Two-dollar Tuesdays

It's 9:00 on a summer Tuesday night. As the other girls warm up on vault, I sneak into the back room of the gym and grab my cell phone. It flashes red, signifying a voicemail.

"You up for two-dollar bowling?" Kelsey's recorded voice asks.

Heck, yes.

So is Nick. And Jill. And Zach. And Lauren. And Jamie. And Carissa. And Brian. And Danielle.

After 10:00, we descend upon Coram Country Lanes en masse. Afterwards, half-priced appetizers at Applebee's will entice us. Cheap food, cheap bowling: a winning combination for college students on Long Island.

We take over two neighboring lanes. After balls and beers are selected, it's time to bowl.

The males, of course, need to be champions. "This lane sucks!" they complain each time they fail to pick up a spare. "I hate the balls here. Port Jeff Lanes is so much better."

Matters are much calmer on the female side. Jill bowls another one into the gutter. Danielle is just hanging out before heading off to a party. Kelsey breaks away from a conversation to toss the ball onto the slick wood. The males snicker.

But little do they know that Lauren and I are ready to take up the slack.

I'm not too subtle when I do well. I still claim that breaking into the double digits is a victory (which it really isn't, besides maybe for Jill). I jump happily whenever I get a strike, and Lauren and I promptly break into our imitation of a Grateful Dead tribute dance.

My bowling experience has been limited to birthday parties and the sporadic outing such as this evening's. I pretend to not be competitive. But I am.

I hold the ball and pause, staring down the lane. I ponder the perfect angle. I hold my breath. I exhale. I try to find an inner calm. I try to ignore the heckling males.

Then I swing my arm back and forward again, dropping the child-sized hot pink ball towards the arrows on the floor and watching it roll. My form is nontraditional -- as soon as I lean forward to release, my right leg flies up behind me for balance. Sometimes I try to keep my leg pinned to the floor, but this method has not proven itself to be more successful than my typical form.

The ball rolls too slowly, I think. It creaks into the pins. 3. 5. 7. All. fall down.

Lauren quietly slides the ball into spare after spare. I go strike, spare, strike, spare. "Diana! You're awesome!" Danielle declares from her seat at the table.

Not usually. I'm also sure that Lauren could take me on handily if we were to go head-to-head. But I'll pretend to be awesome right now.

Meanwhile, Zach fires the ball down the alley when he's not trying to help Jill with her form. His ball even acquires a touch of curve before it crashes into the pins. Four go down. He grimaces and turns his back to the lane, shaking his head.

"Whoever loses buys the other team a pitcher -- right, Zach?" the girls taunt him.

"Whatever. We're going to have a comeback," Zach says with a smirk.

I break into the 160's for the first time ever, beating my previous best of a 123 with bumpers. A glorious evening, indeed! Lauren finishes close behind me. Our teammates are a bit more leisurely in raising their scores.

So after two games, Zach's about right. Usually the two teams are separated by a matter of a few pins. Of course, the grounds for victory are changed at this time: "Only the first game counts." "No, it's both."

"Applebee's is closing soon," Jamie points out.

In the end, everyone pays their own way. "You owe us next Tuesday," Zach announces with yet another smirk.

We'll see about that.