The Dream Weaver

by Reina Luz Alegre

  Zoey’s shoulders slumped. Her fake stomachache was certainly becoming more real.

  “But I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was mean, and what I said wasn’t true. And I’m sure Lacey doesn’t want me to go bowling with you guys today. So I’ll just go home anyway,” Zoey said, turning away to unlock her phone and text José.

  “What? No, stop,” Isa said. “Don’t go home. When Lacey wakes up, just talk this out with her. Honestly, Lacey’s probably just jealous of you.”

  “Jealous of me?” Zoey glanced up doubtfully at the turrets topping Lacey’s mansion. How could anyone like Lacey with a family fortune and a closet full of the latest fashions envy Zoey in her hand-me-down T-shirts?

  “Yeah. I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to swear you won’t repeat it,” Isa said, looking through the glass patio door to make sure no one else was coming outside.

  “Okay,” Zoey said curiously.

  Isa leaned closer, speaking in a hushed tone lest the hibiscus bush overhear.

  “Lacey has a huge crush on Tyler, but she doesn’t think he sees her as more than just a friend. She’s probably jealous that you guys hit it off so quickly.”

  Huh. And here Zoey had thought Lacey’s crush was on handsome, mysteriously serious Patrick. She wondered why someone as pretty and stylish as Lacey would go for a chubby, messy guy like Tyler. Then she immediately felt bad for judging based on appearances. Tyler was friendly and sweet. Totally crush-worthy. If not Zoey’s type, personally.

  “I mean, Tyler and I are just friends. There’s nothing for Lacey to be jealous of.”

  “So then stay!” Isa said. “Just apologize to Lacey for whatever you said, and she’ll probably apologize back. I know she comes across a little shallow at first, but I’ve been friends with Lacey a long time—since kindergarten. She has a good heart. You can fix this. I mean, you don’t just go running off whenever things get hard, do you?” Isa asked, rhetorically. Like the answer was so clearly “no” that she didn’t expect Zoey to disagree.

  “Oh, um, yeah, you’re right,” Zoey replied, wondering if that was what Dad did. Quit every job and business the second it got hard. He still hadn’t texted her back, and she’d messaged him three more times since her failed bake sale. When he’d left for his new job selling motorcycles in Manhattan, Zoey had been mad at him. Had Dad stuck her in the “too hard to bother with” category?

  The possibility hurt to think about, but strengthened Zoey’s resolve to take Isa’s advice and work things out with Lacey. She definitely didn’t want to handle things the way Dad was.

  * * *

  Zoey and Isa climbed the grand spiral staircase that grew like Rapunzel’s tower from the corner of Lacey’s enchanted forest of a living room. Every step was agony as Zoey worried about what she’d say to Lacey. In the bedroom, Lacey was now awake, sitting up in her four-poster bed, its frame shaped like a horse-drawn carriage. With a reassuring smile from Isa, Zoey marched over and took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry for what I said by the pool yesterday. It was mean and not true,” she apologized, the words coming out all in a rush.

  Lacey looked at her thoughtfully before turning back her covers and standing up. She stared at Zoey for a long moment before saying, “I’m sorry too. Let’s start over, okay?”

  Then, to Zoey’s surprise, Lacey hugged her! Zoey let out the breath she’d been holding, hugging Lacey back.

  “I’d like that,” Zoey said. From over Lacey’s shoulder, Zoey saw Isa giving her two thumbs up.

  When Lacey stepped back she smiled and said, “I’m starving. Who wants breakfast?” And then she disappeared out the door. Isa laughed and followed her. Zoey hung back for a moment though, still amazed at how easily Lacey had forgiven her. What if it could be that easy for her family? What if her Poppy just said he was sorry and hugged it out with Dad? What if José let the past go and told Dad he wanted to start over? But then another thought dawned on Zoey. What about Dad? Maybe he owed an apology, too. Zoey grabbed up her cell phone from by her sleeping bag—still no texts from him. Yes, he owes me an apology, Zoey decided, then pocketed her phone and ran to catch up with her friends.

