The Dream Weaver

by Reina Luz Alegre

  “Okay, maybe we can agree that we all have insecurities?” Isa offered tentatively.

  “Yeah,” Zoey agreed. “But I still don’t know if I like any of these shirts.”

  “Hey, I just thought of something,” Isa said. “What are the boys supposed to wear tomorrow if we buy any of these shirts for ourselves? Shouldn’t we all match?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Lacey said. “We could ask the guys to wear the same color we choose. Patrick will probably want to match even if he’s not playing, since he’s captain.”

  “I guess just asking them to wear a shirt in the color that we pick could work,” Isa said slowly.

  “What’d you guys wear last summer?” Zoey asked.

  “Patrick ordered us plain yellow shirts. They were kind of boring,” Lacey said.

  “Do you want to wear last summer’s shirts? I can borrow Patrick’s if he still has his since I’m bowling, and he can wear another one of his yellow shirts,” Zoey asked hopefully. “And we can get back to work faster.” She checked her watch. “It’s been an hour since we left Gonzo’s.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Lacey said, sounding disappointed.

  “Perfect!” Zoey exclaimed. She hung her tops on the return rack in the hallway leading to the fitting rooms and marched out before Lacey could change her mind. “Let’s go!”

  * * *

  The shopping trip had ended on a better note than Zoey had dared hope for, but she still felt more in her element when they came back to the welcoming scents of lane oil and cleaning supplies at Gonzo’s. By midnight, they’d dried the flooded areas, touched up the paint, waxed the lanes, replaced the broken front door, and even fixed the stubborn Skee-Ball machine. Isa and her abuela Graciela wove together a festive arch with the blue and red balloons left over from the twins’ last birthday party, and Tyler’s mom lent them her bowling trophies and memorabilia from her past competitions to display around the alley.

  By the time Zoey skipped home with Poppy and José, Gonzo’s was belle of the ball, as far as bowling alleys went. Charmingly retro. Optimally situated at the boardwalk’s entrance. Beautifully dressed in fresh paint and a new sign advertising tasty fare from the Triple Threat Chicken Café. Yes, they’d successfully Cinderella’d Poppy’s bowling alley. Zoey drifted off to a deep sleep in a heady haze of accomplishment.

  * * *

  The next morning she woke at dawn to insistent knocking on Poppy’s front door.

  “Your friends are here!” Poppy called up the stairs.

  Zoey raced down in her pajamas to find Isa and Lacey clutching bags filled with T-shirts, fabric paints, and sewing materials.

  “Fashion emergency. We think we need something better than the shirts we lost in last year,” Lacey said, breathlessly breezing past Zoey and dumping her bags on the couch. “Something to make us more confident.”

  “Seriously?” Zoey said.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Isa.

  “I just know nothing ever looks good on me, so why waste the time trying?” Zoey said, yawning.

  “This again? Come on, what are you talking about?” asked Lacey.

  “Okay, you know how you’re always saying that power outfits are supposed to make you feel even more confident? Well, I don’t love how most clothes look on me. And I don’t think I could be very confident, even if I did have a cool outfit.”

  “Zoey, who organized us all to fix up the bowling alley?” Lacey asked.

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “Just answer the question, Zo.”

  “Fine. Yes. I did do that.”

  “Exactly. And who convinced your Poppy to keep trying to save his business?” Isa chimed in.

  “Me,” Zoey said, smiling in embarrassment.

  “Who stood up to your dad and told him you were staying here?” Lacey said.

  “I did,” Zoey said, looking down at her fuzzy frog slippers. She’d told Lacey and Isa about her talk with Dad on the way home from the mall yesterday.

  “Right. Now, I don’t know anyone who could have done any of those things if they didn’t already have confidence.”

  Zoey had to admit they had a point, but something was still bothering her. “Yeah, I guess so. But then why don’t I feel confident in certain clothes?”

  “You just haven’t spent enough time experimenting. It’s like bowling—you needed to practice before you were halfway decent. You have plenty of time to figure out what ‘your look’ is. You don’t need to rush it and have everything figured out,” Lacey said.

