“Screw you, Splitter.” She makes like she’s going to throw a chip at him, but chomps on it instead. Malcolm and I snort with laughter at the nickname, because yeah, Miguel does have a weird tendency to get a 7–10 split every single turn, and no, he’s not one of those masters who can turn that into a spare.

“You’re up, champ,” Malcolm says with a toothy grin. He’s taking a lot of pleasure in the fact that I’m kicking everyone else’s asses, and normally, I would be too, but historically my athletic successes have not exactly been welcome in this town.

Then again, Amber and Miguel are too busy being competitive twerps with each other to notice, which is probably for the best.

I never see them interact like this in school—playful and snarky and so clearly more like brother and sister than anything romantic. It’s weird to imagine I ever worried about them dating. Plus, Miguel and Malcolm are aspirationally a-fucking-dorable.

Of course, now that Malcolm’s drawn attention, both Amber’s and Miguel’s eyes fly up to the scoreboard. “Jesus, Walsh,” Miguel groans. “Is there any sport you don’t dominate?”

I brace myself for the wave of resentment, the kind I’ve become very attune to in the last few weeks, but don’t catch any. However he feels about me as a teammate, here we’re having fun. And it’s going to stay fun. I can breathe. “Badminton,” I assure him as I go up and hunt for the sparkly blue-green ball that’s become my fast favorite. “I am terrible at badminton.”

“Makes sense you wouldn’t be into the shuttlecock,” Malcolm says seriously, and I laugh so hard, I almost drop the ball on my toe.

“Malcolm!” Amber whispers fiercely. “Behave! This is a bowling alley! There are children present!”

“First of all, we’re the youngest people here by at least three decades,” Miguel points out, “and second of all—”

“This place is filled with glittery balls!” Miguel, Malcolm, and I all chorus, and we crack up again.

Then I throw a strike, and the laughter turns into hoots and claps.

“J-A-C-K!” Amber cheers, jumping up from her seat and waving and rolling her arms. “Knock those pins down all the way! Gooooo Jack!”

“Did I just get a personal cheer from future head cheerleader Amber McCloud?” I widen my eyes and flutter my hand over my chest.

“You did!” She flounces over and places a big smack on my cheek, and Miguel and Malcolm cheer as my face undoubtedly goes red. “I am very proud of my star athlete.”

My star athlete. Fuck. I am a five-foot-nine puddle on the sticky floor.