Page 35 of Forgotten Sacrifice
I put on my headphones and ignore the man on the return trip home, except we don’t return home;I mean to Vince’s house, dammit. “Why are we stopping here?” I take off my headphones, glancing out the window to the AC boardwalk.
“To get your proof.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Luna
“I am so confused.” I follow him down the boardwalk to an arcade, where he holds open the door for me.
We step inside, and I hang back, assuming Vince is here to handle bookie business. He approaches a bored-looking guy behind the counter, exchanging cash for a cup of quarters.
“What is happening?” I ask, my mouth hanging open when Vince joins me.
He jiggles the quarters in the cup. “It’s what the kids call a good time.”
“Please do not ever say that phrase again.” I cringe.
“You said you’d believe it when you see it. Here’s your proof.” Vince smiles, walking over to a basketball game and feeding it quarters. “Ladies first.” He holds out a basketball.
I join him and grab the ball, waiting for the buzzer to sound. And with my first air ball, I’m taken back to my high school P.E. class days—with me sucking at athletics, basketball included. I try an overhead with both hands sorta throw;the ball hits the backboard so hard, it bounces off and flies out of the cage.
Vinces chases the ball down and returns with an amused expression, palming it with his huge right hand. “That was an interesting technique—trying to break the backboard.”
I spin around and throw a basketball at him, but he easily catches it with his left hand.
“Good idea. Watch and learn.” He nudges me out of the way, sinking back-to-back shots.
“Showoff,” I grumble.
The buzzer sounds, and Vince asks, “What next?”
I look around the arcade in search of a non-athletic game. “Claw machine.”
“Claw machine it is.”
Vince feeds quarters in the machine, and I give it a go, positioning the claw over a teddy bear that’s on top of the pile. I press the button and the claw descends, but it doesn’t even connect with the bear’s body.
“Let me try,” Vince says, adding more quarters. He maneuvers the claw and hits the red button.
The claw descends and grabs ahold of an ear, pulling the bear up. “Yes!” I cheer, until the bear drops before it can make it to the chute. “No! You were robbed.”
We switch over to air hockey—where I’m pretty sure Vince lets me win—and then it’s on to old-school pinball. “Wasn’t this game invented in your generation?”
Vince snorts a laugh, feeding the machine quarters and positioning me in front of the machine.
I launch the ball hard, and it flies back at me and past my flipper thingies. And just like that, my turn’s over.
Vince takes a turn, expertly launching the ball.
“How are you so good at all these games?” I demand.
“I may have a bit of an advantage; my first after-school job was working at an arcade,” he admits, smacking the ball as the machine lights up.
“How old were you?” I ask.
“Twelve.”
