Playing by Ear (Country Roads #1) - Chapter 9

We’d agreed for Jordan to pick me up at  Hanna’s house. The reasoning I gave them was that Jordan already knew  where it was, so it made everything easier, but that wasn’t the actual  reason I’d pushed for us to meet there. The real reason was, I didn’t  want Rhonda to know where I lived. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out  that people knew Oakdale was where the very poorest people in Wellville  lived, and considering the rural and somewhat remote area, that was  saying something. Worse, our trailer was one of the smaller and shabbier  trailers in Oakdale.

I liked Rhonda, and she’d always been really  nice to me, never bringing up or seeming bothered with indications of  how poor Mom and I were. Considering Camille and her comments whenever  something that would suggest how poor we were would show up, there was  no way Rhonda wouldn’t have noticed them. Being sensitive about the  situation wasn’t the same as having it put right in your face.

Rhonda  had something of the social climber in her and always seemed to  consider how her actions would look to those around her. I think that  had her sister not pointed out my unusual upbringing and ties to music,  she might not have given me a second look. I could, of course, be doing  her a disservice. She might have been able to look past all of it, but I  decided I didn’t want to chance it, hence the meeting at Hanna’s.

Thankfully,  it hadn’t rained in a few days, so I didn’t have to worry about getting  my clothes messed up crossing the creek. I timed it so I got to Hanna’s  only a few minutes before it was time to meet them, which saved me the  embarrassment of Hanna having to see how nervous I was. Had I been at  home, I probably would have spent the entire time pacing by the front  door while I waited for them.

Eventually, Jordan drove up, and I  slid into the back seat with Rhonda which, as always, took time since I  had to maneuver the stupid boot around and keep from hitting anything.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi. Jordan won’t tell me where you’re taking me.”

“Good. It’s not a huge surprise or anything, but why spoil it?”

“Come on.”

“Nope, you’ll have to wait.”

“Fine, be that way.”

She  was smiling, though, and took my hand. Jordan drove out of Hanna’s  neighborhood and took us towards the main street. The bowling alley was  part of a shopping area just off the freeway that included a few stores,  some fast-food restaurants, and a motel. One of those areas you see  that’s more geared for people driving through than the people who live  nearby.

Still, considering the size of the town, without the  freeway, most of these places wouldn’t be available to us, so it worked  out that someone decided enough tourists were driving through to make it  worth building. We were also close enough to the national park that  some people would choose to stay at the motel instead of paying more for  the ones closer. Even though it was a couple of miles outside of town,  it still brought in some money and jobs for the city.

The shopping  center had a small movie theater, fast food, and a restaurant in  addition to the bowling alley, keeping Rhonda guessing until Jordan  pulled in front of the bowling alley.

“Bowling?”

“Jordan  told me you used to love doing it, and I figured this would be a better  first date than a movie where we couldn’t talk and get to know each  other better.”

“It’s great,” she said, putting her arms around my neck and hugging me before she excitedly hopped out of her side of the car.

Jordan  rolled down the passenger side window and said to Rhonda, “I’m meeting a  friend for a movie that starts soon. I’ll text you when we’re done.”

Rhonda  just waved and took my hand as we walked into the bowling alley. She  was almost skipping, although awkwardly considering my slower pace, as  we went inside.

“Man, this is so weird,” she said, looking around  as we got up to the counter. “I haven’t been here in forever. It smells  exactly the same.”

I had to consider her judgment for a second at  that last sentence. I’d already noticed the smell, a combination of old  beer, feet, and some kind of unidentified food all meshing together. Of  course, since she’d had happy childhood moments here, it was probably  more nostalgia than anything else.

“Rhonda Haines?” the older woman behind the counter said. “My God child, look at you. You’re practically a grown woman now.”

“Hi, Miss Wilkerson,” Rhonda said, a little more sheepishly than she usually acted.

“And who’s this?”

“Ohh, this is Charlie. We go to school together.”

“I see,” she said, giving a knowing wink to Rhonda.

Now  it was my turn to look nervous. Miss Wilkerson was probably a really  nice person and definitely had those fun older aunt vibes. Still, I  didn’t particularly want her to help make this date any more awkward  than a first date would usually be.

