooden table between them.
Zoey’s family had always been loud. Really loud. Though their arguments were never physical. But now for the first time in her life, Zoey was afraid that Dad and Poppy might actually exchange blows.
“Stop it! Please! Mami wouldn’t want you to fight. Everyone just stop!”
Startled, Poppy and Dad glanced at Zoey as if they’d forgotten she and José were still listening. The invisible fishing line reeling them toward each other was suddenly, thankfully, broken. Dad took a step back. Blinking, Poppy began cleaning his glasses with a napkin.
“No more fighting,” Zoey ordered again, choking back tears. And then she bolted up the stairs to her mother’s old room.
* * *
“It’s going to be okay,” José told Zoey later. He was her third visitor that evening. Not long after their disaster of a dinner, Dad had shuffled in and sheepishly stroked her hair for a couple of minutes. Then he’d confirmed he was leaving early the next morning and asked her to text or call him every day. About an hour later, Poppy had checked in, mumbling about the importance of a good night’s sleep before vanishing into the local news and his nightly cup of manzanilla tea. It was the closest either of them would come to apologizing for upsetting her.
“No. It won’t,” Zoey answered without glancing up at José, who’d perched on the edge of her bed. “Dad’s moving without us, and Poppy’s losing his bowling alley. Everything sucks.”
Zoey couldn’t imagine not having Dad or José around, but soon—very, very soon—she’d have to get used to life without both of them. Zoey curled under the soft ivory quilt her grandmother had made for Mami, wishing she was one of the tiny embroidered birds on it. Birds never had to worry about their families falling apart.
“We can handle the bowling alley,” José said confidently. “I’ve been Googling all night. I’ll fix the broken machines in the arcade. You’ll help me. We’ll get the place running better than it has in years.”
Zoey grunted, her head still buried under Mami’s blanket. The Advil had long since worn off and the cramps were starting again. When would this day end?
“Come on, come out of there,” José said, yanking the quilt off her head. “Don’t worry about Dad, either. You know he’ll be back here in five minutes, chasing some new dream. Maybe this time with a motorcycle. That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“And we’ll be too busy helping Poppy to miss him.”
“I guess.”
“Aaaand,” José said, dragging the word out for dramatic effect, “at least we know we get to stay in one place for the summer. This might be an amazing opportunity to, like, you know, make new friends or something.”
“Or something,” Zoey repeated.
“I don’t know about you, but I get tired of hanging out with myself.”
“I don’t. I like hanging out with you,” Zoey said, her lips involuntarily lifting into a tiny smile. José grinned back and scooped Zoey into a quick hug before padding off soundlessly in his socks.
“I mean it,” Zoey called after José, feeling better.
“Good! Cause you’ll be seeing plenty of me when we grease that pinball machine tomorrow. Gotta work fast to finish before college starts,” he called back, making Zoey’s stomach cramp up again. She wished José hadn’t reminded her that he was leaving in a few weeks. That one way or another, the people she loved always left her behind.
4
The following morning was gray and rainy—it matched Zoey’s mood perfectly. She’d pretended to be asleep when Dad slipped into her room to say goodbye at the crack of dawn, because she thought it would be too painful to say the words, then cried at the window as she watched him leave. Now Zoey was trapped in the bowling alley, passing screwdrivers and wrenches to José, and wishing she could go outside and kick all her blah gray feelings into a reassuringly black-and-white soccer ball.
“Hammer?” José lay under the broken pinball machine. All Zoey could see of him was his legs and his hand sticking out.
He’d been working for three hours, and Zoey was starting to wonder whether trying to fix the pinball machine was pointless. Not just because José wasn’t a professional repairman and quite likely didn’t know what he was doing, but because, according to Poppy, Gonzo’s should’ve been busy on a rainy day like today. And it was totally empty. Apparently all the beachgoers had decided to stay home or go to the movies.
How would Zoey ever find Poppy more customers in time to save his bowling alley?
“Pliers?” José requested.
Zoey handed them over without glancing up from the picture of a soccer field she was doodling on a napkin. Even if the weather had been cooperating, Zoey didn’t know if there were any soccer fields near Poppy’s house. She might not be able to play soccer again until school started. Wherever that might be.
“I’m heading out to pick up la pizza,” Poppy called. “Mija, take care of the customers if any come.”
“Okay,” Zoey called back, watching her grandfather through the window as he opened his old blue umbrella beneath the overhang outside the bowling alley’s front door.
“He doesn’t sound like he thinks customers are coming,” she crouched down to whisper to José under the table.
“Why are you whispering? We’re the only two people here.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s why we’re trying to fix the place up, isn’t it?”