  Zoey recalled how Poppy had said the same thing about choosing a dream. She should take her time to figure things out at her own pace.

  “Yeah, and what you like to wear will change, too,” Isa said. “I used to hate polka dots. Until I saw this top, and then suddenly I needed them in my life yesterday.” She stretched out the hem of her pink tee, which was covered in big black polka dots.

  The girls laughed.

  “Thanks, you guys,” Zoey said. She dug into a nearby drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. “Lacey, I can make that crisscross pattern you like so much on your T-shirt.”

  “Oh, let’s do it on our three T-shirts so we match!” Isa exclaimed.

  “What about the boys’ shirts?” Zoey said.

  “I think we can have some details that make them unique to us. But let’s write CURVE BREAKERS on the front so we have some uniformity, too,” Isa suggested.

  “Ooo, and we can capitalize the A in ‘Breakers’ and add a little plus sign on top, like, because an A-plus breaks the curve,” Zoey said, starting to get excited about the rainbow of fabric paints and markers Lacey was unpacking onto the old newspapers she’d spread on Poppy’s dining room table.

  “I love that,” Lacey said, fishing out the red fabric marker.

  Zoey moved the bowl of wax fruit to the top of the fridge to make room for their fashion project. “Okay, let’s do this!”

  * * *

  Later that morning, Zoey’s hands were almost too sweaty to properly grip her bowling ball. She loved the matching shirts they’d designed, but she still had butterflies in her stomach.

  “I’m so nervous I think I’m going to barf,” she whispered. She’d waited till Patrick was out of earshot, walking from lane to lane to shake hands with the captains of all ten competing teams.

  “Don’t worry. You got this. It’s all math and science. Just remember your angles,” Isa said, giving Zoey’s hand a squeeze.

  “And remember that I lost the whole thing last year after practicing for months, and a small part of Patrick will always, always hate me more than you, no matter how badly you mess up today,” Tyler said cheerfully. Isa and Lacey shot him dark looks.

  “If, I mean if you mess up,” Tyler quickly backpedaled.

  Isa rolled her eyes. Lacey fished out a bracelet strung together from translucent blue, green, white, and brown beads that matched Zoey’s Earth Ball. “Here. You’re color-coordinated now,” Lacey said, winking. “I made this especially for you this morning while you were changing at Poppy’s house.”

  “And don’t forget you’ve got the azabache pinned to your shirt too,” Patrick said, sneaking up behind Zoey and grinning down at the matching azabache pinned to his own tee.

  Zoey jumped. She didn’t realize Patrick had overheard.

  Tyler laughed.

  “C’mon man, you believe in good luck charms?”

  “Lucky azabaches. Lucky jeans. Even lucky carrot sticks.”

  “Carrot sticks?” Isa raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve eaten carrot sticks before every game we’ve won,” Patrick said. He unzipped his backpack, took out a clear, resealable plastic bag full of carrots, and began nibbling them nervously, reminding Zoey of a bunny rabbit. She burst out laughing.

  “Laugh away. Last year I didn’t eat carrots. You made fun of me and made me feel dumb,” he said, nodding at Tyler. “And we lost at the last minute.”

  “What’d you snack on
instead of carrots?” Zoey asked curiously.

  “Graham crackers. Tyler’s graham crackers. The graham crackers were bad luck.” Patrick shook his head mournfully.

  Tyler shook his own head and groaned at Zoey. “You see? You’re golden next to me.”

  “You monster,” Zoey deadpanned back. “You cookie monster.”

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  * * *

  Joking around with her friends relaxed Zoey. By the time it was her turn, she didn’t hesitate. She marched up to that lane like she owned it (which, technically, her family did—if only for a little while longer), slid one leg behind the other, assumed proper form, and rolled her favorite Earth Ball at a perfect curve. Earth Ball had never traveled that fast or steadily when it left her hands. But today, all ten pins crashed to the ground on impact. Zoey didn’t know if it was the carrots, the azabache on her shirt, or just all the hard work she’d put into practicing, but she let out a whoop! The crowd went bananas too. It was early yet, but her strike tipped the score in their favor. Patrick was so happy he picked Zoey up and swung her in a circle. And Lacey, Isa, and Tyler jumped on top of them for a group hug.

