13: Concrete Hearbeat
“Seriously, Mase? Will it even be open this early?” I asked. The breeze picked up, rushing through my freshly straightened hair. We stopped at a coffee shop after getting ready, trying to decide what to do at 9 AM on a Thursday.
“I know this one place. Just trust me,” he said, winking.
We dumped our empty cups stained with coffee before heading back to his bike. Mase held out the helmet towards me and I didn’t hesitate to take it, pulling it over my head. But as the nerves fiddled with my insides, I knew the bike wasn’t causing the slight tremble in my hands. It was Mase. I rested my cheek against his shoulder blade, the chaotic world ripping past us.
He pulled into an almost vacant parking lot, one lone car sitting in a spot under the branches of a tree. The building looked aged, the cream colored walls tainted with rusty water stains. The sign wobbled slightly as it spun round and round, the words Cosmo Lanes written across the outline of a bowling ball and three pins.
“You’re right. This place totally looks like its open,” I said, giving him a sideways glance. It was hard to miss the sarcasm coloring my tone.
He rolled his eyes. “Just hurry up. Let’s get a lane before they’re all booked,” he joked, nudging me with his shoulder.
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes at him, as we walked up to the glass door and into the bowling alley. There were a few arcade games and a tall bubble gum machine just inside the door. It smelled like a mix of smoke and Pine Sol. A middle aged man sat in a chair at the front counter, his feet kicked up and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He was flipping through the pages of some magazine in his lap, ignoring our presence.
Mase walked up to the counter and cleared his throat. The man let out a sigh, averting his gaze from the magazine to give us a bored look.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, taking a slow drag from the cigarette.
“Need a lane for an hour,” Mase said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. He rented us bowling shoes and much to my protests, he insisted on paying for it all himself.
We walked down to one of the lanes furthest from the front desk. I slipped off my shoes, pushing my feet into the rented pair.
“Come on, we have to find the perfect ball,” Mase said, his eyes wide with excitement. I followed him to the ball racks, watching as he picked one up and examined it for a good while. He did this for the next few minutes while I tried to keep from laughing at the serious look on his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he held up a solid red ball, running his palm along the surface.
“What are you? Some pro bowler? Just pick one, Mase,” I said, breaking his concentration.
He let out a long breath before rolling his eyes. “You’ll never understand the intricacies of picking the right bowling ball,” he said, the ends of his lips twitching as he tried to keep from smiling.
“And you’ll never understand the intricacies of me kicking your ass if you don’t hurry up and get the game started,” I said, cupping his arm in my palm and pulling him back towards our lane. I glanced back to find that he was laughing, his smile bigger than I’d ever seen it before.
YOU ARE READING
The Chord to my Heart
Teen Fiction"When Lyla Carter comes home to find that her mother has committed suicide, she's forced to live with her father who she's conveniently avoided since he left them seven years ago. Lyla does her best to keep everyone at arms length until she meets Ma...
