We play. Sebastian is, as promised, terrible. His first ball goes directly into the gutter. His second isn't much better.
I, on the other hand, am mysteriously good at bowling.
"How?" Sebastian demands after I get my third strike. "How are you this good?"
"My hometown had a bowling alley. Cheapest entertainment around. I spent every Friday night there from age twelve to eighteen." I line up my next shot. "Some of us had to find joy in places that didn't require money."
"I'm starting to realize how much I missed."
"You didn't miss bowling alleys. Trust me."
"No. But I missed... this. Being normal. Having fun without it being a production." He sits next to me on the plastic chairs. "Everything in my life has always been about appearances. Legacy Council meetings, charity galas, networking events. Even the parties at Legacy House aren't actually fun. They're just another obligation."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is." He watches me bowl, another strike. "You make it look easy. Being yourself. Not caring what people think."
"I care what people think. I just don't have the luxury of pretending otherwise." I sit back down next to him. "When you're a scholarship student, everyone's watching to see if you fail. Waiting for proof you don't belong. So you either own who you are or you let them break you."
"And you chose to own it."
"I chose to survive. There's a difference."
We bowl three games. I win all three by embarrassing margins. By game three, Sebastian has given up even trying and is just laughing at his own incompetence.
"I'm beginning to think you hustled me," he says after his ball goes in the gutter for the fifteenth time.
"Would I do that?"
"Absolutely."
We return our shoes and head back outside. The February afternoon is still cold but sunny, and campus is alive with students enjoying the weekend.
"Food?" Sebastian suggests. "And before you say anything, I know a place that's definitely under twenty dollars."
He takes me to a small sandwich shop off campus, the kind of place with plastic tables and a hand-written menu. We order at the counter, and Sebastian pays before I can argue.
"You're buying a lot of my meals lately," I observe when we sit down with our sandwiches.
"I'm making up for two years of being an asshole. I figure I owe you at least a few hundred meals."
"That's a lot of sandwiches."
"I'm committed to the cause." He takes a bite. "Can I ask you something?"
"You're going to anyway."
"What happens after the gala? After the contract is fulfilled?"
The question catches me off guard. I've been so focused on getting through the five dates that I haven't thought about after.
"I don't know," I admit. "What do you want to happen?"
"I want to keep seeing you. For real. No contract, no cameras, no social media documentation. Just us." He sets down his sandwich. "But I also know that's asking a lot. Your friends don't trust me. Most of campus thinks I'm an entitled asshole and you have every reason to walk away once this is over."
"Yes to all of that." Not sure what else to say to him.
"So what I'm asking is... do I have a shot? After this is done, do we have a shot at being something real?"