“Well,” she finally said, getting the hint after neither of us engaged. “Let me get you, kids, some shoes.”

While  she got her shoes, Rhonda and I discussed how long we actually wanted  to bowl, since we could go by the game or by the hour. In the end, we  decided to get an hour first and see how we felt after that. Jordan  would need about two hours for a movie, so we could always get a second  hour if we wanted too, or we could stop at an hour and walk over to one  of the food places in the shopping center.

One thing I did like  was the price. The board said it as ten dollars an hour per person or  five-fifty a game per person. Still, Miss Wilkerson declared that as a  returning customer, Rhonda’s first hour was free tonight. That was  almost certainly not a real thing, but at ten dollars for the two of us,  this date was coming off a whole lot cheaper than I ever expected it  to, so who was I to complain.

“I should warn you, I’ve never actually been bowling before,” I said as we headed to the lane we’d been assigned.

“Really? I thought everyone bowled at least once. Like, with youth groups, or scouts, or church groups.”

“I  wasn’t ever in any of those. We never stuck around most cities for more  than a week at a time, so there wasn’t ever a chance to join anything.  We stayed in state parks that allowed RV camping, and there aren’t a lot  of bowling alleys in those. I’ve seen it on TV, so I get the gist. Take  a ball, roll it down the lane, knock down the pins, and I think if you  knock them all down, it’s called a strike.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that. First, we have to pick your ball.”

“Okay. Does it matter which one I pick?”

“Yes!  When you hit the pins, the bowling ball will only touch some of them.  The rest of the pins will get knocked down by pins being knocked out of  the way by the ball, so it’s important to have a heavy ball. The heavier  the ball, the more force it will put into the pins, giving the pins  more force to knock over other pins, and so on. However, you don’t want a  ball so heavy that you can’t give it enough power, because that’s worse  than having too light a ball.”

“I’ll admit, that’s more complicated than I assumed.”

“Someone  once told me that you wanted a ball about ten percent of your weight,  but I just always picked up a bunch and found the one that felt right.  Of course, I was a kid when I played the last time, so I’m going to have  to figure out which one I want to use too. Let’s go.”

We went  along the racks of bowling balls, picking them up, hefting them, and  giving them light test swings. I ended up with a fifteen-pound sparkly  blue ball. Rhonda said the nine-pound one felt the best, but then  switched to a ten-pound ball at the last moment because it was pink. I  didn’t ask, but I assumed that was an important factor in doing well.

“You  seem really into this,” I said after we put our balls on the carousel  thing and were putting on our shoes. “I’m surprised you stopped  bowling.”

“I just got busy and didn’t have the time. School  started taking more time, and I started cheerleading, which took a lot  of time. Things got harder when I added tumbling classes in seventh  grade. I had to pick some stuff to stop, and bowling was one of them.  I’ll go first.”

That seemed strange to me, from what I knew about  Rhonda. It seemed that if she really enjoyed it, she would have found a  way to keep doing it. Jordan had made a couple of shots about Rhonda  being all about her image, and that she’d stopped bowling because it  looked uncool, but so far I hadn’t seen that from Rhonda.

I decided I would give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since we were only starting to get to know each other.

“Sure, show me how it’s done.”

She  finished tying her shoe and went to pick up her ball. While I’d  intended to watch her form, to try and get some idea of what she was  doing, and maybe pick up a few pointers, I got distracted by how tight  her jeans were. I could have sworn I only stared for a moment, but when I  looked up, she was looking over her shoulder, smirking at me.

I  swear I turned five shades of red. I’m not sure I’ve ever been busted so  hard for staring at a girl’s ass before. Thankfully, her response was  to wink and turn back towards the lane. It took every ounce of willpower  I had to keep my eyes from traveling south again. I had to hand it to  her, she had a fabulous ass.

Rhonda stepped forward, right leg  slightly extended, and held the ball up to her face, what seemed like  chin level. I couldn’t imagine she was actually aiming anything, but she  was concentrating. After a beat, she took several steps forward,  swinging her arm back behind her. She brought the ball forward in an arc  and released, letting it sail down the center of the lane, catching the  front pin dead center in the middle.

