She cheered up as she neared Poppy’s bowling alley. The ocean stretched beautifully beside her, blue and sparkly, dotted with swimmers and boogie boards. Finally, the big red sign that said GONZO’S BOWLING ALLEY on one corner AND FUN on the other loomed ahead, a comfortingly familiar sight. Her family had spent two weeks with Poppy every summer before Mami’s heart attack, and she loved visiting Gonzo’s. She’d noticed the place seemed a bit smaller and less overwhelming when they’d come back last year for Abuela’s funeral. But that had been a quick trip, and Zoey herself had grown since then. She was tall enough to reach the A on “alley” now. Trying to grab it had always been a game with José, one Zoey always lost. She grinned and gave the A a pat. It came loose in her hand, nearly smacking Zoey in the head. Uh oh. She stood there for a moment, debating what to do. She knew she should tell Poppy, but what if she got in trouble? In a split-second decision, Zoey left the A swinging upside down, hoping no one had seen. Maybe she could sneak back with one of the hammers from Poppy’s basement later and try to fix it.
Inside, Poppy stood behind the shoe rental counter, frowning at his ancient laptop. When he spotted Zoey, he closed the computer and grinned.
“Hey, Poppy, cómo, um, how you doing?” Zoey said, struggling to remember the Spanish words her mom had used when Zoey was a little girl to ask Poppy how business was going.
Poppy shook his head, and pointed the blue pen he always kept in his pocket at Zoey.
“Did you forget all your Spanish, mija?” he asked, his voice playfully accusing.
“No,” Zoey said, not wanting to disappoint.
Poppy raised his eyebrows and said a bunch of stuff in Spanish that Zoey didn’t understand.
“I change my answer to sí,” Zoey said, her lips curving up sheepishly, and Poppy laughed.
“It’s okay, I teach you again this summer, eh?”
“Sí,” Zoey agreed.
“Tell me that’s not the only word you remember.” Poppy groaned.
“I’m sure more will come back to me soon. So how’s business going?” Zoey asked. School had just ended, and she wasn’t in the mood to be quizzed on her Spanish skills.
“Okay. A little slow today, mija,” Poppy said, waving a hand at the window. “Such a pretty day. No one wants to be inside bowling or playing games. Everybody is at the beach swimming. We do better when it rains.”
Zoey glanced around. One skinny guy in a rock band tee rolled a spare. Beside him, a girl with massive French-manicured nails held up a tie-dyed ball and made duck lips at her phone, snapping a selfie. A couple of lanes away, an elderly couple in matching orthopedic sneakers took careful turns and bickered over where to go next for lunch. The rest of the arcade was empty, save for a thirty-something woman chasing her rowdy toddler around the broken air hockey table. Yellow caution tape cordoned off most of the game machines, even Skee-Ball, Zoey’s favorite.
“Alex, don’t you want to play a game?” the lady asked the little boy, finally catching his hand.
“Noooooo! They no work! I want Mommy’s phone! PLAY GAME ON MOMMY’S PHONE!” he demanded, trying to rip open his mother’s purse.
The mom sighed. She swooped the toddler into her arms, where he began to scream variations of “Want to play game on Mommy’s phone!”
So cute, but so loud, Zoey thought to herself.
“I’m sorry. My son is only three. We’re, ah, going through a little tantrum phase, and I think he needs a nap,” the mom apologized to no one in particular, rushing out the door.
Poppy smiled and called “No worries” after them.
“You know, I remember when you were like that,” he said to Zoey, coming around the counter to sit down in the folding chair beside the out-of-service Pac-Man.
“Me?” Zoey was appalled.
“Ay ay ay, los gritos when Abuela and I took you to the beach and tried to teach you to swim!” Poppy shook his head fondly. “You told us you were scared of sharks. We tell you, ‘There’s no sharks, mija.’ You don’t believe us. My little jefa. You want to tell us what to do. You order us to leave the beach and take you to Disney World instead. You screamed so loud I think my old neighbors hear you back in la Habana vieja.”
Poppy laughed at the memory. Zoey felt her cheeks redden, especially at hearing her childhood nickname, jefa, again, which means “boss.” She didn’t feel like that title fit her. To be a boss, you have to be loud and confident. That certainly wasn’t who she was anymore—in fact, she doubted whether she had ever been that assertive.
“Your brother was the opposite. José go running into the water, sin los salvavidas, the second his feet touch the sand. I remember your mami diving in to save him, even though she hate the water more than you. When she was a kid, all her friends would go to the beach. And she’d go and bring books to read. No one could get even her pinky toe en el agua.”
Poppy’s gaze was far away beneath his glasses. Zoey smiled, but thinking of her mom made her both happy and sad. She headed to the bin with the returned shoes, avoiding eye contact.
“Can I do anything to help? Maybe tidy those for you?” She didn’t wait for Poppy to respond, and picked up a basket full of rental shoes to sort by size.
“Sure, gracias, mija,” Poppy said, giving himself a little shake and standing up to frown at the accounting software on his computer once more.
“By the way, the A in ‘alley’ is falling off the sign outside,” Zoey said. She held her breath, waiting to see if Poppy would ask her how it got loose. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or worried when he didn’t.
“I’ll fix it eventually,” Poppy said, but his tone didn’t match his words. He sounded depressed and glanced around at all the broken machines in the arcade as if they were ganging up on him. Remembering that Dad had warned José not to ask Poppy for money, Zoey wondered if maybe her grandpa couldn’t afford to fix his sign and mentally kicked herself for breaking it.
To make up for the sign, Zoey shined the rental shoes until they gleamed. She’d been working for at least an hour when Poppy’s next customer walked into Gonzo’s. But the middle-aged man wiping his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of what looked like an expensive designer suit didn’t much look like he wanted to bowl. Poppy glanced up when he heard the bell on the door chime. And when he saw who it was, Zoey noticed her grandfather stood up straighter—the same way Dad did when he wanted to assert his authority over José. Had Dad learned that habit from Poppy?
“Mr. Silos,” Poppy addressed the man. “How are you?”
“Wishing it was December. It sure is a hot one out there,” the man replied, gesturing toward the boardwalk outside.
Poppy nodded, but said nothing. No small talk about the weather? Obviously this was no ordinary customer. Wondering what was up, Zoey grabbed a broom and began sweeping the floor closer to where the guy in the suit was standing, so she could eavesdrop better. Poppy continued staring politely at the man, his back still stiff.
“Mr. Gonzalez, I’m here because I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer. It’s more than fair.”
Poppy’s face turned pinker than the Barbie convertible he’d given Zoey when she was four. “I already told you, Mr. Silos. My answer is absolutely not.”