Read Online Summer of the Geek by Piper Banks - Free Book Online Page A

given in gracefully. She scowled, and huffed, and dragged her feet getting ready to leave, until I finally pointed out that the longer it took us to get there, the less time she’d have to practice later. She finally came along, silent but seething with resentment. Amelia hadn’t said a single word to me during our bike ride to the bowling alley. I decided it was time to make peace.
    “Come on, this will be fun,” I said encouragingly.
    Amelia just looked at me, disbelief stamped on her face.
    “The first thing we have to do is get bowling shoes,” I said. “Look, my friend Charlie is working. Let’s go say hi.”
    Amelia and I stood in the shoe rental line behind a family of four. Charlie smiled and waved when she saw us.
    “Who’s that?” Amelia asked.
    “That’s Charlie,” I said.
    “But Charlie’s a boy’s name,” Amelia said.
    “Not always. It’s short for Charlotte,” I explained.
    Amelia’s mouth twisted. “That’s stupid. Girls should have girls’ names. And her purple hair looks dumb.”
    I bit back the impulse to say something equally immature—something along the lines of Oh yeah? Well, I’m rubber and you’re glue, so anything you say bounces off me and sticks to you! But then I remembered that I was supposed to be the mature, responsible one in our relationship, so I just smiled serenely. The family in front of us finished collecting their bowling shoes, and Charlie waved Amelia and me forward.
    “Hi!” Charlie said brightly. She smiled at Amelia. “You must be Amelia. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    Amelia shot me a deeply suspicious look, clearly not believing that I could have said anything nice about her, but finally muttered, “Hi.”
    Charlie raised her eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes heavenward.
    “I take it you two are here to bowl?” Charlie said.
    “That’s right,” I said. I took off my shoes and handed them to Charlie. “I’m a size nine.”
    Charlie took my shoes, holding them gingerly with two fingers.
    “My shoes aren’t stinky,” I said indignantly.
    “That’s what you think,” Charlie said, sliding them into a cubby and handing me back a pair of ugly red-and-black bowling shoes. “But handling people’s footwear is what gets me the big bucks.” Charlie smiled at Amelia. “Hand over your shoes, and I’ll get you set up with a pair of lovely bowling shoes, too. What size do you wear?”
    “Um, no, thanks. I’m good,” Amelia said.
    “Aren’t you going to bowl?” Charlie asked.
    “Yes, she is,” I said firmly.
    “I want to wear my sneakers,” Amelia said.
    “You have to wear bowling shoes on the lanes. It’s the rule,” Charlie explained.
    “But I don’t want to wear someone else’s shoes,” Amelia said, looking appalled. “That’s so gross.”
    “I know, isn’t it?” Charlie agreed. “But we clean them out after every use.” She demonstrated this by picking up a shoe, and spraying a perfumed cloud of Lysol into it. “See? Ninety-nine point nine percent germ free.”
    Amelia reluctantly kicked off her sneakers and handed them over. Charlie pushed a pair of baby blue bowling shoes with Velcro fasteners over the counter.
    “I call this pair the Lucky Blues,” Charlie said, with a wink in Amelia’s direction. “Everyone who wears them bowls nothing but strikes.” She handed me a flyer with instructions on how to log on to the computer for our assigned lane. “You’re on lane three. There are instructions on how to use the bumpers—you know, those things that keep the balls from going into the gutters—on there. People like to use them for kids.”
    “Do I get to use the bumpers, too?” I asked.
    “No,” Charlie said. “You’ll have to rely on your skill.”
    “I think I’m in trouble,” I said, and we both laughed. Amelia didn’t join in. She just stood there, blue shoes clutched in her hands, looking miserable.

    Amelia was not a natural bowler. At first, she was too tentative, pushing the ball so gently, I