I was surprised that,  instead of a strike, she managed to knock every pin down except for the  ones on either far end, leaving a big gap between them.

“Damn, I’m so rusty,” she said, coming back to the carousel and waiting.

“I could have sworn you were going to knock them all down. You nailed that middle pin dead on.”

“That  was my mistake, actually. You don’t want to have it go so straight. You  want to roll it in at an angle, curving if you can, to hit between the  first pin and the next row of pins. Hitting the middle pin gives you a  good chance to get a seven-ten split, which is what I did.”

“Oh, I was sure you were getting a strike when I saw the ball going down the middle. Now you’re stuck.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I feel like I should say ‘there’s no way you’re going to be able to get both of those,’ but this feels like a trap.”

“Smart boy,” she said with a smirk. “Just watch.”

She  picked her ball up again and lined up on one side of the lane. Going  through the same routine, she sent the ball rolling again. This time it  went down one side of the lane, catching the far left pin on the  outside. I was amazed, although not surprised considering the building,  to see the pin skid sideways across the lane and smash into the other  pin, knocking them both down.

“And that’s how you pick up a split.”

“Nice. I guess now I get to show you how bad I’m going to suck at this. Just remember, I have other redeeming qualities.”

“I’ll try and keep that in mind.”

I  went and got my ball. I couldn’t recreate her actions, since she’d  taken steps forward to add power to the throw, and I couldn’t do that  easily while wearing the boot. I hobbled up to the line in front of the  lane, figuring I’d just muscle my way through it instead.

I held  the ball up, still not sure what the purpose of this move was, and took a  breath. Trying to keep in mind her advice to have the ball come in at  an angle, I swung the ball in an arc I rolled it down the alley, only to  watch it go directly into the gutters along the side and hit nothing.

Rhonda laughed at me as I hobbled back to the carousel.

“Not as easy as it seems, is it?”

“I didn’t think it would be, plus I did warn you,” I said as I waited. “I’d be happy for any tips you can give me.”

“I  do love it when boys admit they need a girl’s help,” she said, getting  up practically skipping up next to me as I retrieved my ball. “The lane  is oiled so the ball will slide, which means a little bit of power in  the wrong direction will give you a gutter ball. You only need a bit of a  curve to get it to come in at an angle. You gave it too much, which  sent it sliding the wrong way. Any angle you put on it should be subtle.  Bowling’s a game of finesse, not power. The other thing is to make sure  you follow your arm through straight to keep from shanking it  accidentally.”

She came up behind me and grabbed my arm, using  hers behind it to simulate the throwing motion. Considering our height  difference, I’m not sure that was actually helpful, but I wasn’t going  to stop her. I was finding it hard to concentrate on the game when she  pressed her body up behind mine. From her smirk, as she stepped back, I  was sure that was the reaction she was going for.

The next go was  better, but the ball still slid more sideways than I’d wanted, knocking  down five pins on the right side. I prided myself on my hand-eye  coordination, and I was good at throwing a baseball, but the weird  sliding the ball combined with the rolling motion was throwing me.

As  the game continued, Rhonda hit four more strikes and picked up a spare  while I never knocked down all ten pins on any of my turns. This was one  time when not being super competitive came in handy since I was  entirely out of my league. To my credit, though, I think I started  getting better by the time we got closer to the end of the game.

We  played one more game with roughly the same results and had a thoroughly  fantastic time. She busted my balls the whole time, and I got a few  good cracks at her. This was a different Rhonda than I saw at school.  While she was always sarcastic and clever, she was somehow more  reserved. Seeing her here with her guard down made me like her even  more. She also figured out I’d been staring at her ass every time she  went up and had started putting a wiggle in it each time she picked up  the ball.

“Do we have time for another one?” I asked, looking at the clock on the wall as we finished our second game.

We still had about ten minutes left out of our hour.

“I  don’t think so. How about we get something to eat from the grill and  see how we feel after that. I’ll warn you, they make some of the  greasiest burgers you’ll ever find, so your stomach might not be up to  it.”

“I grew up eating a ton of free bar food. I’m cast iron.”

“Let’s go then.”

