“Here,” he said, showing her where the screw had jammed. She slipped her fingers into the compartment, but the screw wouldn’t budge.
“Forget it, this one’s a waste of time,” José said, standing and wiping his forehead. “I’m going to talk to Poppy. I think maybe we should just move it to the back. Tyler, why don’t you and Zoey go clean the lanes? Use the special cleaning equipment Poppy left in lane ten.”
He turned to Zoey. “Don’t use hand soap again. Poppy was pretty, ah, upset about it.”
She nodded.
“Patrick, let’s go install the laser lights at the entrance.”
“Okay,” Patrick said. “But then the team has to squeeze in another hour of practice.”
“Nooo. I’m good,” Tyler said, yawning. “I think I’ve peaked.”
“Maybe. But if you have, the extra practice won’t hurt. If you haven’t, then we can improve your performance. I don’t want a repeat of last year. We have to maximize your potential, Tyler,” Patrick said before heading with an extremely amused José to Poppy’s cramped office to pick up the laser lights that Poppy kept muttering were a tripping hazard. Tyler and Zoey walked over to the scuffed lanes.
“Tell you a secret?” Tyler asked.
“Sure,” Zoey said, wondering if he was about to confide a secret crush on somebody. If so, she hoped it was on Lacey since she already liked him.
“I’m excited for this championship, but I’m trying out for the baseball team too this year at school,” he said quietly.
“Oh, that’s great, Tyler!”
“Don’t tell Patrick though,” Tyler warned.
Zoey laughed. “There’s no way I’m telling Patrick. You can break his heart all on your own.”
Tyler’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not trying to hurt his feelings! That’s part of the problem. He takes bowling so personally. Like, dude, just because you want to go pro doesn’t mean we all do. For some of us, this is just supposed to be a fun hobby. And he’s extra hard on me because my mom’s a professional bowler. He expects me to, like, breathe bowling twenty-four seven. But I want to try other stuff too. High school’s not that far away. I have to start thinking ahead. If I do baseball, maybe I’ll be able to make the JV team in high school, you know?”
“I hear you,” Zoey said. “And I didn’t know your mom was a professional bowler. That’s so cool!”
Tyler smiled. “Yeah, but I swear she puts less pressure on me than Patrick!”
Zoey laughed, and they got to work oiling the lanes.
* * *
“How is it so easy for you to talk to guys?” Lacey asked Zoey later, as they stood on ladders pasting glow-in-the-dark stars to the bowling alley’s ceiling.
“I don’t know,” Zoey said. “Maybe because the people closest to me are all guys. José, Dad, Poppy. Especially José. Moving around so much, I haven’t had a chance to learn all of the girly stuff you and Isa are into.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” said Lacey dully. “I just wish I knew how to get Tyler to notice me. Like, we have nothing to talk about if it’s not about bowling. I turn into, like, a mouse if I’m alone with him. I get so tongue-tied. It’s pathetic.”
Zoey shrugged. “So, just don’t think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, pretend you don’t have a crush so you can just be yourself without getting nervous. You have tons of personality. And you’re definitely no mouse.”
Lacey laughed at that. “What do you talk about with Tyler and other guys?” she asked.
“Sports, mostly,” said Zoey, adding splashes of iridescent glittery paint to the spaces between the stars she’d stuck to the ceiling, and passing the paintbrush to Lacey to do the same.
“Sometimes we talk about books or movies. Music. Video games. Videos or memes that have gone viral online. With José, I talk about anything. But that’s different because he’s my brother. Sports are usually a safe bet, though, with a lot of guys. Do you like any sports besides bowling?”
Lacey thought about it. “Not really. Well actually, my dad got season tickets to the Yankees, so I started going to games with him this summer.”
“Awesome!” Zoey couldn’t even tell Lacey how perfect it was that she’d recently discovered an interest in baseball, for fear Lacey would spill Tyler’s secret to Patrick about trying out for the baseball team. “You should try talking to Tyler about baseball.”
“Are you sure? I don’t really know that much yet.”
“I’m sure. Aren’t you the one who told me I’m good at talking to guys?” Zoey shrugged.
