“I’m lulling you into complacency.”
“You’re doing an awesome job at that.” Rachel pointed to the TV above our lane. KYLE was trailing TREX by a little over fifty points. He also sounded pretty boring, since he hadn’t realized dino names were an option. I smiled. Of course Rachel wouldn’t just use her real name. TREX was somehow way more Rachel than KYLE was me.
“I didn’t want to say I was letting you win. That would have sounded mean.”
“It would also sound ridiculous, since I’m clearly spanking you.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Some of us play real sports.”
“Oooh.” Rachel put on a mock-impressed face.
“Yeah. Actually getting good at something that requires real skill makes it hard to find time to play pointless games.”
I sounded like a tool. But I also couldn’t stop my jaw from clenching and I couldn’t figure out how not to suck at this. Rachel grinned. It only pissed me off more.
“You’ve really never been bad at anything before, have you?”
I stared.
“Of course I have. I’m bad at tons of stuff.”
“What’s the last thing you tried that you were bad at?”
“I mean . . .” Ollie had crushed me at the most recent Grand Larceny game, but that definitely wasn’t what Rachel meant. “I’m pretty miserable at creative writing.”
“No you’re not, your writing’s good. At least it would be if you didn’t always write about boring people.” Oof. My last story had basically happened to Ollie and me after a game. “But you don’t really care about creative writing, anyway. You do care about sports.”
“I care.” Rachel looked at me blankly. Did she really think I only cared about sports? That made me . . . not angry really, more like sad. Just because I was good at lacrosse didn’t mean it was all I cared about. Jeez, I only played because Carter had first. Though that sounded even worse. . . . “Anyway, bowling is not a sport.”
“Fair. Let me rephrase. You’ve never been bad at something you’re truly trying to be good at. Especially something that is kind of like a sport, even if it isn’t really a sport.”
“I dunno,” I muttered. I couldn’t tell her the thought that had just now burbled up from somewhere I couldn’t see. Ugly, hyperdepressing thought: I only really tried at things I was good enough at to not have to care about.
“Of course if you were willing to admit you needed it, I could help you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup.”
“What makes you such a bowling guru?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time here with Mark and Britta and Mo.”
“Why?” It came out a little too fast. But seriously. The place still smelled like stale cigarettes. How long ago had they banned smoking?
“The atmosphere.”
“Are you serious? I bet prison is more appealing than—” I looked at Rachel. She was failing to repress a grin. “Oh, ha-ha. Fine. You got me. But why, really?”
“I told you on the way over, no one ever comes here.”
“So?”
“So you can get away from the hell that is Apple Prairie High if you hang out at places no one there is into.”
chapter thirty-five
RACHEL
SATURDAY, 12:44 P.M.
Oh god, now I sounded utterly pathetic. Kyle would probably walk out so he wouldn’t get tainted by my social outcast germs. Why had I teased him about being bad in the first place? We’d been laughing—even if he was doing it through gritted teeth—before I’d opened my big mouth.
So now I had to keep talking, try to bring it back around to normal with more words; I’d turned the moment into something weird, and unpleasant, and Ingmar Bergmany, but I could fix it, right? Jesus, Rachel, you don’t have to prove your arts cred to everyone by going Nordic on a bowling date. Hangout. Not even a date.
“You really think it’s hell?” He looked genuinely confused, his eyebrows ridging together over his nose.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I aimed for flippant. Pretty sure I missed.
“No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Even with girls like Jessie Florenzano polluting your friend group?”
“Yeah, Jessie’s . . . a piece of work. But she’s not a bad person, honestly. She’s just . . . I dunno, insecure, I guess? When she’s not trying to prove something she can be a lot of fun.”
Jessie Florenzano? Were we talking about the same person? How could anyone see a good person underneath all that . . . Jessie?
“Probably only interesting people think that about high school.” He smiled, but his eyes were still confused, still sad. I could feel my throat catch on itself. I almost felt . . . embarrassed. Mean and nasty, like I should live under a fairy-tale bridge. What the hell was up with that? I swallowed hard and faked a cough to buy myself time.