“Happy birthday, Pop,” Miles’s dad said, enveloping his father in a tight embrace.
Then Miles’s mom kissed Pop on the cheek. “Happy birthday, old man. We love you.”
When Mercedes stepped in front of their grandfather’s wheelchair, Miles watched a tear slide down Pop’s cheek. “Sweetheart!” Grandpop Billy said, opening his arms wide. “You came home from college.”
“Of course!” she said. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Pop.”
“Well,” he said, swiping at another tear. “I…Well.”
“Oh, Pop!” Mercedes said, leaning down and hugging him.
“Don’t begrudge an old man a good cry over his favorite granddaughter.”
“But I’m your only—”
“Yeah,” Grandpop Billy said. “Don’t ruin the moment, Ms. Sassy Pants.”
Then it was Miles’s turn. When he fell into his grandfather’s arms, Pop pounded him on the back. “You know I love you, kid.”
Miles did know. It meant everything. He ached with wishing his bubbie Louise were still here. She would have been on Miles’s grandfather’s lap, he imagined, and they would have been spinning to whatever music was playing and laughing their joy out to the whole world.
When everyone at the party had had a chance to say “Happy birthday” and give him a hug or a kiss or squeeze his shoulder, Miles’s grandfather looked out over the crowd and shook his head. “Wouldn’t Louise have loved every minute of this?”
A chorus of Awwws went through the crowd.
After a big sniff, Billy croaked, “So let’s get this party started. It’s not every day you turn seventy-five. Somebody get me a drink!”
“Comin’ right up, Pop,” Miles’s dad called.
And with that, the party at Buckington Bowl moved into full swing.
Miles’s stomach tightened when his mom announced it was time for presents. This was it. He’d been working toward this moment for such a long time.
He decided to let everyone else give their gifts before him.
Stick went first. He rolled his wheelchair over and gave Grandpop Billy a box with a wide ribbon tied around it. Inside the box was a T-shirt that read “Beware an Old Fart with a Bowling Ball.”
When Grandpop Billy held the shirt up, everyone laughed.
“Made that one just for you, my friend.”
“You’re quite a talent with a sewing machine, Stick.”
“You got that right,” Stick said. Then his face looked more serious. “I’m sure glad the AWBA brought us together, ya old fart.”
“Me too,” Grandpop Billy said, ducking his head. Then he pointed over at the center of the bulletin board. “But it really began with that lady. She’s the one who convinced me to start an AWBA league here. Louise was the beginning of every good thing.”
“To Louise!” Stick shouted.
People raised their glasses. “To Louise!”
“To Louise,” Grandpop Billy whispered.
“Hey,” Tate said. “This one’s from me, Mr. Spagoski.”
“Well, thanks, sweetheart. When are you going to change your hair back to a normal color?”
Tate shrugged. “Thought the blue matched my penguin hat nicely.”
Miles’s grandfather laughed. “Indeed it does, sweetheart. You know, you’re the coolest friend Miles has.” He nodded toward Randall. “No offense.”
Randall tugged on his lapels, put one shiny sneaker behind the other, did a fancy spin and nodded at Grandpop Billy.
Grandpop Billy cracked up. “And you’re his most stylish friend.” He glanced at Tate. “No offense, sweetheart.”
“None taken,” Tate said. “Now open my present.”
Inside the box was the world’s longest scarf.
Billy wrapped it around and around and around his neck. “I love it.”
Tate blushed.
“But this could be a scarf for a giraffe. You know that, right?”
Tate smiled. “Guess I got carried away.”
Mercedes gave her grandfather a framed photo of Bubbie Louise with her and Miles from several years ago, which made him pull out a handkerchief, swipe at his eyes and blow his nose. “It’s beautiful, Mercedes. Don’t mind me. I’m just a sentimental old fool.”
Mercedes hugged her grandfather. “Love you, Pop.”
“Love you, darlin’.”
Miles’s mom and dad gave Grandpop Billy an Eagles sweatshirt, since that was his favorite team (Go, Birds!), and a gift certificate to the Dining Car.
Randall presented him with a trophy. The plaque on it read “World’s Crankiest Bowler,” which made the whole crowd howl with laughter.
“So true,” Grandpop Billy admitted, raising the trophy high. “So true.”
After everyone else had given Grandpop Billy their gifts, Miles was about to approach when his grandfather held up his arms. “I think it’s time to tell the story of how this all came to be.”
“Let’s hear the story!” someone shouted.
Miles would have to wait to give his grandfather the gift, but that was okay. He loved hearing this story.
Billy grabbed a pool cue, rolled his chair over and pointed to the photo at the center of the “Greatest Stories Ever Bowled” board. “So, one night, my sorry legless butt was sitting right there at the snack counter.” He pointed to his usual seat. “The place was owned by Rock Trumbo and his wife, Kitty, back then.”
A few of the old-timers nodded.
“Anyway, this gorgeous woman walks in with a couple of her girlfriends. She sits at the counter and orders a hot chocolate.”
Miles let out a breath, thinking about Amy ordering a hot chocolate the other day.