  Downstairs, Lacey’s dad made chocolate chip pancakes from scratch in their enormous, light wood kitchen. The smell alone deposited Zoey in the stratosphere. When she took a bite, the taste catapulted her the final stretch to the moon. By the time they needed to get ready to meet Tyler and Patrick at the new bowling alley, the girls were all smiles. Lacey even showed Zoey how to put on eye shadow. Zoey felt grown-up and if not beautiful, then something approaching pretty, in the borrowed navy powder that clung subtly to her upper lash line, making her brown eyes look larger than usual.

  Unfortunately, the new bowling alley was amazing. Clean and shiny and busy. Everything Poppy’s bowling alley needed to be, but wasn’t. Zoey tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard not to resent the bustling and fully functional arcade where they killed time playing air hockey and laser games while waiting for a lane to open up. Finally, after forty-five minutes, one did.

  “You never have to wait for a lane at Gonzo’s,” Zoey couldn’t help mentioning to Patrick, whispering so Lacey wouldn’t overhear. “That’s almost a whole hour of practice time you lost today.”

  He frowned, nodding seriously. Zoey turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile, silently congratulating herself for putting Poppy’s alley back in the running for future practice sessions. She glanced around the new bowling alley, noting the average customer was around their age. The group of guys next door in lane seven wore matching green tees. She wondered if they were competing in the Summer Big Bowl Championship too, and asked Tyler.

  Tyler frowned when he spotted the guys in green shirts. “The Lightning Strikers. They actually won last year.”

  “They have a team name?” Zoey asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, a super boring, cliché one,” Tyler scoffed. “Lightning strike. Bowling strike. So… expected.”

  “Does your team have a name? How come I haven’t heard it before?”

  Tyler laughed. “Because we couldn’t agree. We chose our team name out of a plastic cup with everyone’s suggestion written on a folded piece of paper inside. The winner was Isa’s.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Curve Breakers,” Isa answered for Tyler, walking up to them. “Get it? Because we’re A-plus bowlers, above the curve, and also because the best bowlers know how to manipulate angles and curves. A totes brilliant name, if I do say so myself!”

  “Meh,” Tyler shrugged, and Isa poked an elbow in his ribs.

  “Whatever,” he said, playfully batting her elbow away. “I liked the Whizzes, like a play on how the ball whizzes down the lane and we’re smart whizzes who bowl the best. But Isa and Lacey thought Whizzes would make people think of peeing,” Tyler said grumpily.

  “It kind of does,” Zoey said, laughing. “Sorry, Ty.”

  “Patrick!” the tallest and blondest of the Lightning Strikers shouted, noticing Zoey and her friends.

  Patrick looked up and when he saw who’d called his name, he sucked in his breath and stood up straighter. The expression on his face made it clear Patrick wished he hadn’t run into this guy, even as he gave him a friendly fist bump. Close to six feet tall and broader than any eighth grader she’d ever seen before, the blond guy reminded Zoey of a Viking. She could easily picture him in an iron helmet, setting sail from some snowy, seafaring town a thousand years ago to conquer the Atlantic.

  “Hey there, Eric.” Patrick forced a smile. “What’s up?”

  Ignoring Patrick’s question, Eric the Viking (as Zoey privately nicknamed him) glanced past Patrick at his friends. His eyes lingered on Lacey, Isa, and Zoey.

  “Lots of girls on your team this year, huh?”

  Patrick shrugged, acknowledging as much.

  “Too bad.”

  “Excuse me?!” Lacey, Isa, and Zoey exclaimed in unison. Beside them, Patrick and Tyler tensed.

  “I just mean,
you know, sports usually aren’t coed because guys are so much better than girls. It isn’t fair for them to compete in the same league,” Eric the Viking said, smirking.

  “You gotta be kidding,” Lacey said.

  “Yeah,” Tyler jumped in. “Our best player is Isa, and she’s a girl.”

  “All I’m saying is no chick from the WNBA competes with the guys in the NBA Finals,” Eric said. Then he leaned down leisurely to steal a sip from Zoey’s soda next to the screen keeping track of the scores.

