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Bridget, Adam, and Schy were not pleased to think they were the last ones to find out I had a boyfriend. I tried to explain, tell him I wasn’t dating Todd, I’d only agreed to see him socially that Friday night and, okay, the Monday before that. But I don’t think they quite believed me. I’d left too much out of my earlier Ryder stories to fill in the gaps for all their questions.

They only talked to me over the phone on Wednesday for about ten minutes, and I had to call them. On Thursday, I didn’t call, letting them make the next move, but they didn’t make it.

Friday night, Barry pulled his Mercedes up to the front entrance of the Osage bowling alley and stopped before turning to me with a fatherly smile. “Do you have enough money?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks.” Since gifts from him obviously irritated my mother, I wanted to decline as many handouts from Barry as possible. But he offered them non-stop; it was becoming harder and harder to say no.

He leaned toward me as if he wanted to kiss me on the cheek with a fatherly kind of peck goodbye. But since I hadn’t experienced a fatherly move in over thirteen years, it majorly freaked me out. Panicking, I shoved open the passenger’s side door. “I’ll call when I’m ready to be picked up. Thanks again for the lift.” Rushing the words, I gave him no chance to get close as I flew from the car and onto the curb.

“No problem,” he called, waving at me and smiling in such a way that made me feel guilty for bailing on him. “Have fun.”

I shut the door, deriding myself for overreacting when Barry had been the only person nice to me in the past week. But honestly, it was going to take time for me to relax completely around him. I hoped he didn’t think I was ungrateful while he waited for me to loosen up.

Shivering as a gust of wind swept up my dad’s logging jacket and chilled me, I rubbed at my arms and hurried inside the building.

It was a typical bowling alley, not much different from Hillsburg’s bowling alley. Dark with a low ceiling and loud music playing the number one hits, Osage Lanes boasted Friday night as glow bowl. I stood in the entrance a moment by one of those claw machines that held a bunch of stuffed animals no one could ever win and watched half a dozen glowing balls roll down assorted lanes and knock over a couple dozen pins.

Brushing my dark hair behind my ear in a nervous manner, I glanced around awkwardly, hoping to spot someone familiar.

“Hey, Violet! Is that you?”

Hearing an all-too familiar voice call out an all-too familiar nickname, I glanced up and winced. Bridget’s older brother of all people grinned back.

“What are you doing here?” Joel asked.

“Bowling,” I stated the obvious.

“Ah, going to be a smart aleck, are we?” Reaching out his long, gangly arm, he wrapped his elbow around my head before I could stop him. Then he bent me slightly and rubbed his knuckles against my skull, giving me a completely humiliating noogie.

Which made me very grateful I didn’t have an older brother.

“Cut it out.” I struggled a moment to break free, hoping no one from Southeast had just witnessed my torture.

Laughing, he let me up.

I pushed away from him and straightened with an indignant glare as I tried to pat my hair back into place. “What’re you doing here?” I finally asked once I’d brushed myself back into order.

“It’s league night over in Hillsburg, so my buddies and I came here,” he explained.

I nodded. “Well…” I’d grown up around Joel. Being Bridget’s older brother, he was always around. But we’d never been that close as to actually talk—in extended conversation.

Before I could hunt up something else to say, Ryder appeared at my side, making me suck in a startled breath.

“Grace,” he said, reaching for my arm but not actually touching me. Sending Joel a censoring stare, full of suspicious distrust, he asked, “Everything all right?”

I couldn’t believe it. Did Ryder honestly think I needed saving? From Joel Forthright?

Insane.

But really kind of sweet.

Before I could answer, Joel sent Ryder a once over, taking in his letterman’s jacket. Turning to me with a quirked eyebrow, he bluntly asked, “Why’re you hanging out with a Southeast kid?”

“Probably because I go to Southeast now,” I said, using my dry voice.

His eyes widened. “No way.”

Mimicking him, I widened my eyes right back. “Way.”