He pushed open the thin metal handle on the fingerprint-streaked glass door and the din of the bowling alley got cranked. What the fuck was he doing here? Three or four pieces of jailbait giggled past in a rush and he tried to avoid looking.

Mallory was always late, he thought. Couldn't get ready to go out without at least one girlfriend to help. It was almost pathetic if it wasn't true that she was way, way, way the hell better at being social than he was. Why else would he be at a fucking bowling alley on a Friday night if he had any friends? A couple of gangly acne-ridden guys galumphed past, snorting with laughter and root beer. He kinda hated that chick sometimes.

She glanced at the wooden door again. Where was Jeff? He probably got caught in traffic at the road construction, she worried. She knew he cared, but maybe not enough to remember which bowling alley she told him to meet her at. She and her girlfriends were only 15 minutes late, but maybe he had arrived early and was lost somewhere in the crowd. Look at all the tiny little high school girls and boys. Maybe Jeff didn't care. Lately it seemed like he didn't want to hang out as much, except for having sex.