How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy (17 page)

“Oh yeah, my bad, Bubba.”

Bubba and I head toward Striker's front doors, both of us carrying two bowling bags with heavy stuff in them, while Sergio walks like a zombie beside us with his new gear. Bubba keeps talking.

“Friendship is a Bubba-sized trophy, Lamar. Don't ever take friends for granted.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Bubba grins. “I'm glad I met you, Lamar, King of Striker's. What's my rule?”

“Stay in school.”

“Now that's cool. Thanks for your help.”

I strut to deliver his Pro Thunders to the winners. Before he leaves, Bubba shakes my hand again. He honks as he pulls out of the parking lot, and I can't believe what's just happened. Bubba came to Coffin and talked to me. Sergio pushes me on the shoulder and breaks my trance.

“This is the best birthday gift ever. Thanks with cheddar, bro.”

Makeda and Esmeralda break through and listen to us relive the greatest five minutes of our lives. Makeda's ball is so new, it doesn't even have finger holes in it. It's all glittery, with red and black swirls in the design.

“I think we should bowl, in honor of Bubba,” says Sergio.

I cross my arms to pose. “I totally agree.”

Sergio strikes a pose, too. “Did I ever tell you that twelve is my lucky number?”

“Dang, Sergio, aren't you tired of losing?”

I'm waiting for him to say something back, but instead, Sergio's looking over my shoulder again. He can't be checking out a hottie, since Esmeralda and Makeda are with us. So I turn around. It's Mason, the security guard. I stretch out my fist.

“Hey, what's going on?”

Mason bumps my fist and chuckles. “You sure can yell, Lamar. My family is still laughing at you screaming on the counter. When I told them I knew you, they didn't believe me. We've been here all day! Thanks for the idea.”

“I told you bowling is the bomb, Mason.”

“You sure did. Well, have fun. See you around.”

“Yeah, later, Mason.”

Sergio nudges me. “Dude, who was that?”

“He's the security guard at the Y. I worked with him. He's cool people.”

My disc lights up and I get right in Sergio's face.

“Looks like your good day just came to an end. Our lane is ready.”

He doesn't back down. “So the question is, are
you
ready for your streak to die? Because that's exactly what's going to happen.”

I laugh at my friend. “Just to show you I'm not worried, I'm buying the snacks today.”

We stroll to the snack bar and order pizza and drinks for the four of us.

Sergio nudges me. “Dude, I really like Ezzi.”

“Man, I already know guys are going to be after Makeda when school starts again.”

We glance at our superfine honeys. I haven't felt this great in weeks.

Esmeralda and Makeda talk, giggle, and eat pizza while we bowl. It doesn't take long to spank Sergio for the twelfth time. As a matter of fact, I tack on numbers thirteen and fourteen before we head back to the snack bar to order pizza. Once we find a table, I crank up the motor on my mouth.

“Yo, Sergio, check it out. Just because the King of Striker's takes a few days off doesn't mean he's no longer king. I was just taking a royal break.”

Sergio fakes a sneeze. “Oh, excuse me. I'm allergic to royal bull. Getting used to this new ball is going to take time.”

Two large pizzas later, I pat my belly. Makeda pats hers, too, and giggles. I look over at my boy and he nods at me.

“Thanks, Lamar. That was good and on time.”

“Yeah, thanks, Lamar,” says Esmeralda.

I give Sergio a high five. “It's getting dark outside, bro. The really good fireworks are going to start soon. I'm going to walk Makeda to her house so she can drop off her new Pro Thunder. We have a special place to watch the show, so I'll catch you later.”

Sergio takes Esmeralda by the hand and winks at me. “We're going to watch the fireworks somewhere nice. I'll call you.”

Sergio winks at me and I wink back.

On my way out, someone yells. “Hey, kid!”

I scan the lanes and grin when I see who's in lane seventeen. I tell Makeda, “I'll be right back.”

I walk into his bowlers' area. He pushes his wheelchair to meet me.

“You were right. My wife and I haven't had this much fun in years. We're thinking about joining a league. Thanks for telling me about it. My name is Charles.”

I shake his hand. “I'm Lamar. See you around.”

I take my girl's hand and we walk out of Striker's, into the evening air.

“You know that guy, Lamar?” she asks.

“Sure do.”

We drop her ball off and then sneak through the hole in the chain-link fence. The first set of fireworks shoots across the sky. The boom rattles inside me. This is what summer is all about; free
and easy, hanging with my friends. I put my arm around Makeda. She looks at me.

“There were a lot of people at Striker's today.”

I nod. “The word is getting out. Bowling is the baddest game in town.”

“Yeah,” she says.

My eyebrows rise. “You know what I have a taste for?”

“What?”

I lick my lips. “Strawberries.”

She giggles as I lean toward her, and I'm not sure if the fireworks are from our kiss or the glittery sky on this awesome Fourth of July.

I
thank God for everything, especially this journey. But no one takes a journey like this one alone. My path prior to publication has been guided by caring professionals in the publishing world, incredible people such as Bernette Ford, Eileen Robinson, Harold Underdown, Dara Sharif, Emma Dryden, Christine Taylor-Butler, Kent L. Brown, Jr., Neal Shusterman, and countless workshop and conference hosts. Critique partners are invaluable, and without the feedback from Diane Bailey, Jenny Bailey, Carrie Garfield, Tim Kane, Juliet White, and Petula Workman, I would have submitted something very different from the story I have. My entire family and host of friends showed support, love, and encouragement as I stepped out into this new adventure. And once I was ready, I was blessed with the absolute, hands-down, no-questions-asked best agent ever, Jen Rofé, who knew my fabulous editor, Kristin Daly Rens, would love this story as much as I do. To all of you, I say thanks so much for walking with me.

Jacket art © 2011 by Photodisc/Getty Images (bowling pins) and CSA Plastock/Getty Images (trophy)

Jacket design by Carla Weise