Billy went on, “I was sitting on the other side from her and her friends, and my jaw near dropped down onto the counter.”
Mercedes poked Miles’s shoulder. “This story gets better every time.”
Miles nodded, but wished he’d given his grandfather the gift before the story started so he wouldn’t be thinking about it now.
“So naturally,” Grandpop Billy said, “I started talking her up. Couldn’t help myself. You all know I’ve got a big mouth.”
“Indeed you do!” Stick shouted.
Everyone laughed.
“Okay, settle down. By the time she’d finished her hot chocolate and her friends were ready to go, I had her phone number. In this very hand,” he said, waving his right hand, “was the number of an angel.” Grandpop Billy let out a slow breath. “But the more I thought about it, the worse I felt, like I’d tricked her or something.”
“Aw, this part always makes me sad,” Mercedes whispered to Miles.
“Me too.”
“We love you, Pop!” Miles’s dad called out.
“Love you, too.” Grandpop Billy pointed at his son with the pool cue. “So I called her, all right, but I told her the truth. I told her that she couldn’t tell from where she was sitting at the counter, but I had lost both my legs from when that bus hit me.” He hung his head for a few moments, as though he was remembering the accident that took his legs all those years ago. Then his head popped up. “And you know what she said? What that angel said to me?”
“What?” a few people called, even though everyone knew exactly what Louise had said because they’d all heard the story before.
Grandpop Billy swallowed. “She said, ‘Why would that make any difference? Why on earth would that make me not want to go out with you?’ ”
More Awwws from the crowd.
“Before I knew it, we were getting married. And because Louise loved this bowling center so much, when I got the settlement money from the bus company, I bought this old place from Rock and Kitty for my…my…Louise.” Grandpop Billy sniffed.
“It’s okay, Pop.” Lane wrapped an arm around h
is shoulders.
Mercedes ran up and kissed him on the forehead.
Grandpop Billy squeezed their hands.
That was when Miles approached his grandfather and handed him the envelope, which was getting sweaty from being in his hands so long. “I have something for you, Pop. It’s my gift for your birthday.”
His grandfather smiled.
Miles couldn’t believe how long he’d planned and worked for this moment. “Open it.”
Billy weighed the envelope in his palm. “Hmm. It’s got some heft to it, that’s for sure, but it’s too light to be a new car.”
“Very funny,” Miles said. He couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Go ahead, Pop.”
“Okay. Okay.”
Miles bit his bottom lip while his grandfather slid a gnarled index finger under the flap.
Some people had gone to the snack bar. A few were bowling. Others were shooting a game of pool. But a bunch were still standing there, watching.
Grandpop Billy pulled out the paper that was inside. His lips moved as he read quietly. “All expenses…International Bowling Museum and Hall of Fame.” Then he peered inside the envelope, which was stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. “I can’t take this,” Billy said, and handed it back to Miles. “Thank you.”
Dumbfounded, Miles accepted the envelope and sputtered, “Don’t—don’t worry about the money, Pop. I saved it up all through the years. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Grandpop Billy snapped. “That’s not it. I can’t take this. I don’t want it.” He waved the paper at Miles until he took it from his fingers. “I can’t go there without her, Miles.”
Now his grandfather started to cry. Really cry. Shoulders heaving.
People were paying attention.
“You won’t have to go alone, Pop.” A heaviness, like a bag of rocks, took up residence in Miles’s stomach. “There’s enough money in there for you to go with another person. I thought…well, maybe…I could go with you.”
Billy Spagoski swiped an arm across his leaky eyes and barked, “I said NO!” And he wheeled himself away.
Miles, gripping the envelope, turned and saw the concerned looks on people’s faces. He ran past them all and into the bathroom across from lane 48.
He considered flushing all the hundred-dollar bills down the toilet. Instead, he kicked the trash can. It fell over with a loud clang. But that wasn’t satisfying enough, so he kicked a stall door so hard it hit the wall and came back at him. Before Miles could make mincemeat of the hand dryer or soap dispenser, Randall came huffing in. “What’s going on?”
Miles crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know why he’s such a jerk! I worked forever for that!”
“Your grandpop?”
“Yes, my grandpop! I saved for that gift for years!” Miles kicked the trash can again for good measure. The only thing that accomplished was hurting his toes, but Miles didn’t care about that pain.
“That’s a ton of my money,” Randall said, eyeing the envelope.
Miles ducked his head. “Yeah, and he was incredibly unappreciative!”
Randall stepped forward and touched Miles’s shoulder, but Miles pulled away.
“Maybe he had a good reason, Miles.”
“What reason? His only reason is that he’s an ungrateful jerk!”
“Who’s a jerk?” Tate had walked into the bathroom.
“You can’t be in here,” Randall said. “It’s the men’s bathroom.”
“Who cares?” Tate put a hand on Miles’s back, and he shrugged her off, too. “Whoa!” she said. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Sorry,” Miles said. “But he’s such a stupid jerk!”
