Page 73 of What I Like About You

“Sports metaphors?”

See, Le Crew doesn’t just bowl. That would be too easy, after years of doing it weekly. No, to raise the stakes, there is a challenge string. During this string, there is a very particular set of rules that must be followed. If someone breaks said rules, the first person to shout penalty gets to throw a gutter ball on the rule-breaker’s behalf.

Like I said, stupidly competitive. But also, stupidly fun.

Last week, Molly filled our score screen in with the most ridiculous names, and we could only call each other by those names all night—I lost that round so bad. We’ve also practiced our Spanish skills, and I don’t know if Señor Carpenito would be proud of us or horrified.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard as I do bowling on crisp November Saturdays with Le Crew—and sometimes I wonder what challenge strings I’ve missed out on and why it took me so long to say yes.

Molly holds the Red Sox hat out to me.

“Pick one.”

I do.

Lefty,it reads.

“First round, you’re bowling lefty,” Molly says.

“Just me?” I ask.

“Just you,” Molly confirms.

Since when do the challenges not apply to everyone?

Molly bats her eyelashes at me, all innocent.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You can stink like the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself!” Sawyer says, now standing up and bent over in a forward fold.

“Find your breath, Sawyer,” Autumn says.

Sawyer flips her off.

She’s so competitive,Nash mouths to me.

I smile at him, but this weird feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I shake out my hands and go over to pick up my ball,but I still can’t quite calm the bubbles building up in my throat. It’s all fun when everybody has stupid rules against them to hinder their game. And okay, I get it, they’re targeting me since I’mgood. But if my winning streak is so detrimental to their good time, why am I even here?

Maybe I’m getting worked up over nothing. I’m not going to overthink it.

Holding the ball in my left hand makes everything feel off-balance. I know this isn’t going to go well, so I attempt to position myself to minimize the damage. Step back, three steps, except now my right foot is in front and it’s all wrong. I release without really meaning to, but the ball doesn’t curve off into the gutter like I expect it to. Five pins fall. That was … not terrible?

Molly’s face melts out of its confident smirk.

My second ball still feels awkward but knocks down four more pins.

Maybe Iama bowling prodigy.

“Damn, Levitt. You could’ve mentioned you’re ambidextrous,” Sawyer says, hand up for the high five. Then he leans in. “Please excuse my girlfriend,” he says, voice low.

I sit at the score screen seat and Nash slides next to me with a basket full of fries. I take one and dip it in ketchup. It’s a good fry—it has the perfect ratio of crunch and salt. It’d just be better dipped in honey mustard, but that’s a Kels-Nash argument.

“Nice work. Molly’s going to pop a blood vessel before the night’s over.”

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“SAT scores,” Nash mouths.

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