“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.