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It rubs me the wrong way.
“Hey man, I gotta get going, but I hope you’re doing okay, and good luck with your next work shift. Let me know when your next show is so I can come see it.”
Owen promises to give me dates and comp tickets, and we say our goodbyes.
I shake off his comments about Jade easily enough as I sign in to Vectorworks, the lighting design program.
It’s not my job to defend Jade, but it’s hard to listen to guys talk about her the way they do. Maybe it’s because of who raised me, but I have a low tolerance for the other members of my gender being disrespectful of women. Maybe Seth and Owen aren’t being outright rude about Jade, but the implications—their laugh, the way they say “reputation”—all feel gross. Especially because Jade and I are . . . friends? Is that what we are now?
Owen’s job situation is harder for me to shake off. Two jobs, in addition to the show he’s working on, just to pay the bills so he can pursue the career he wants. Maybe it won’t always be like that, but he could spend years doing this. And moving? Already? He just got to Philadelphia barely fifteen months ago.
Maybe the idea of going where the opportunities are is only fun on paper. In theory, it sounds like an adventure. In practice, a small nightmare.
But the idea of just moving to my hometown for a job and living in the same part of town I grew up in doesn’t sound so appealing either.
Can’t I have both? Can’t I have a stable job with some excitement? Does such a thing even exist?
If it does, it isn’t one of my current options, and my conversation with Owen may have just scared me into applying for the Red Barn Playhouse job.
8
JADE
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind . . .”Act I, Scene II
“Remind me why we’re going bowling on a Monday night?” Jessie asks, trailing behind me and Mac as we stride confidently into the Bowlerama.
“Because it was my turn to choose a roommate activity this month, and I chose bowling,” Mac says with a sweet smile. He looks over his shoulder at Jessie. “Plus, Monday just happened to be the best night for all of us to do Roommate Night.”
“I love any reason to play with balls,” I say, and I watch as Jessie’s face turns the color of a tomato.
“Oh my god, Jade,” she says.
“Sorry, did you forget to bring pearls to clutch at?”
I open the door to the old building, and Mac and Jessie head into the bowling alley.
The grumble and clack of bowling balls rolling down lanes and crashing into pins is the first thing I notice, along with theclassic smell of a bowling alley. They all somehow smell the same. Is it the grease they put on the lanes? The spray they use on the shoes? “Unidentified Bowling Alley Smell” sounds like a bad candle, but within seconds, it’s mingled with the smell of popcorn and hot dogs, and it all fades into the background.
The building is a little tired, but they’ve attempted to modernize the inside. The carpets are black, with a neon confetti-looking design. I’m sure it glows after 11 p.m. on Saturday nights during their “glow-’n’-bowl” event—the one advertised on a large banner outside the building. The lanes look new—or clean at least—and the screens above each lane are definitely new.
But there aren’t a lot of lanes in use right now. In fact, the whole place is looking pretty empty, except for a small crowd of people around a middle lane, clapping then smiling and pointing as if there’s some kind of bowling celebrity here.
“What’s going on here?” Jessie asks no one in particular. She pauses at the edge of the crowd, standing on her toes, trying to see above or around the crowd of people. I walk past her to the shoe counter and give my shoe size to the older gentleman working.
When I turn to speak to Mac and Jessie, they’re both at the edge of the crowd, watching too, but they can’t seem to hear me. The distinct sound of a ball rolling down the lane fills the space, followed by a loud crash of pins. There’s a collective yell and clapping as the screen blinks “STRIKE.”
“What’s all that?” I ask as the man hands me my shoes.
“Our top bowler is here practicing,” he grunts out, and I join the crowd standing by Jessie to see what the hubbub is all about.
The top bowler has his back to me, and he’s leaning over, so I can’t see much but his outfit. He’s dressed in all black: T-shirt, jeans, and bowling shoes that look more like matte dress shoes, all in black. In fact, the two bowling balls waiting to be used arealso black, and the one that comes through the ball return . . . black.
“Guess this guy has a really distinct style, huh?” I mutter to Jessie.
He’s tall and lean, and his frame looks really familiar, but I don’t know any professional bowlers. The guy straightens and wipes a black cloth over the bowling ball, then sets the cloth on the stand behind him with the keyboard pad. A hush falls over the crowd as he steps up on the lane and takes his position. I can see his profile now, and I just about choke on my own spit when I realize who it is.
“Ian!” I say into the dead silence of the bowling alley, just as he’s stepping forward to bowl.