  “THAT WAS AMAZING!” Lacey hollered.

  “And to think you were just an itty bitty bowling baby before I taught you everything I know,” Tyler teased.

  Zoey’s first strike ever on her first turn in the championship gave the Curve Breakers momentum. From that point on, they decimated team after team until it was down to the last two, and they found themselves head-to-head against the Lightning Strikers for the final round.

  “Good luck guys,” Eric called haughtily. “You’re going to need it.”

  “Good luck yourself,” Patrick shot back.

  When Isa’s turn came, she bowled a strike easily and mimed blowing on her nails to dry them as she pranced back to her seat. Then she bowed to the crowd before sitting down next to Zoey and leaning over to whisper, “This guy who looks like José, but way older and wearing a really tacky flamingo shirt, is standing in the back staring at us. Is that your dad?”

  “Huh?” Zoey craned her neck to see where Isa was pointing. Then she spotted him. Yup, that was Dad all right. He waved when their eyes met, and beckoned for Zoey to come over to him, all the way on the other side of Gonzo’s, next to the Skee-Ball machine.

  Was Dad seriously planning on trying to make her leave in the middle of the championship—in the final round, no less? She wasn’t going to leave, but Zoey grudgingly realized she should at least find out what Dad wanted. Luckily, the Lightning Strikers would bowl before it was her turn again.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Isa firmly, and slipped off the bench. Zoey gritted her teeth as she approached, staring down at Dad’s sneakers until they were immediately in front of her.

  “I saw that first strike, kiddo. You’re really good,” he said softly, surprising her.

  She glanced up. Dad’s eyes were red and puffy, like he’d been crying. Zoey rocked back and forth on her feet. Her first instinct was to give him a big hug, try to make him feel better, but Zoey was still mad. She wasn’t ready to hug it out and pretend nothing had happened yet. Not this time.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly, crossing her arms and sort of hugging herself instead. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Me and a million other people,” Dad said, waving a hand at the crowd packed shoulder-to-shoulder. “I’ve never seen this place so full. Maybe it’ll be enough to get Poppy out of the hole. If it is, it’s all thanks to you, Zoey. I underestimated you.”

  Zoey gawked at him, processing Dad’s compliment. Had he cared enough to come and watch after all? Or was he still going to try to take it all away from her—her new home and her friends and that incredible sense of really belonging somewhere for the first time in her life?

  “You were right. About everything, kiddo. About me,” he continued, his voice sincere. “I’m not proud of everything I’ve done these past few years since Mami died. But I’m going to try to make it up to you. I’m going to do my best to make things work in the city. I promise I won’t give up on selling motorcycles so fast.”

  “Really?” she asked. Dad committing to a more stable lifestyle sounded amazing. But she still didn’t want to leave the Jersey Shore.

  “Yes, and I won’t make you come with me. Not yet, at least,” Dad said, and Zoey could see the words pained him. “You’ve really bloomed here, with Poppy and your new friends. So you can stay, for now. We’re going to play it by ear. Maybe you’ll move in with me once I have my own place. You should know I won’t be able to live without my baby for too long.”

  These were the exact words Zoey hadn’t even realized she needed to hear from Dad right now. Her cheeks, her chin, it felt like her whole face quivered. The tension behind her eyes turned into a gathering flood. Fat tears fell onto her shiny blue bowling shoes, and she threw her arms around Dad, inhaling his familiar scent, a mix of aftershave and caramel coffee. Dad’s arms circled her shoulders reassuringly, and he dropped his head to the top of hers. Zoey had spent so much of the past few weeks feeling angry and more and more distant from her father, but his hug suddenly brought her back to a thousand other hugs: When she was nervous about her first day of kindergarten the year they’d lived in Boston, begging him not to leave, and he’d hugged her goodbye, promising to bring a cannoli when he picked her up. When he picked her up that same day and she’d leaped into his arms to find a fancy white bakery box tied with pink string, as promised. When he’d pulled her and José close at Mami’s funeral as they lowered her body into the ground. When he’d hugged her after sixth grade graduation, whispering he was proud into her ear.

