“That’s cheating.” Ethan grabs his bowling ball out of the ball return and hugs it tightly like someone’s going to try to take it away from him. “I don’t want to cheat.”
“It’s not cheating,” David says. “Everyone’s good with it.”
“Yes, it is!” Ethan shouts. “You can’t stop in the middle of a game! We have to finish! We have to!” He’s getting louder and more frantic, and everyone in the bowling alley is staring at him.
“Crap,” David whispers to me. “What do we do?”
I glance over at Ivy, who’s watching Ethan, her eyes big, her lower lip caught under her top teeth. She’s uncomfortable, but less upset than he is, at least for the moment.
“Let’s finish the game,” I say.
“But I want to leave,” Ivy says.
“We’ll play fast.”
“But—”
“We’ll be done soon. I promise. Please, Ivy.”
She reluctantly sits back down.
Ethan slowly and carefully bowls his turn, while Ivy rocks unhappily on the bench, her hands fluttering softly through the air. Then David and I speed through our turns, grabbing and pitching the balls as soon as they emerge from the ball return. When I tell Ivy it’s her turn, she clutches the edge of the bench seat with both hands and shakes her head, casting shamed glances over at the lady in the next lane who said we should get bumpers.
“Want me to take your turn?” I ask her.
Ethan says, “That’s not fair, she—”
But his brother cuts him off. “It’s fine,” he says. “Chloe can bowl for Ivy.” So I do. Neither Ethan nor Ivy is very happy at this point, so it’s all about keeping things moving and getting us out of there.
The game ends—?the guys win, of course—?and we return our balls and grab our street shoes from their cubbies. I’m fascinated to see that Ethan ties his sneakers by making two rabbit ears and knotting them (instead of looping one lace around the other) because Ivy does the exact same thing.
I want to point it out to David, but he’s scowling down at his own shoes and tying them with such sharp, savage motions that I decide it’s not worth it.
“That was fun!” Ethan says when we’re in the parking lot.
“So much fun,” I say with way more enthusiasm than I’m feeling.
Ivy’s silent.
“Can we do something again soon?” Ethan asks her.
“Okay,” she says. “Just not bowling. I don’t like bowling.”
“It’s because you’re not very good at it.” Ethan pats her shoulder consolingly.
I almost laugh out loud, but another glance at David’s closed and angry face kills my amusement.
Ivy and I get into the car.
“You okay?” I ask once we’re settled.
“I don’t like bowling. I’m bad at it.”
“You did great. Seriously. For a first time—”
“My ball went onto the other people’s floor.”
“No one cared.”
“That woman did. She said I needed bumpers, and Ethan said those are for kids.”
“It’s not a big deal, Ives.”
“I don’t want to go bowling again.” She leans forward in her seat and turns up the radio volume. “Can we listen to 102.7?”
“Since when do you listen to 102.7?”
“Diana says they play the best music.” She switches stations and sits back.
I wish I could talk to her about David, about how angry he is at the world, and about how sometimes he seems to think I’m on his side and sometimes he seems to think I’m not, but dissecting other people’s emotions isn’t exactly her strong suit.
“What are we going to do tonight?” she asks.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but James’s parents have tickets to a play and they invited me to go with them.”
“I never go out at night,” she says wistfully. “Only during the day.”
“Would you want to go out with Ethan some night?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Progress! “Text him. Invite him to go to a movie next weekend. He likes movies.”
“And you’ll go with us?”
“I’ll drive you. But maybe I don’t need to stay for the whole thing.”
She doesn’t respond, just gets that worried look on her face before turning her head toward the window and whispering quietly to herself.
Fourteen
“HOW ARE THE LOVEBIRDS doing?” James asks when he picks me up that night. We’re driving downtown by ourselves, since there isn’t room in his parents’ car for their whole family plus me. And it’s kind of a relief—?as nice as they all are to me, it’s a lot of work to be all adorable and cheerful and bright and perfect, the way I feel like I have to be to make them think I’m good enough for the son and brother they all dote on.
“Ivy and Ethan? I wouldn’t call them lovebirds, but I think they both had fun today.”
“What’s the long-term goal with them, anyway?” James asks. “I mean, do people like them get married? Do they have kids?”
“People like them?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
There’s a pause and then he says, “Why do you get so weird when we talk about your sister?”
“I don’t.”
“It’s fine. I totally get it, and I’m not mad or anything. But you should just know that I always feel like I have to be extra careful what I say about her, or you’ll get mad at me.”
“When have I ever gotten mad at you?”
“You know what I mean. Not like mad mad. Just quiet mad, like you’re annoyed but don’t want to show it.”
“I don’t feel that way,” I say, and, to prove it, I lean toward him and kiss his cheek, my chest straining against the tightening seat belt. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Just cut me a little slack now and then.”
“I will. I mean, I do. I mean, I don’t need to because you don’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry if I seem weird sometimes—?I’ll try not to be.”
And for the rest of the evening, I’m as not-weird as a girl can be. I’m so normal I’m practically invisible.