Page 102 of Just One More Thing

“Come on, you know I’m good for?—“

“No.”

He turns toward Ryan.

“That eighty was mine,” Ryan says. “So hell no.”

Granny snaps the notebook closed, tucks it back into her bra, and scooters away.

The next event is Ball Bowl Roll.

Two dog bowls. A bucket of small bouncy balls. Roll them in.

Ryan approaches the lane like it’s fourth and goal. He crouches down, studies the angles, and rolls his first ball with surgical precision.

It goes in.

Second roll.

In again.

“That’s it?” Wayne says.

Ryan looks over. “What were you expecting?”

“Where’s the drama? The flair? Human triumph?”

“It went in.”

“It went in boring.” Wayne grabs a ball from the bucket. “I’ve got a system that involves spin.” Wayne crouches. Reconsiders. Stands. “I actually think I want to approach this from a standing position.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bethany mumbles beside me.

I laugh. She laughs too. We hip bump in silent solidarity.

Wayne rolls.

With spin.

The ball ricochets off the rim of the bowl, bounces twice, and clips Mrs. Kravitz in the shin.

She raises the paddle.

A four.

Behind them, Granny whispers to a cluster of retirees like a Vegas bookie in orthopedic sandals. “I’m telling you,” she says quietly, “don’t underestimate Donovan. She overthinks. That’s strategic.”

Jake leans close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “You’re favored. No pressure.” The warmth of his voice near my ear does extremely unhelpful things to my concentration.

Jake rolls low and controlled while I guard angles.

One ball ricochets off a toddler’s juice box and explodes cherry juice across the front of him. A labrador happily rushes in to help clean up.

Another ball disappears because Hank has stationed himself directly behind the bowls with the determination of a dog who knows this is his event even if he’s not officially competing.

“Hank,” Jake warns. Hank maintains eye contact and does not move.

We finish second.