  The hug now didn’t fix everything between Zoey and her dad.

  But it was a good start.

  As mad as she’d been at him for leaving, and maybe still was, he was her father. He’d always been there for her before, in his way. And Zoey loved him with all her heart.

  When Zoey let go of Dad, she realized the top of her ponytail was wet. Dad’s eyes were redder and puffier than before. He had been crying too. He sighed.

  “I really wish I had the day off today,” he said, looking truly sorry. “But if I’m going to try to make a real career out of selling motorcycles, then I probably need to get to work now.”

  “I understand,” Zoey said, sniffling. “Go.” She patted him on the back. “I have a bowling championship to win anyway.”

  Dad managed to smile, his blue eyes regaining a hint of their twinkle.

  “I have no doubt you will. Call or text me later to give me the final score. I promise I’ll respond as soon as I’m able.”

  Zoey smiled back at him. He blinked back more tears, and glanced at something behind her head. His smile faded for a second, but then returned. Though this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Now get back to your team. You’re up next,” Dad said, and gave Zoey one last hug before leaving.

  Zoey took sniffling breaths all the way back to the Curve Breakers. She’d gotten what she wanted, but seeing Dad’s sad expression before he’d left hurt more than she thought it would. Dazedly, she picked up Isa’s fire truck red ball and, before anyone could stop her, halfheartedly rolled it down the lane. All her lessons forgotten in that instant, Zoey just chucked it like she used to before she learned proper form from her friends. The ball rolled slowly and directly into the gutter, which snapped Zoey out of her fog.

  A moment of stunned silence fell over the crowd.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zoey said, whipping around to face her team.

  Lacey and Tyler gave her sympathetic looks. Isa jumped up to give her a quick hug.

  “It’s okay. You can do this. Just remember…” Isa went on, reviewing angles and formulas and all the math and science theories as Zoey wiped at a few stray tears. She hated to cry in front of everyone.

  Patrick’s face was tight, but he gave her a curt nod. “It’s okay. It’s your dad’s fault. He shouldn’t have come
here to mess you up on game day.”

  “No, he actually, um,” Zoey stammered, breaking down into tears again. She wanted to say that her dad hadn’t upset her this time. That she’d had the best and most honest talk she’d ever had with him. He’d actually been supportive. What was throwing her off was wondering if she was the selfish one now and should have agreed to move to the city with him immediately. But the words wouldn’t come. Her shoulders slumped.

  The announcer called Zoey back up for her second throw, and there wasn’t more time to explain. She tried to focus, but only managed to knock down a single pin.

  “Better than a gutter ball,” Tyler said encouragingly when she trudged back to their bench. Patrick nodded and took a deep breath. And because everyone seemed to genuinely care, Zoey told her friends about her conversation with Dad while the Lightning Strikers took their next turn.

  Lacey scrunched her nose when Zoey was done.

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about,” she said, blunt as ever. “I’d invite you to come live with me before letting you crash on the couch of some random high school friend of your dad’s who you’ve never even met. Let your dad get it together first. He needs his own place. Then we’ll talk about letting you move to New York.”

  Zoey half-smiled. Lacey’s take was as honest and bossy as Lacey herself.

  “It’s great that he says he’s going to try to be, like, more stable. But let him show you—because in the meantime, you have Poppy and us. You’re in a good place right now.” Isa nodded wisely. “And it sounds like your dad acknowledged that. He obviously realizes this is where you should be, or he wouldn’t have let you stay. It’s what he wants for you too, even if it hurts him to admit it.”

  Zoey bit her lip, letting her friends’ words sink in and starting to feel better.