“I know. It’s just, I don’t know, shouldn’t Poppy care more? He doesn’t sound worried. And before the fight with Dad, he kept changing the subject every time I tried to talk to him about the bowling alley.”
“I think he just doesn’t want you to worry,” José said.
Ding! The bell on the door chimed. José stuck his head out from under the pinball machine and gently nudged Zoey’s dirty white sneaker with his toe.
“Maybe things are looking up. Go mind the counter while I keep working on this.” He disappeared beneath the machine again.
Sighing, Zoey got to her feet, then froze when she saw Fashion Girl—the one
who’d helped her yesterday—chatting animatedly with another girl. There were also two boys with them. They leaned over the shoe rental counter, craning their necks to find an employee. Feeling her face flush, Zoey slid quickly behind the cash register.
“Hi, guys. Welcome to Gonzo’s. How can I help you?” Zoey said, imitating the bright, professional voice she remembered Abuela always used with customers before she got too sick to help Poppy in the bowling alley a couple of summers ago.
The taller boy had wide brown eyes flecked with hazel, dark skin, and a solemn expression that made him seem both cute and slightly mysterious. “We need to rent shoes and a bowling lane,” he said, putting a wad of bills down on the counter. “I’ll take a size nine.”
Zoey nodded.
“I’ve never seen you in here before,” the shorter boy said. He was pale, with straight brown hair that fell into his glasses and a round face that curved easily into a grin.
“This place belongs to my grandpa. I’m just visiting for the summer,” Zoey explained.
She wondered as the words came out of her mouth whether they were true. Would Dad make good on his promise to let her move back in with him when he got settled in the city? Or would she live alone with Poppy forever while José was in college and Dad was off selling motorcycles or chasing some new dream?
“That’s so cool! You’re, like, the luckiest person ever to spend all your time in a fun place like this.”
He looked around appreciatively, grinning at the sign for Skee-Ball. Zoey glanced around too, remembering when she used to think her mom was the luckiest for having been raised as the princess of her parents’ arcade. Parties and prizes and games galore! Now though, she wondered how much time and effort had gone into keeping this place nice all those years. While Zoey got the shoes, she stole a glance at the girls, who were preoccupied with showing each other videos on their phones. They looked like they’d just stepped out of Forever 21 or H&M or some other fabulous website in their sparkly leggings and perfectly applied eye shadow and neon nail polish. Fashion Girl with the purple highlights wore a pink plaid shirt that somehow managed to look chic instead of like a tablecloth. Her snooty friend’s long blond hair was tied in two perfect French braids. Bright beaded bracelets that matched her yellow and green nail polish encircled Snooty Friend’s wrists. They’re like walking fields of daisies, bursting with color, Zoey thought. Next to them, Zoey felt like a lima bean plant. Bland and boring.
She gave the boys their shoes. The girls stepped up to the counter next, and Zoey couldn’t avoid eye contact with Fashion Girl any longer.
“Hey! It’s you! How’re you doing?” Fashion Girl grinned at Zoey.
“You guys know each other?” the other girl asked. Her tone sounded surprised. The way she looked Zoey up and down from head to toe made Zoey even more self-conscious about her frizzy ponytail and her faded superhero tee that she’d inherited from José.
“We just met when my mom took me shopping for sunblock and stuff yesterday. Before we went to the beach,” Fashion Girl told Snooty Friend, then winked at Zoey, as if to assure her she wasn’t going to tell anyone about helping Zoey through her first period. Zoey’s stomach unclenched a little. Maybe her secret was safe.
“Oh,” Snooty Friend said, losing interest. She glanced at the shoe bins behind Zoey. “Size seven.”
Zoey nodded and grabbed a pair.
“I’m Isabelle Levine, by the way, but you can call me Isa,” Fashion Girl told Zoey when Zoey found her size. “And that’s Lacey Johnston.” Hearing her name, Snooty Friend half-smiled and half-waved from the bench where she laced up her shoes.
“That’s Patrick Donoway. He’s captain of our bowling team.” Isa tilted her head toward the taller guy. “And last but not least, that’s Tyler Tate.” The boy with the round face offered Zoey a friendly wave.
“Oh, uh, nice to meet you guys. My name is Zoey Finolio.” Zoey smiled shyly at the group and led them to the bowling lane that was the least scuffed.
Lacey immediately walked over to the automatic scorer for their lane and pushed the buttons. The screen over their heads stayed blank.
“Is this thing working? It wasn’t last time we bowled.”
“Sorry, I think that computer’s still down. But all the lanes are open. Here, let me just…” Zoey trailed off, pressing the button down hard on the scorer for the lane beside them, praying silently it would turn on. The screen above jumped to life, asking for the first player to enter his or her name.