  “Hey, don’t be such a jerk!” Isa yelled, but Eric was already heading back over to his friends. Zoey stared at the back of his head, her blood boiling. It took all her self-control to not snatch up the cup and go pour it down the back of Eric’s shirt. That soda had cost three bucks, and she couldn’t afford to replace it after failing to recoup most of her savings on the ill-fated Gonzo’s bake sale.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll show him,” Patrick promised, gritting his teeth. Zoey wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or the girls.

  In the lane beside them, Eric picked up a sleek orange bowling ball and tossed it into the air like it was a basketball before catching it smoothly, rolling a perfect strike, and returning to a series of smug high-fives and laughs from his pals.

  “Anyone can do that,” Patrick called out loud enough for Eric to hear.

  “Oh yeah?” Eric raised a lazy eyebrow at him in challenge. “You do it then.”

  Patrick’s fingers clenched around the canary yellow bowling ball he’d just picked up.

  “Your ball looks like Big Bird, so sure, I’ll believe it can fly,” Eric taunted.

  “Seriously? Is that the best insult you can come up with?” Lacey called. “Everyone knows Big Bird doesn’t fly!”

  Patrick glanced back at the rack behind them. Zoey guessed he was thinking about choosing another ball in a less remarkable hue. But then he squared his shoulders and marched up to the foul line instead. It seemed he’d decided to own his bright yellow color choice, and Zoey was proud he hadn’t given in to Eric’s bullying.

  But then Patrick tossed his bowling ball a couple of inches into the air and caught it.

  “We’re going to win this thing. Easy,” Patrick vowed, talking to his team but staring straight ahead.

  “Dude, you know that’s not actually a basketball, right?” Lacey said.

  “Don’t show off,” Isa said, shooting Eric some serious side-eye. “It’s not worth it.”

  “Actually that ball looks more like the candy my nana used to keep in her purse,” Eric called in a teasing tone, ignoring Isa and focusing on Patrick. “Tasted like lemon and honey. Good for sore throats.”

  “I have the best team in New Jersey. There’s nothing anyone on any team can do that we can’t do better,” Patrick declared, eyeing his teammates, but still speaking loudly so that the Lightning Strikers would overhear. He tossed the ball again, higher. But this time it was at a weird angle.

  The rest all happened so fast. The ball came plummeting down and Patrick dove to catch it out of reflex. But he slipped on the gleaming, slick wood floor, falling hard. Patrick yelped in pain as the ball landed a second later, clipping his fingers. Zoey and the others immediately rushed forward as behind them, Zoey heard the other team chuckling.

  “Are you okay?” Isa asked.

  “What were you thinking, dude?” Tyler said.

  Breathing heavily, Patrick slowly stood up. The index finger on his right hand was bent the wrong way and his middle and ring fingers were quickly swelling and turning a dark shade of purple. His face crumbled as he looked down at his hands. Patrick whimpered, biting the inside of his cheeks. His eyes glistened, and Zoey could tell he was doing his best not to cry.

  A moment later, a man and woman wearing employee shirts showed up. “Someone saw him fall and came to get us,” the man said. “Are you all right?”

  “My fingers. I think they’re broken,” Patrick gasped, squeezing his eyes in pain.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Tyler said softly.

  “I broke my index finger before,” he said haltingly. “I remember what it felt like. I know. And this time it might be more than one.” Grimacing, he tried to wiggle his phone out of his pocket with his left hand, but stopped abruptly, letting out a groan. “I’ll tell you the number. Can someone please call my dad to come pick me up? Practice is over for today.”

  9

  The next morning Zoey was stunned to find every member of the Curve Breakers—even Patrick—waiting to greet her outside Gonzo’s.

  “You kids are the first customers I have in a while who get up to bowl when we open at nine a.m.,” Poppy said, sounding impressed. He lifted the metal shutter and unlocked the front door. “Come on in.”

  “How’re you feeling?” Zoey asked, eyeing the new splint on Patrick’s index finger and the tape wrapped around the other two fingers.

  “Awful,” Patrick said. He glared down at his hand like it had just abandoned him on an old-timey battlefield as the enemy’s trumpet sounded. “Thankfully, only one is broken but the other two are badly sprained and I’m not allowed to move them. I can’t bowl like this. And I’ve never been able to knock down a single pin with my other hand. I’m out.”

