Before You Go by James Preller Page A

Alley Cat Lanes on Friday night. I heard they canned the deejay because he became obsessed with death metal. It was ‘kill, hate, vomit, kill’ song after song. It threw off everybody’s game. Nothing but gutter balls and mayhem. Now they’re hiring real bands.”
    “I don’t know about bowling,” Jude said.
    “Dude, it’s not about the score,” Corey argued. “Nobody cares about that. It’s all about the shoes. I’m dead sexy in a pair of two-toned, cream-colored bowling shoes,” he joked, giving a halfway decent impression of Austin Powers.
    Jude slid his club into the golf bag. “Let’s pick ’em up,” he said, ignoring his friend.
    “Okay, boss,” Corey joked. “Your balls are there, and over there, and way over there,” he said, pointing at scattered spots on the empty field. He grinned at Jude. “So are you going to ask her or not?”
    “Maybe.” Jude got an idea. “How would you feel if your date’s name was Roberto?”
    “Roberto?”
    “He’s my friend from work.”
    “Oh,” Corey said. “Well, that kind of throws a wrench into the make-out session. Can he bowl?”
    “Doubtful,” Jude grinned.
    Corey slid a club into the golf bag, hoisted it on his shoulder. “I like seeing you like this. You’ve changed.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah, you’re happy,” Corey said.
    Jude made a face. “What are you talking about? I’ve been happy.”
    “Okay, whatever. I don’t know,” Corey said, considering Jude. “Lighter maybe. Something’s different. I think this girl’s good for you. But one thing hasn’t changed. You still suck at golf.”

 
    FOURTEEN
    It was true. Jude was happy. He sat in the back of the car, pleased to see that he’d managed to bring together two friends from different worlds, Corey and Roberto.
    Roberto was wearing a brown Big Lebowski bowling shirt; it read, THE DUDE MINDS, MAN. So tacky it rocked the house. He had borrowed the family car, a red Taurus, and Corey was stationed in the shotgun seat. It was a kick for Jude to sit back and watch those two together—a satisfying feeling.
    It was Friday night, and the boys were headed to the Rock ’n’ Bowl out on Sunrise Highway. The double-date idea didn’t work out with Becka. She had called in sick for work that morning. Jude texted her, and they bounced a couple of messages back and forth. Becka said she was under the weather and taking it slow for the weekend. So Jude never asked her, exactly. He invited Roberto instead. A mini brodown, second degree.
    “Could we make a short detour, Berto?” Jude asked.
    Corey turned around, one eyebrow arched, suspicious. “Where to?”
    “I’m going over to Becka’s house soon; we’re supposed to jam together. I was thinking—I kind of wanted to scope out where she lives,” Jude said, and felt instantly naked for saying so, fully revealed for the lovesick sap he’d truly become.
    “So you’re like a stalker now?” Roberto asked, eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.
    Corey laughed, a loud bark, and Roberto jiggled his head, body shaking.
    “Our boy’s got it bad,” Corey confided to Roberto. “Jude is besotted.”
    “Besotted?” Jude echoed. “What the hell?”
    “Really, Jude, come on,” Corey said, enjoying himself. “Drive by her house? What do you want to do after that? Go to Build-A-Bear?”
    “Wait a minute,” Roberto interrupted. “You’re going to jam with her, but you’ve never even heard her play guitar?”
    Jude nodded. “Yeah. I bet she’s good, though.”
    “Good? Who gives a crap?” Corey said. “You could strap a guitar around, I don’t know, the mummified corpse of Mother Theresa, and she’d be sexy as hell. It’s the ultimate turn-on.”
    Roberto nodded, grinning. “He’s right, Jude. That’s the power of rock and roll. Any girl is ten times hotter if she plugs into an amp.”
    “That’s what I’m talking about,” Corey said; he fist-bumped Roberto.
    Roberto glanced back at Jude. “Man, you’re so whipped,” he