“Here, this scorer connects you to lane seven,” Zoey said. Patrick sat down to type in his name. Tyler began picking up the different bowling balls, testing their weight in his hands.
“We should go back to the alley with the black light and music,” Lacey whispered loudly to Isa behind Zoey’s back.
“That place was too crowded,” Tyler groaned, settling on a sleek white ball with red swirls that reminded Zoey of an enormous baseball and practicing his bowling moves in the corner.
“And it was way too hard to see,” Patrick said, standing up and stretching his legs. “I’m done typing. Who’s next?”
Isa sat down to enter her name into the computer.
“Plus, it’s cheap here, and no one from the competition can see our moves or try to steal them.” Patrick picked up a fluorescent yellow ball and mimed rolling a strike. Lacey rolled her eyes and whipped out her phone from her pocket.
“Fine, but I’m sure we can find another place that’s easier to practice in and isn’t a dump.” Lacey flipped one of her perfect French braids over her shoulder.
Zoey had heard enough.
“This place is not a dump. It’s been here more than forty years—it’s an institution. If you don’t like it, there’s the door,” Zoey said, pointing. “Take your money back and get out!”
Hands on her hips, Zoey glared at Lacey. But, though she refused to show it, Zoey regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth. Poppy needed every paying customer, even the rude ones. How could she turn away good money? She should have just gritted her teeth and ignored Lacey. For her part, Lacey glanced up from her phone with an incredulous expression, like she thought Zoey was a space alien who’d just landed in front of her from Mars. Patrick stood up, panic written all over his face.
“Please don’t kick us out. I’m sorry, and Lacey is sorry,” he said.
Lacey opened her mouth as if to protest, but Patrick cut her off with a warning look.
“I’m captain of our bowling team, and I take responsibility for all my members. Lacey is sorry,” he said pointedly, before Lacey could speak. He turned to glare at her again, and this time Lacey shut her mouth. “We want to stay and bowl, okay?”
“Okay,” Zoey said quietly.
“Why don’t you play with us?” Isa asked, smoothly inserting herself between Lacey and Zoey. “I bet you’re really good!”
Zoey blushed. “Oh, uh, actually I—”
“Pizza’s here!” Poppy called, sailing in the front door with two big boxes. He lit up when he saw Zoey and the group of kids. “I got plain cheese and veggie. You guys want some? ¡Ven y come! Plenty to go around.”
“Awesome! I’m starving,” Tyler said, returning his bowling ball to the rack and heading straight over to Poppy. “Thank you.”
“Me too,” Isa said. “Come on, Lace.”
Lacey’s lips flared in a duck pout, but she grudgingly followed Isa.
“Thanks, Poppy,” Zoey said. “I’ll go get some plates and napkins.”
The little café at the far back of the arcade used to be a favorite spot for locals and a hidden gem for tourists. Zoey walked past the empty dining area, recalling a time when every table had been filled and some customers had to stand to eat. Inside the kitchen, Zoey flipped on a light. There were cobwebs everywhere and dust on the appliances. Zoey blinked back tears, imagining the kitchen as it had once been. Mami and Abuela working alongside each other, chopping and dicing and stirring, perfectly in sync. Abuela shouting out or
ders, to be heard above the radio. Even though Mami was the amazing trained chef in the outside world, Abuela’s word was the only one that had mattered in here.
Abuela was the best, Zoey thought, remembering how easily and efficiently her grandmother dealt with people. Once, a cranky old guy slipped and fell in his bowling lane. He hadn’t suffered more than a bruised butt, and it was his own fault for crossing the foul line, but he yelled insults and threats all the same. Until Abuela brought him ice, chatted with him for a little while, and gave him a hamburger on the house. They were laughing like old friends by the end of the night. And then there was the time Abuela hosted a reality TV crew and sweet-talked the producers into coming back to film the birthday party of a cast member’s daughter in the arcade. After the show aired, Zoey remembered Mami saying the publicity had really put Gonzo’s on the map. There was still a bulletin board pinned with photos of Zoey’s grandparents and the reality TV stars hanging up near the front counter of the bowling alley.
Overcome by a rush of longing for her grandmother, Zoey wished she could ask Abuela about how to save Gonzo’s. After all, she and Poppy had run it together for decades. Zoey took a deep breath to keep herself from crying, and went over to a supply closet near the back of the kitchen in search of paper goods. When she was younger, she’d been forbidden from actually setting foot in here, for fear that she might be burned or hurt by accident. But every so often Zoey had still stuck her head inside to watch and take a big whiff of the tantalizing smells coming from the pots on the stove. It felt strange now to be so near the oven; she kept waiting for Abuela to appear and chase her out with a spatula.
The Dream Weaver Page 4