“Yeah.”
“So listen to me,” Zoey said confidently.
“Haha. Okay,” Lacey said, handing the paintbrush back to Zoey to add more glitter to her part of the ceiling.
“I have a question for you, too.”
“What?”
Zoey hesitated. She wanted to ask Lacey for style tips, but Lacey could be so blunt with her opinions. What if she told Zoey she thought she was too ugly and a lost cause? Or what if Lacey didn’t insult Zoey’s looks, but urged her to buy a bunch of expensive clothes and accessories that she couldn’t afford? Then Zoey would feel doubly insecure about her both lacking fashion sense and lacking budget.
Then again, Zoey thought about how Lacey had trusted her enough to share her crush on Tyler. Maybe they were becoming real friends. And this wasn’t exactly the type of thing that Zoey could talk about with José or Poppy or Dad. Heck, she couldn’t even get ahold of Dad!
“How do you do the whole girly thing?”
“What is this ‘girly thing’ you speak of?” Lacey said, laughing. “Girls can do anything guys can do, and vice versa.”
Zoey took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain.
“I mean, like, I want to wear makeup and dress better, but I don’t really know what’ll look okay on me, you know? All I have are jeans and José’s old T-shirts. I don’t know how to do my hair or put on much makeup. Sometimes I just feel really ugly.”
“What? You’re definitely not ugly, and you’re being way too hard on yourself. Stop worrying about what other people think—just be you,” Lacey said. She then artfully pasted a few stars to the top of the wall so it looked like they were raining down from the ceiling.
“I know, but… I was wondering if maybe you could show me anyway?” Zoey asked quietly.
Lacey froze and stared at Zoey. “You want me to give you a makeover?!” she squealed.
They hadn’t so much as clicked through looks online yet, and the excited gleam in Lacey’s eyes already overwhelmed Zoey.
“I—” Zoey began.
Lacey let out an exaggerated gasp, cutting her off.
“We can go shopping this afternoon! Hang on, I’ll see if my dad or sister can give us a ride to the mall.” Lacey whipped her phone out of the pocket of her trendy denim romper.
“Wait! No! I can’t go to the mall today,” Zoey said quickly. “I, uh, I can’t really afford to buy any new clothes. I was just hoping maybe you could give me some tips on working with what I’ve got.”
Lacey stopped texting.
“No problem! Let’s go to my house later instead! I’ve got bags of old clothes I was going to donate. I can give them to you instead! You can keep whatever fits.”
Zoey cringed. “I’m not your charity case, Lacey!”
Lacey flashed Zoey her signature “you must have come from Mars” look. “Don’t be like that. We’re friends! Isa and I borrow each other’s clothes all the time.” Lacey held out her wrist and shook it. “This bracelet is Isa’s.”
“But I don’t have anything to lend you in return,” Zoey pouted.
“Actually you do,” Lacey said, twirling the elephant charms on the bangle she’d borrowed from Isa. “You were wearing a Yankees jersey the other day. Can I borrow that to go to the game with my dad?”
“Don’t you prefer to just buy your own?” Zoey asked.
“I was going to, but
yours has adorbs cut-outs on the sleeves and that crisscross lacing in the back. I couldn’t find anything that cool online. Where’d you get it?”
Zoey burst out laughing.
“A pen broke in my backpack and leaked red ink all over. I couldn’t get the stains out, so I cut up the jersey so it wouldn’t look gross.”
“No way! You’re, like, a super talented fashion designer!”
Zoey blushed.
“That’s, like, the only thing I’ve ever sewed in my life.”
Lacey continued staring at Zoey in awe.
“You should try sewing more stuff then.”
“Maybe,” Zoey said casually, starting to get excited. “But I have to help save Gonzo’s for Poppy first. And help you guys win the championship.”
Leaning on her ladder, Lacey put down the star she was about to glue to the ceiling and looked at Zoey appraisingly, reminding Zoey of how Isa had studied her the same way in the bathroom on the day they’d first met. Thoughtful, but not judging her.
“You’re such a nice person, it’s borderline annoying,” Lacey said finally.
“Huh?”