Turns  out bowling alleys have about the same menu as a bar. If it couldn’t be  made on a flat top grill or deep fryer, they didn’t have it. Their menu  tended towards nachos, wings, and burgers. Since I’d skipped lunch at  the Blue Ridge so I could get out in time to make it to my date, I was  starving. Rhonda got a single burger and no fries while I got a double  and a side of fries. I quickly found out that when she said she didn’t  want any fries ‘because the burger’s enough,’ what she meant was she  already had fries since I bought some.

I think I only got about a  third of them by the end, which worked out since the burgers were  greasier than she promised. I was a little worried that my stomach  couldn’t keep up with my boast.

“So, I’ve told you all about my  life growing up in clubs,” I said while we ate. “I don’t think you’ve  told me much about your past.”

“What’s to tell? I grew up in a small town without much to do. Compared with yours, my life was pretty boring.”

“I’d still like to hear about it.”

“Okay,”  she said, sneaking another fry. “Well, like I said, I grew up here. My  dad manages the factory, although when I was little, he was foreman of  the day shift. Mom used to work at the middle school, but when Dad got  his last promotion, she quit and started getting into volunteering and  stuff.”

“Did she still teach when you were in middle school?”

“Yes, at least for a little while. She quit after I finished sixth grade. I swear she would go out of her way to embarrass me.”

“I can’t imagine my mom teaching at my school. You know, my mom works at the factory, and I’m not even sure what they do.”

“Dad  likes to talk about it at dinner, so I’ve heard all about it a million  times. They make sections of furniture, which are then shipped off to an  assembly plant.”

“So, they don’t actually make furniture, just  the parts? I thought the factory was the largest employer in the town,  how can parts for furniture be enough to hire all those people.”

“Well,  you’re talking about a small town, so it’s not that hard to be the  biggest employer, but apparently furniture’s a big business. I don’t  really know, honestly. Dad likes to talk, but I don’t like to listen to  him that much. What does your mom do there?”

“She’s a secretary.”

“Ohh,” Rhonda said, looking down at her hands.

“How do you like being a cheerleader?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I  love it. Being out on the field and hearing the people in the stands  cheer is a rush. I can’t wait till I’m on varsity. JV crowds are so much  smaller.”

“There aren’t all that many kids at Carr. Even if every single parent and sibling came, how big could the crowds get?”

“That’s  the beauty of a small town. There’s not a lot else to do, so most  people come out and see the games if they’re here. We’ll sometimes get  almost half the town to come out, which is like fifteen hundred people.  It’s not like one of the bigger schools, but a thousand plus people  cheering for you is still pretty amazing. Occasionally we travel down to  Ashville to play one of the larger schools, and that is just … wow.”

“I can’t even imagine. The largest crowds I saw were in pretty small bars that could only fit like a hundred people.”

“Yeah,  but that’s different. That would be a real rush. I know the people at  the stadiums aren’t cheering for me, but being up on stage, knowing  they’re all screaming for you, that’s something else.”

“I won’t  lie, that was one of the draws for Dad. It had to be because the money  for a gigging musician isn’t all that great. So, it’s just the rush of  the crowds that you like?”

“No, I like the physical stuff, too.  Mom put me in gymnastics when I was little, and while I never cared for  some of the routines, I loved the tumbling. Cheerleading’s great because  it’s all of the tumbling without the rest of the nonsense.”

“Any other hobbies?”

“Not  really, unless you count doing dances on a music app, but it’s not like  I have any followers. I just do it to mess around. My mom does drag me  to some of her volunteer gigs. Usually, it’s something awful like an old  folks’ home, but occasionally we get to do something cool. We went to  the state fair last year and worked a booth asking for donations for one  of her wildlife funds. The booth was boring, but I spent most of the  time wandering around by myself, looking at all the stuff and eating.”

“I’ve never been to a state fair, so I have no idea what happens there.”

“It’s  all kinds of exhibits of people showing off stuff they make, either  crafts or foods. You get all sizes of companies, and most of them have  giveaways or free samples. There are rides and demonstrations, plus some  entertainers. It’s pretty cool. I’m surprised you traveled a bunch of  states and never went to one.”