“He’s your grandfather, Miles,” Tate said. “Your grandpop.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Miles paced in the small space, like a caged lion. “Bubbie Louise wouldn’t ever in a million years have acted that way. Really, the present was supposed to be for her. I started saving all that time ago to buy the present for her. She’s the one who really wanted to go there. But then she had to up and die!”
Miles collapsed into himself, collapsed into the truth of why this hurt so much. He sank to the floor with a defeated thud.
Randall and Tate flanked him and scrunched close.
“It’s okay,” Tate murmured.
“It’s not,” Miles cried, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. “And it’s not going to be okay either, no matter what anyone says.”
“You’re right,” Randall said. “It sucks.”
It did suck. His bubbie was gone and his grandfather was a jerk. Miles stood and wiped his eyes and nose with a few sheets of toilet paper. “I’m going home.”
“Aw, man,” Randall said. “You gotta stay for the rest of the party.”
“No, I don’t. I’m leaving.”
Tate followed him out of the bathroom. “Then we’re going with you. Right, Randall?”
“Um, sure.”
Tate and Randall walked Miles the four blocks to his house, all of them hunched against the cold and no one talking.
They stopped in front of the steps to Miles’s house.
“Are you—?”
“I’m good,” Miles said, even though he wasn’t.
“So, we’ll see you—”
“Yeah.” Miles trudged up the steps and into his house.
Alone.
Even though Amy knew it would be only one more week of her dad being away, she felt a deep loneliness when he left Sunday night.
Uncle Matt wasn’t home. He’d gone out with a friend.
Amy was alone in the house of death. She couldn’t imagine why her dad thought this was a good idea.
Kat wasn’t answering her texts. Tate wasn’t either. Amy even texted Pam, hoping for a photo of Ernest or an update, but none arrived.
Sitting on her bed, Amy wrapped herself in the fuzzy purple blanket and wished for a few whispered words from her mom.
There were none.
She pulled out her notebook and purple pen and returned to her fictional friends.
Prince Harry returned to the tower room with a bowl of gruel each for Fiona and Lucky.
While it wasn’t the tastiest thing they’d ever eaten, they were grateful for it.
Then the prince handed Fiona a loaf of crusty bread and a jar of water.
Fiona and Lucky finished every bite, every drop. Lucky burped to show his appreciation, then curled up in the corner of the cell and fell asleep.
“So, what is this idea of yours?” the prince asked, his green eyes ablaze with what Fiona figured must be hope.
She explained her idea and said that they could begin tomorrow, if the prince wanted.
The prince definitely wanted.
That night, before she fell into the deepest, most troubled sleep of her life, Fiona removed a few long, strong threads from the hem of her apron and set them aside, so she’d be ready for the morning.
The prince arrived early, with another jar of water for Fiona and Lucky and a cooked goose egg for each of them, along with herbs from the garden.
“The cook was in a fine mood this morning,” Prince Harry declared. “And I’m ready to begin.”
Fiona approached the prince and looked right into his enchanting eyes. “Before we do this, I want to be sure it’s what you want. It will be painful. And, of course, temporary.”
The prince returned Fiona’s gaze with equal intensity. “This is exactly what I want. I couldn’t be more sure. All this time, I assumed that when my mother told me to be exactly who I was, she meant who I was on the outside. That’s why I never allowed anyone to remove my hair before. I now realize my mother meant to remain true to who I am on the inside. The outside—well, it’s just the same as a book’s cover—and I want to make a
change to mine.”
So they began the difficult job.
Fiona wrapped one of the threads from the hem of her apron around a few strands of the prince’s hair and yanked.
“Ouch!” he screamed.
Fiona expected armed guards to rush in and impale her with spears, but of course she and the prince were so high up in the tower, no one could have heard him scream. “Are you all right?” Fiona asked. “Is it too painful?”
The prince’s eyes watered. “Continue.”
She did.
Every day, for a few hours, Fiona helped remove the prince’s long hair. (He learned to tolerate the process without screaming.) And every day, the prince provided Fiona and Lucky with food, drink, companionship and a clean bucket for their waste.
What the prince didn’t know—couldn’t possibly know—was what Fiona did at night, after he had gone.
Early Monday morning on lane 48, Miles and Randall laced up their bowling shoes, preparing to play a game before school.
“Want to lay down a few bucks on this one?” Randall asked.
“Nope.”
Randall got up and staggered backward. “You don’t want to play for money?” Randall put the back of his hand against Miles’s forehead, but Miles slapped it away.
“Not sick. Just don’t need the money anymore.” Miles glared over at where his grandfather was sitting at his place at the counter. “Let’s just bowl. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Miles’s angry bowling—using too much force and speed—cost him accuracy and points, but it made him feel a little better in the moment. He beat Randall by only a dozen points, which made him angry all over again. He should have crushed him.
As the boys walked away from the lane, Grandpop Billy rolled his chair into their path. “Miles, we need to talk.”
“Maybe later,” Miles said. “Don’t want to be late for school.”
“But…”
Miles darted around his grandfather’s wheelchair and walked away without saying anything else.
Randall bumped into Miles’s shoulder and gave him the side-eye. “What was that about?”
In Your Shoes Page 13