“You’re like Harry Potter with the savior complex. You’re always trying to help everyone. Your grandpa with Gonzo’s. Our team with bowling. Me with Tyler. Whatever. I know I shouldn’t get annoyed with you for being kind—being a good person is what matters most. Blah blah blah.”
“If being a good person matters so much, then why do so many people make such a big deal about how they look all the time?” Zoey said, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know—the world does seem to have it backward, don’t they?” Lacey admitted, twirling her ponytail pensively around her finger. After a brief pause she continued, “But I think you can be both—well dressed and a good person. My mom always says, ‘You see the frosting before you bite into the cake, so you may as well add sprinkles.’ ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That what’s inside is most important, but what you put on the outside sends a message too, so why not have fun with your style and figure out what clothes help you feel the most confident? That’s what I was saying the other day about picking a power outfit to wear on championship day,” Lacey said, adding more glitter to her side of the ceiling.
“Anyway,” Lacey continued, “I’m happy to help with a full makeover or just with picking out a power outfit. Let me know whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Zoey said.
Zoey went back to painting and quietly mulled over Lacey’s words, trying to ignore the little voice at the back of her mind that worried no outfit would ever look good enough to give her the kind of confidence she needed. But then, if what Lacey said was true, perhaps she didn’t need new clothes at all. Maybe she should just focus on trying to be confident without thinking at all about what she was wearing.
Hmmm. Zoey stuck another star on the ceiling and decided she didn’t have to make any decisions about it right now. She had enough on her plate already, what with practicing for the upcoming championship and helping Poppy. Once the championship was behind her and Gonzo’s was safe, then she’d revisit her feelings on fashion.
* * *
That afternoon, Isa invited Zoey over to her house to make flyers advertising the bowling championship and to spread the word online. Zoey braced herself to be intimidated by another mansion, but to her surprise, Isa’s narrow, two-story house looked almost exactly like Poppy’s—from the crisp gray exterior to the peeling white deck—and was only a few blocks away. She lived on the other side of the boardwalk, closer to the Triple Threat Chicken Café, with her parents, grandparents, and little twin siblings.
The inside of Isa’s house was chaos. Toddlers tossed Cheerios at each other from their matching high chairs. Her abuelo shouted at a Mets game on TV. Isa’s mom drank coffee from an enormous microwave-safe mug in one hand and toweled peanut butter out of the twins’ hair with the other. Stuffed animals, building blocks, and other toys covered nearly every inch of the floor. Nineties ballads blasted from an FM radio sitting atop the refrigerator.
“Hi, sweetie! Nice to meet you, Zoey,” Mrs. Levine called cheerily when the girls walked in the door. “We have some pastelitos de guayaba if you’re hungry.”
Zoey’s ears perked up. The widespread availability of pastelitos in Miami had been one of her favorite things about living there. Before that, she hadn’t eaten one of those delicious, flaky-dough pastries since before Mami passed away.
“Any other flavors besides guayaba?” Isa asked, frowning at the brown paper bag from the Cuban bakery sitting on the kitchen counter.
“I think some might have cheese only. The majority are guayaba and cheese though.”
“That sounds so yummy. My mom used to make pastelitos with guava and cheese,” Zoey said, her mouth watering.
“Then please, help yourself.” Mrs. Levine waved in the general direction of the kitchen, finished cleaning the twins’ hair, and popped fruit pouches in their mouths. She closed her eyes, wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, and took a long sip. In that second, one of the twins squirted his fruit pouch clear across the room, coating a lamp, the coffee table, and even Abuelo’s bald head in applesauce. Mrs. Levine sighed, drained her coffee, and balanced the cup on top of all the other dishes already waiting to be washed in the sink.
“You might want to take the pastelitos upstairs to Isa’s room where it’s a little more quiet,” she told the girls, grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess.
The stairs creaked as Isa and Zoey climbed. And Zoey nearly fell back down them when she spotted Isa’s grandma on the landing. For a second, Zoey thought she was seeing her own abuela, somehow back from the dead. Isa’s grandmother had the same hair-sprayed helmet of gray hair, gold-rimmed glasses, bright red jeans, and flowery, button-down blouse that Poppy’s late wife used to wear. The two must have shopped at the same stores and visited the same hairdresser.