  He stared down at the floor dejectedly.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zoey said. She knew how much playing in the championship meant to him.

  He exhaled heavily. “I should never have let Eric get in my head like that. I’ve put the whole team in jeopardy.” But then he looked up at her.

  “Zoey, we need you to please fill in at the championship for me,” Patrick said.

  Everyone nodded and Zoey took a step back, overwhelmed.

  “What? Me? But I’m not a good bowler,” Zoey protested.

  “You’re not. Not yet anyway. But it doesn’t matter. You’re literally the only person who could fill in. The fifth member of our team in our school league is at sleepaway camp until August,” Patrick said, looking down at his splint and closing his eyes.

  “And you are a good bowler,” Isa said, aiming a pointed look at Patrick.

  Isa then smiled encouragingly at Zoey. “You’ve improved so much since the first day we met. Plus, I can give you more tips!”

  “So can I,” Tyler said, rallying. “Please. We need you.”

  “We really do,” added Lacey, swallowing hard like she was trying not to cry. “We’ll have to forfeit if we don’t have four bowlers. Mr. Martin was really strict when he drew up his summer championship rules. And we’ve worked so hard already. Please do it, Zoey.”

  Zoey sat down on the bench and started massaging her forehead, wishing she could rub hard enough to smooth down all the conflicting thoughts running through her brain. The last thing she needed was another problem on her plate. Did she have the time to figure out a way to save Gonzo’s for Poppy and learn to bowl well enough to participate in a championship? What if she said yes to Patrick and then played terribly on game day? She didn’t want to let down her friends. She’d never had friends count on her like this. Then again, even if her game was off, any little bit she could help the team score would be better than forfeiting all together, right?

  “Who’s Mr. Martin?” Zoey asked, hoping to buy herself more time before she had to make her decision.

  “This old guy who used to own another bowling center, and left a chunk of money in his will to keep the Summer League going,” Patrick explained. “He actually founded it a million years ago for his own kids to have something to do in the summer.”

  “The championship used to be held at his bowling center,” Tyler jumped in. “That’s where we practiced last summer. It was next to the mall. But he died and his family sold the land, and the bowling center’s being torn down to make condos.”

  “Oh, and did we mention the cash prize?” Isa asked excitedly.

  Zoey’s ears perked up.

  “Cash prize?”

  “Mr. Martin left a cash prize for the winner of the tournament—t
wo thousand dollars! If we win, the five of us will split the prize evenly. We think Patrick should still get his share because he’s our captain and is coaching us,” Lacey said.

  Hope ballooned in Zoey’s chest, edging out the nerves. She knew that four hundred dollars wasn’t enough to pay off Poppy’s mortgage and stave off Mr. Silos, but hey, it couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay, I’m in so long as everyone keeps their expectations super low,” Zoey said, smiling shyly. “And try to feel better soon, Patrick.”

  “We’re going to teach you everything we know,” he promised, rubbing the splint on his finger.

  “I’ll do my best,” Zoey promised. “But, uh, can we chill a little? I mean, this is just bowling, right?”

  She laughed nervously. But Patrick’s gaze remained blank and humorless.

  “This is serious, Zoey,” he said, staring at her intensely as if they were about to face the apocalypse and Zoey alone could ensure the survival of the human race.

  “Oh yeah, I mean, I know,” Zoey said, trying to match his somber tone. The butterflies in her stomach morphed into dinosaurs. And then those dinosaurs unearthed a soccer ball and turned Zoey’s entire digestive tract into their own personal stadium. “I’m, ah, just going to go grab my lucky bowling ball.”

  “Hey, Zoey?” Tyler said, following her. He handed her the multicolored ball he knew she liked from the biggest rack in the corner of the alley. The ball was blue with swirls of green, brown, and white, and reminded Zoey of a globe designed to look like abstract art. She’d nicknamed it her Earth Ball, and loved how holding it and heaving its heft down the lane made her feel powerful. Like she not only had the whole world in her hands, but could send it whizzing off to do her bidding whenever she wanted. Now she just had to figure out how to make it roll strikes.