Page 94 of Playing Mr. Perfect

He looks at me incredulously. “Did you play me, Pep? Were you in a league?”

“No. I didn’t like going to parties, so I’d go bowling with Ravi and some of our friends from Science Club.” As I line up for my next shot, I notice the little blond girl next to me is trying to mimic my stance. “Hey,” I say gently, bringing her eyes to mine. “The ball will go in whatever direction your thumb is pointing when you let go, but don’t tell him that.” I motion with my head to Clay.

The little girl giggles. “I won’t. Thank you.”

“Good luck.” I wait for her to take her turn.

She knocks down four pins.

“Good job! That was awesome,” I exclaim.

She beams at me as the other girls and the woman who’s with them cheer her on.

I get myself situated again and take my turn, knocking down the last pin. Clay and all the little girls cheer. Now I’m the one who’s beaming as I come off the lane.

“That’s my girl,” Clay says as he rises to his feet. “It’s a shame I’ll have to beat you.” He grabs a ball and lines up. He looks so serious as he releases the ball. It starts rolling straight but veers left just before reaching the pins, knocking down five of them.

“That was great,” I cheer.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” He rubs his hands together and grabs another ball.

“It’s okay. I kind of like you not so perfect.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Reckless.”

A brown-haired girl with pigtails is getting ready to take her turn beside us, and the blond girl is whispering in her ear. The brown-haired girl looks at Clay and says, “I won’t,” to her friend. The three other little girls run to the blonde, begging to know the secret she shared.

Clay looks at me with a knowing smile and winks.

As we play, we have good turns and bad turns. We laugh with the girls, cheering on each other and them, and learn it’s the blond girl’s seventh birthday. After I win the game, receiving cheers from the girls and accolades from Clay, he buys them each an ice cream, and they all hug us goodbye.

“That was so much fun,” I say as we drive out of the parking lot.

He reaches over and takes my hand. “I have a feeling anything we do together will be fun, my sporty girl.”

“Bowling is hardly sporty.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Sporty Spice. It takes strength and skill.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Are you ready for our next adventure?”

“I can’t wait.”

We work our way through Clay’s list of potential hobbies. We try miniature golf and Frisbee. I royally suck at both, while he plays like a champ, but it was fun. While we’re at the park, he points to birds flying overhead and suggests birdwatching. We share a good laugh. Neither of us can imagine staring at birds for hours at a time. We end up at Paint and Sip, where we sit across from each other drinking wine while attempting to paint a vase of colorful flowers.

“How’s it coming? Are you the next van Gogh?” Clay asks as I put more paint on my brush.

“I’m not going to win any painting contests, and I’m having flashbacks to almost getting a B in art class, but I am having fun.”

“You say B like it’s a bad thing.”

“It was for me. I needed an A.” I start painting the last flower petals. “I begged my teacher to let me redo the project, and I worked my butt off until it was perfect.”

“What was the project?”

“To create a three-dimensional image using words as art. We couldn’t draw lines. Everything had to be created using only words. Everyone else made these beautiful pictures of their pets and barns and landscapes and all sorts of things. I kept trying to draw something pretty the way everyone else did, but my brain doesn’t work with soft, flowing images. When I redid the project, I had the hardest time visualizing anything so I could draw it. Then my dad found me crying, and he told me a B was good enough, but I knew I wouldn’t make valedictorian without an A.”

“And you think I’m competitive?” He arches a brow. “So what did you do?”

“I listened to my father.” I dab my paintbrush in paint to put the finishing touches on my painting. “He said not to worry about drawing something pretty and to draw whatever I wanted to, even if I didn’t think anyone else would like it.”