Not Enough For Anyone

“Dang it!” I shouted. I glared in disgust as my ball crossed the head pin and hit the four, leaving the one, three, five, six, and ten standing. I turned and almost stomped off the lane.

It was Tuesday after school, and I was bowling with my dad in the Youth/Adult league. Andrew and my mom were bowling together, and were a few pairs of lanes over.

“Come on, Ronnie! Get your head out of the clouds!” my dad said, moving towards the lane. I ignored him as I stormed out of the bowler’s circle and threw myself into a chair.

“What’s wrong?” my mom asked, seeing my scowl.

“I suck. I’ll probably never bowl over 150 again in my life!” I growled angrily, glaring at my Sunkist.

“Yes, you will,” my mom said, looking at the score monitor. She got up to bowl, and I was left to glower until my dad was done.

I got up on the lane again, furious at myself for bowling bad. I set up carefully, skipped the deep breath, and took my first step. The rest of my approach was okay. My release was fine, just could’ve lifted out of the ball more. The ball passed over the second arrow and sped to my break point, creating the perfect down-and-in shot my dad wanted from me. My ball slammed into the pocket, and the pins flew backwards, leaving nothing standing. I stepped off the approach, felling a little better, and looked at the monitor. With a strike in the fourth frame, my first three frames looked bad. I looked at my speed. 14.45 miles an hour.

“Is that fast enough?” I asked my dad.

“It’s perfect! That was an amazing ball!” he said, giving me a high-5.

I tried doing the same thing on the next frame, but it didn’t work.

From there, I spiraled downwards. Nothing my mom or dad said helped me, and when I wasn’t on the lane, I was in a chair, glaring.

*-*-*-*-*

When I finished bowling, I put my gear in the car. I came back inside and pulled out my iPod. Familiar music blasted from my headphones and I sat in the chair with my head resting on my folded arms. Tears threatened to escape, so I got up to go hide in the bathroom. My dad stopped me. “Go congratulate your brother, he just bowled his first 600. And try to do it with your chin up,” he said.

I almost smiled. When my dad turned away from me, I ran for the bathroom, tears running down my cheeks. I passed Jacob Kranson on my way. He looked worried, but made no move to stop me.

I burst through the door and locked myself in one of the three stalls and just let them run. I sank to the floor with my back to the wall. I stayed there for a few minutes, just letting the tears run, but then I told myself to get it together. I can’t cry! Crying shows weakness, and I am not weak. Ask Sam.

I left the stall and went to the sink, splashing my face with cold water. I waited till my face wasn’t red anymore, then left the bathroom, heading straight for the backdoor, which is where the standing sheets were posted.

I looked at the sheet for the Saturday youth league, but the lack of light made it hard to read. So I took it off and held it towards the light.

“Aw great…” I muttered when I saw that this week was a position round.

“What?” a voice asked from behind me. I turned to see Jacob moving closer to me. He looked over my shoulder at the sheet. “Yay! Position Round! Bring your game, Ronnie.”

“What game?” I asked as I put the sheet back. He saw the look on my face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking worried.

“I suck. That’s what’s wrong! And Andrew bowled that 600. I haven’t yet. I was supposed to first!” I shouted angrily.

“You look like you need a hug…” he said, holding his arms out.

“No. I actually want to hit somebody.” He offered his shoulder to me and I laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” he said, holding his arms out to me.

“Really, Jacob! I’m fine!”

“Come on, Ronnie,” he said, looking sternly at me. I sighed and stepped forward, wrapping my arms around his neck. He hugged me, his arms around my waist, and I forgot why I got over him. I pulled away quickly; I never wanted that hug. “Better?” he asked, looking at me with a look I didn’t understand on his face.

“No. I still want to hit someone!” He offered his shoulder again. “No, turn…” I said. He offered his other should. “No… here…” I put my hands on his arms and turned him so he was facing me. “There.” I pulled my arm back so I could punch him in the chest.

“No!” he said, covering his chest with his arms and running away.

I walked after him, smirking.