Page 47 of Jesse's Girl
I frown and scratch the side of my neck, trying to play it cool. “We’re uh… We’re just friends.” I hope I’m selling it.
When Ada nods her confirmation, Sofia gives me a knowing smile. “So, you single then?”
“Okay!” Ada shouts, clapping her hands together. “Come on, everyone! West Valley crew, follow me!”
Mercifully, I have time to get a handle on myself while Ada guides the kids through trading their street shoes for the ugly rentals. We take over three lanes at the far end of the alley, the rowdy teens wisely sequestered away from most other patrons.
Ada divides the group into teams of five, assigning me to a team with Sofia, Rolando, and two other girls, Dalia and Rupi. Addressing the entire group from the next lane, she projects confident authority into the murmuring group of awkward limbs, braces, and the blue glow of phone screens.
I stand off to the side, content to watch her do her thing.
“Alright, let’s go over the rules, folks!”
A low groan breaks out amongst the kids.
“Thought you didn’t do rules, Ada!” Dalia teases.
Ada gives her a skeptical frown. “That’s with art. No rules with art. Yes rules in public places.” She raises a brow. “Just bear with me. I’ll make it quick, then shut up.”
Dalia calls out again, “Do you mean, like, you’ll shut up or we have to shut up?”
“Correct,” Ada retorts with a nod, to a scattering of laughter, then smirks at Dalia.
I like how she treats the kids like equals; she doesn’t talk down to them or brush them off like many adults would.
“Okay, listen up. Rule number one,” she starts, holding up a finger. “Keep your ugly bowling shoes on, please.”
Someone sucks their teeth audibly. Rolando spins his hat backward, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Rule number two,” she calls out, two fingers up. “This is a family place, so mind your language around the tiny humans.”
Sofia frowns. “You mean we can’t swear? Like, at all?”
“Ideally,” Ada confirms with a nod, then holds up a third finger. “Rule number three: you roll the bowling ball. You do not throw the bowling ball—unless you happen to have expertise in lane repair and an interest in some community service hours.”
Rolando starts telling a story to the kid next to him about how his uncle does repair work at a bowling alley in Oregon.
Ada waits for them to finish with a pointed look. When they finally notice they’ve interrupted and stop talking, she continues. “Rule number four.”
“Out of how many?” Sofia whines.
“Last one! Promise. Rule number four: keep your feet on this side of the… the red… line thing.” She points toward the lane. “It probably has a name.”
“The foul line,” I offer quietly.
She turns to me in surprise—like she almost forgot I was here—and a slow smile spreads over her face. “The foul line,” she calls out, still watching me.
I give a subtle lift of my chin toward the group of teens.
She seems to snap back into the moment and turns to them again, gesturing at me with her thumb. “You heard the man. Let’s bowl.”
The first frames are a chaotic mess while everyone gets into the groove, some kids learning how to bowl for the first time, others evidently learning how to take turns without arguing. Ada and I wind between the kids, offering guidance and reminders, and return to our lanes when we’re up. As much as I try to stop myself, my eyes keep sliding in her direction. I catch myself staring at least once when she has a quiet, serious-looking conversation with Rolando near one of the tables behind the lanes.
It’s around the fourth frame when I notice the ancient, computerized display flashing an arrow next to “Man Bun”. I frown, realizing Rupi and Dalia have edited the nicknames.
Rolando laughs into his fist from the bench behind the scorekeeper’s chair. “Alright, Man Bun!” he cheers, then cracks up again.
Rupi walks past and shoves him in the shoulder. “Did you even see your nickname?”