“The life of a traveling family.  All we did was go from one set of gigs to another. You wouldn’t believe  all the normal stuff I missed out on.”

“Yeah, but you got to  exchange that for stuff that most kids would kill for. You were  backstage for concerts, meeting rockers, and hanging out with them.”

“There  wasn’t a lot of hanging out. Except for the last few years, I was too  young for most of them to pay attention to me. I won’t lie, there were  parts of it I liked, but I think I would have given it up for a more  normal childhood. You know I didn’t have any friends before moving here?  The only people I saw more than once or twice were adults since most of  the people performing didn’t have families. I’d meet someone my age, be  able to hang out with them for a day or two, and then never see them  again.”

“Ohh, I hadn’t thought of that. I could see how that would suck.”

“I have a lot of making up to do. Then I screwed it all up.”

“How’s that?”

“I met you. Any other friends I make are just going to be a disappointment, now.”

She clicked her tongue and said, “Such a bad line.”

“It’s not a line if it’s true. Plus, I’m out with you now, so who needs a pickup line. I already picked you up.”

“Ha, so smooth. I’ll give you points for flattery, if not for execution.”

“I said I had learning to do.”

“I guess I could train you up.”

We  decided to skip additional games and sat talking for the next hour. She  told me all about her childhood, her friends and playing in the woods,  and what it was like to grow up somewhere like Wellsville.

I told  her more stories of the clubs that Dad played at. Even when I ran out of  the really good stories, she was glued to every word. It was easy to  get wowed by the lifestyle of a musician, and I couldn’t fault her  interest in it, but I also could get her to see the crappier sides of  it.

Eventually, we were forced to stop talking as her phone dinged  with a message that Jordan was on her way. We cleaned up our mess and  returned everything before walking outside, holding hands. We weren’t  talking, just enjoying the moment, which was good.

I couldn’t stop  focusing on the feeling of her hand in mind. It was smaller and much  thinner than mine, and her skin was so smooth. Despite the cooling air,  my palms were getting a little sweaty, and I hoped she didn’t notice.

There  was no sign of Jordan when we got to the curb, so we just stood there  and waited. Rhonda started shivering a bit, so I reached my arm around  her waist and pulled her into me so she could share a little bit of body  heat. Late August was still pretty warm during the day, but the  mountains could get pretty cool once the sun went down. The light breeze  that had kicked up as we went outside added to that a bit.

She apparently didn’t mind since she pressed herself into me.

“I had a really good time tonight,” I said, turning my head and looking down at her.

“Me too,” she said, looking back up at my eyes.

She  sucked her bottom lip briefly and looked down slightly at my mouth. I’m  not sure what overcame me, but I leaned down and kissed her. Her arms  wrapped around my neck, and she went up on her tiptoes, pushing her  mouth harder against mine.

I felt a shot of electricity go down my  spine when her tongue brushed across my lips. I didn’t have any  experience in kissing, but Rhonda seemed to make up for that deficiency.  I more or less just copied what she did, running my hand up and down  her back as she pushed one hand through my hair. It occurred to me that  kissing after eating greasy burgers had some downsides, and I was  thankful I’d avoided onions on mine.

I could still taste the  slightly sweet flavor of her burger, coupled with an odd iron taste. The  sensation was something I relished, trying to memorize every moment of  her.

We jumped away from each other when a horn beeped a foot from  us. Jordan had the window down and was grinning wickedly at us. She’d  managed to drive right up next to us without us noticing.

“If you’re done sucking face, get in.”

“Bite me, bitch,” Rhonda said, but she couldn’t keep the happiness out of her voice.

We  held hands the whole way back but refrained from making out in front of  her sister. To keep her from quizzing us, I asked about the movie but  heard almost none of her response. Thankfully, Jordan did me a favor and  didn’t mess with us. I kept glancing over at Rhonda and catching her  glancing at me, both of us looking away when we caught each other.

When they dropped me off at Hanna’s house, Rhonda leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

“Call me tomorrow,” she said afterward.

“Call me, tomorrow,” Jordan mimicked in a sickly sweet voice. “Ignore the slut and call me,” she said before closing the door.

I headed around the back of Hanna’s house as they drove away, practically floating the whole way home.