“¡Ay! Good, Isa, you’re home,” her abuela said, clapping her hands together. “And who is your friend? I don’t think I meet her before? Hola, linda. You can call me Abuela Graciela, like Isa.” Abuela Graciela leaned in to give Zoey a quick peck on the cheek.
“Hi, I’m Zoey,” she said. “I’m on the bowling team with Isa.”
Up close, Zoey realized the resemblance between Abuela Graciela and her own grandmother was less pronounced than she’d originally thought in the dim light of the staircase. Abuela Graciela’s eyes were brown instead of blue. Her nose was smaller, and she had more wrinkles. Also, the flowers on her shirt were teensy yellow tulips. Zoey’s abuela’s flowered shirt had been patterned in pink rosebuds.
“¡Ven conmigo! I bought you azabaches for the whole team today,” Abuela Graciela said, pulling Isa into a hug.
“Why do we need azabaches for a bowling tournament?” Isa asked.
“For protection and good luck,” Abuela Graciela answered, as though it were obvious. She let Isa go and beckoned for the girls to follow her into the bedroom. She retrieved a beige purse big enough to fit a box of cereal. Abuela Graciela rummaged through her purse, pulling out her wallet, wads of crumpled-up tissues, and ten packets of Splenda before she finally found what she was looking for.
“Aha!” she said, brandishing a small, white cardboard box as a toy poodle came running down the hall and nipped at Zoey’s ankles. Zoey squealed, wondering if Poppy was the only person in New Jersey who did not own a loud little dog.
“He don’t bite. That’s Herman,” Abuela Graciela told Zoey, rolling her R and pronouncing the dog’s name errrr-man. Isa picked Herman up and gave him a snuggle.
“Okay, ya, los encontré. I find my azabaches now,” Abuela Graciela said, opening the door across the hall. “Let’s go to Isa’s room and I’ll give them to you.”
Zoey gasped. The walls in Isa’s room were light blue, and a painting of a tree reminiscent of a bedroom movie set grew out of the corner opposite a bed overflowing with pastel cushions. Tiny floa
ting shelves dotted the painted tree with three-dimensional ivory flowers and doves, as well as stacks of books and a teddy bear. Clouds floated across the ceiling, which was painted light blue too. A silhouette of the New York skyline tattooed the wide white dresser, which was topped with a luggage-size makeup case. In short, Isa’s room was as cool as its resident. Zoey glanced around enviously, wishing both that she could live somewhere long enough to decorate and that she could be as creative in her decor ideas as Isa.
Abuela Graciela pulled out two black onyx charms dangling from safety pins from her cardboard jewelry box. She handed one to Isa and one to Zoey.
“Wow! I haven’t seen one of these in so long! My mom and grandmother were Cuban too. They used to wear them,” Zoey said, gently stroking the azabache bead.
Isa tossed hers on the nightstand and rolled her eyes. “Abuela! This is silly. There’s no math or science to wearing an azabache for luck.”
“Shh,” Abuela Graciela said, as if she didn’t want the azabaches to hear and change their mind about helping Isa and her friends. “Didn’t Patrick break his finger after he saw that boy from the other team?”
“Yes,” Isa said, more impatiently than Zoey had ever heard her. “But that was because he was being dumb and showing off.”
“Sí, sí, of course showing off is bad, but también the mal de ojo is everywhere. A little protection can’t hurt. Listen to your grandma. I have experience,” she said, nodding wisely.
Isa rolled her eyes again, but her grandmother just turned to Zoey.
“Promise me you’ll give these to the rest of the team and make my stubborn nieta wear hers?” She handed Zoey the cardboard jewelry box with the rest of the charms.
“Oh, um, sure. Thank you!” Zoey said.
Isa’s grandmother smiled.
“Perfect.” She glanced up at the sun-shaped clock above Isa’s window. It was 7:05 p.m. “I’ll let you girls get to work,” she said, bolting out of the room so quickly she knocked over Isa’s desk chair.
The Dream Weaver Page 11