Chapter 29 Collins
Collins
Drama Mama’s had a different name nearly every time I’d been to it.
It was owned by the same family, but after their mom had died, they had been in a constant argument over who owned the most of it.
Whenever one of them took a vacation or even just left Sweetwater Peak for a couple of hours, they would come back to a new name and a new sign because one of the siblings had been prepared and lying in wait. It was entertaining for the rest of us.
It felt like a time machine, which is one of the things I loved about it. I also liked that orbs floated around this place like crazy, and every once in a while, a ghost with a thick mustache, Coke-bottle glasses, and a bowling shirt would walk past the two bowling lanes.
This place also exclusively played the Doors, which contributed to the general haunted vibe.
Even though it was one of the only places for entertainment in town, it was rarely full.
Tonight, it looked like it was just our group, an older bowling league, and a few teenagers who had opted out of the favored Sweetwater Peak pastime of getting drunk in a field.
I went in search of my regular bowling ball—eight pounds, stark white—and found it on one of the stands. Brady went for a red twelve-pounder.
“You’re up first, Olly,” Clarke said when I returned with my ball.
God, it had been a really long time since I’d bowled. I took a deep breath and swung—chucking the bowling ball down the lane with all of my might.
It immediately veered into the gutter.
Brady laughed and gave me a slow clap. “Nice,” he said. “So when is that ass-kicking going to commence?”
“I’m just warming up,” I said. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
Clarke went after me, then Sadie, and Mitch. All of them bowled substantially better than I did, but I was determined to win.
Brady winked at me when he walked up to bowl, and I thanked the universe I wasn’t holding a ball at that moment because I would’ve promptly dropped it.
He took off his jacket, so I could see the muscles in his arm working as he brought the ball back behind him.
There was an orb floating around him as he took a step forward, lighting him in just the right way, and I quickly snagged my camera for an action shot right as the ball left his hand.
He got a fucking strike.
When he turned around, he had a wide grin on his face. “It’s all in the follow-through,” he said.
“Blah blah blah,” I said with an eye roll, and snapped one more picture of his wide grin. I’d show him follow-through.
I grabbed my camera before I went to my parents’ house this morning.
I didn’t even think about it—I just knew I would want it at Toades with me, and I did.
As soon as I walked in, I started snapping photos of both the shop and the house I grew up in.
And even though it had been a while since my camera strap was slung across my body, it still felt like an extension of me—my favorite part of me, maybe.
Even though it was kind of horrifying to sort through your entire childhood when it was soaking wet, we didn’t get time with the four of us very often, and I wanted to capture it all.
Or because I didn’t know how long all of it would still be ours, and I wanted to make sure we had something to remember.
Regardless of the reasoning, it felt good. Better than I thought it would. To be able to look through the viewfinder again, to snap a fleeting moment that would then last forever.
When the pins were ready, I grabbed my ball. I swung my ball back as hard as I could, but I didn’t realize that Brady was still behind me. I felt my ball connect with his body, and I heard him let out a shocked groan.
I dropped the ball, and it had enough forward momentum that it started going down the lane. When I turned around, Brady was doubled over with his hands over his crotch. “Nice,” he ground out—it sounded like he’d lost his voice. “Got me right where it counts.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh. “I’m so sorry,” I said.
Brady looked up at me. “No, you’re not, you liar.” He let his head fall, and I heard him take a deep breath. “You got me good.”
“Do you need a minute?” I giggled. I brought my hands up to my eyes—using my imaginary camera again to take a mental picture. I’d let him off the hook with the real one.
He nodded, and groaned, “Oh my god.” I put my hand on his shoulder and started rubbing back and forth.
“Nice one, Collins!” I heard from the lane next to us. I looked over to see the entire bowling league laughing at poor Brady. I gave them all a thumbs-up.
“I hate you,” Brady ground out.
“No, you don’t.” I slapped him on the back. “Now walk it off, we have a game to play.”
Even with his, um, erectile injury, Brady still absolutely obliterated me. Which was fine; I was ready to open a can of whoop-ass on him in Skee-Ball.
The machines in this place had definitely seen better days. The paint on them was basically nonexistent, so unless you had memorized the number of points each hole was worth, you just had to go for it and wait for your score to appear on the electronic screen.
“Still waiting for that ass-kicking,” Brady said as he put tokens in two of the Skee-Ball machines that were right next to each other. “And throwing a bowling ball into my balls doesn’t count. You have to win, and you haven’t done that yet.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The mechanism in the machine that released all the balls went off, so Brady and I both started chucking them up the ramp as fast as we could. We were both throwing them hard enough that they shook and rattled the guard, and neither of us was getting as many points as we wanted.
I finally sank one into one of the top corner holes after a few deadbeat balls, and let out a little cheer. Brady sank one in the same place right after me, which turned my cheer into a curse.
And then he did it again. “Keep up,” he said over the sounds of the arcade. I tuned him out and focused on my balls—not his…either set.
We ran out at the same time, and when I looked up at the score marquee, I thrust my fist in the air in triumph. I beat Brady by twenty-five points—not exactly an ass-kicking, but I’d take it.
“Good game,” he said, and outstretched his hand for me to shake. When I took it, he pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, “That was hot.” A shiver went down my spine, and I tried to remain calm.
“What’s next?” I stammered.
“Pool?”
“Another ass-kicking coming right up!”