"April goes first," Mateo said.
"Agreed," Arthur said, typing "APRIL" into the first slot on lane one's screen.
As April passed him to bowl, Arthur touched her lower back and kissed the crown of her head. She stepped up to the line. She could feel them watching. She rolled.
The ball curved gently left, clipped three pins, and sent them scattering with a satisfying crack.
"Nice!" Caleb said, grinning.
"Clean approach," Arthur observed.
Jax nodded approvingly. "You curved it on purpose."
"I absolutely did not."
Mateo's smile was warm. "Even better."
April turned to find all of them watching her: Caleb's open delight, Dante's almost-smile, Jiro's quiet pride.
Killian's eyes were soft. "Again."
She rolled again. Got two more. Five total.
The screen updated automatically, APRIL: 5, with a little animation of falling pins.
"Respectable," Arthur said, which April was learning to recognize as high praise.
"I'm going to have unrealistic expectations of my athletic performance now," she informed them.
Caleb bowled with a running start and a spin move that absolutely did not help, sent the ball straight into the gutter, and immediately blamed "lane conditions." Liam stepped up with zero fanfare and bowled a strike so clean it looked computer-generated.
"Show-off," Caleb muttered.
"Competence isn't showing off," Liam replied.
Jax got a strike with the precision of someone who'd calculated angles before rolling.
Mateo materialized beside April with a bottle of water and what looked like fancy crackers from somewhere. "You'll need fuel," he said, pressing both into her hands.
"It's bowling," April said.
"Exactly. Athleticism."
His turn came and he bowled with his eyes half-closed, got eight pins somehow, and claimed it was "muscle memory from bocce," refusing to elaborate.
Jiro took his turn with the same quiet focus he brought to everything, rolled a spare, and sat back down next to April without comment.
Dante bowled a strike with the controlled precision of a man who'd absolutely practiced this in private and would deny it if asked.
Then Killian stepped up.
April watched him select a ball, the way he tested the weight, the slight squaring of his shoulders like he was about to enter a boardroom negotiation.
He lined up. Released.
The ball rolled for exactly three feet, then veered hard into the gutter like it had accepted a compelling business proposal from the edge of the lane.
Killian stared at the empty lane. The screen updated: KILLIAN: 0.
