To make it clear which parts are dreams and which parts are reality, THE DREAMS ARE IN ITALICS, and reality is in regular font. ;D Enjoy! (Sorry if you do not like the dreams...)
Wally flopped on his wrestling ring, face rosier then it ever was.
"Now what...? I know she likes meh, and I like 'er. What do I do? Do I ask 'er on a date? Do I kiss 'er? Eww... Yuck... I don't want to do that. Hmm..." He thought to himself. "Maybe I should sleep on it..."
"I really need to stop drinkin' so much soda before bed..." Wally mumbled, rubbing his eye as he yawned. "Oh, crud! I forgot! I promised to spend the day with ma' dad today!"
"Numbuh Four, are you all right?" Nigel asked as Wally entered the kitchen.
"Yeah, why?" Wally asked, heading towards the closet his backpack was in.
"You're cheeks are all rosy." Hoagie stated, sticking his spoon in the yogurt in front of him. "It's kinda weird."
"Oh, that. I, um, I'm allergic to the new pillow I got! Yeah! And that's why I'm not gonna stay 'ere. I'm goin' out with ma' dad today!" Wally stated, stuffing some random objects into his blue backpack.
"Numbuh Four! You don't mean..." Nigel started, "...the DOCTOR?" Abby, Kuki, Wally, and Hoagie gasped. Now that was a bad thought for them. All kids, worldwide, besides the goody-goody Delightful Children From Down The Lane, hated and utterly despised the doctor. Why should they trust adults that stick their hands up your shirt and put this ice cold piece of metal on your chest!? Or put this thing on your arm that squeezes really hard!? Or when they put that gross stick on your tongue and they make you say, "Ahhh!"!? And believe me, my friends, the list goes on. To sum it up, the Doctor is not a pleasant person. Although they try to be, it just doesn't work.
"N-N-No... I'm just goin' out with 'im to, err, buy a new pillow! That's it. Believe meh....I would NEVUH leave 'ere to go to the stupid Doctuh's office without some weapons." Wally replied, zipping up his backpack and grabbing a piece of toast before he left. "Bye!" He called out.
"Bye!" His group mates called, finishing their breakfast.
"'Ello, Sport!" His father called out from the car parked in front of the Uno residence.
"'Ey, Dad." He replied, hopping into the seat next to his father.
"Ready ta' go bowling?" Mr. Beatles asked, throwing some shoes that look like something a clown would wear at Wally.
"Bowling?" Wally asked, staring down at the greasy shoes, "But, I dunno how to bowl..."
"Then I'll teach 'ya!" Mr. Beatles cheered, pulling into the bowling alley with the sign that had three pins, a ball crashing into them, and the name of the alley.
"'Ya see, Sport, the purpose of the game is 'ta knock down all the pins at the end of the alley." Mr. Beatles explained, as he took his son into the alley. The bowling alley was a strange place. It smelled of old nachos and grease, there was a bar, a pool table room, a game room, and many lanes. Not to mention everyone was wearing those silly shoes and most of the people there were old, fat men with their pals or teenagers on a date, which made Wally twitch.
"Teenaguhs and old guys... Great. This must be anothuh place the Kids Next Door's enemies gathuh..." Wally thought, cringing at the people staring at him and his father.
"Now watch 'at guy!" Mr. Beatles stated, pointing to a man clad in matching bowling shoes and shirt. Not to mention the hand grip that looked like something a robot would wear. But, although as goofy as he looked, he threw the ball perfectly. It glided quickly down the greasy wooden floor closely to the gutter, and just about a foot before it reached the pins, it took a marvelous turn and right between the first pin and the one diagonally before it, the ball knocked all of the pins down.
"Wow... He knocked the pins down. Big whoop... It's not like I couldn't do the same thing..." Wally mumbled, as his father dragged him to the cashier where he got them a lane.
"All right, sport, take this. I'll give 'ya a straight ball for now." Mr. Beatles stated, giving his son a ball. It made his hands drop, since it was quite heavy. But, Mr. Beatles cheerfully ignored the strain of his son and went to the lane.
Wally slumped on the chair, with his arms folded as his father got his ball, rubbed it with a towel, and then put on a handgrip.
"Okay, Son. You put your thumb in this bottom 'ole, 'an you put the two fingers between your pointer finger 'an you're pinky in this 'ole." Mr. Beatles explained, "Now, hold it like this. Good. Now, what ya do is find the lines ya need to put your feet at, and then walk up to the lane and throw that ball so it knocks down all the pins. Now watch your ol' man in the works!" Mr. Beatles approached the lanes and threw it as a professional would. But unfortunately, it took a turn for the worse into the gutter.
"See, Sport. We get two tries to knock all of 'em down, unless 'ya knock 'em down on the first try." Mr. Beatles stated, but this time he managed to knock five down. "Ah well. You try, throw it from the center."
"Ok, um, let's see... Err..." Wally mumbled, as he dragged the ball to the end of the alley and tossed it. His arm kind of flopped all over, and he didn't throw it straight. So of course, it went into the gutter.
"Son, ya gotta throw it from the center! And stand on the center lines and walk straight! An' throw it straight! Your arm's gotta be straight! Follow through! 'Ya know, afta' you throw it, bring your arm up as high as 'ya can! An'...!" Doing as he was told, he stood at the center line, threw it at the center line, and had his arm go straight as well. Since he followed his directions...
"G'job, Sport! Ya got a spare!" Mr. Beatles cheered, patting his son on the back.
"A spare?" Wally replied, watching a giant "/" go across the scoring screen. "What's so good 'bout a line that's not straight?"
"It means ya got a strike on the second try! Which is good! Son, you're a natural!" Mr. Beatles cheered, as Wally decided maybe the game wasn't so bad after all.
"Oh my GAWD, guys! It was AWESOME! I soooo kicked butt at that game!" Wally yelled, as he entered the tree house.
"Yeah, my dad plays that game all of the time. It must be pretty fun of a game if he can play it EVERY SINGLE Saturday..." Hoagie stated, eating a cheeseburger.
"You bet! Ahh! I cannot WAIT 'til next Saturday when 'e takes me again!" Wally cheered, as he and his friends headed to bed.
"Numbuh Four!" Kuki cried, as she was thrown on the ground by a tall, muscular, yet young 7th grader.
"Numbuh Three! 'Ey, you big dummie! Let go of MY girlfriend!" Wally yelled, tackling the bully and sending him flying with one punch.
"Oh, Numbuh Four!" Kuki cheered, hugging him, "You saved me!"
"Sure, anytime..." Wally stated, blushing.
"What can I do to make it up for you, Numbuh Four? I would've been dead without you!" Kuki replied, wiping her eyes.
"Ah, you dun't hafta do anythin' for me..." Wally stated, but Kuki shook her head.
"No! Oh! I know! I'll let you take me shopping!" Kuki stated, grabbing his sleeve and taking him to the local mall.
"What? Wait... Um... Numbuh Three...?" Wally mumbled, as he was forced to pay for Rainbow Monkey toys after Kuki gave him her deer eyes.
In case you are wondering... Yes, I love bowling. Yes, I bowl every weekend when my father is not working. No, I do not bowl well. My average is 120. (A perfect game, all strikes, is 300.) Yes, just as Wally in this story, I learned to bowl from my dad. (And he bought me my own balls! My first one was a pink, turquoise, and purple U.V. reactive ball that was made to be thrown straight with Minnie Mouse on it. It was a kiddie ball, okay? I was in fourth grade! But the one I have now is a hooking ball, and it kicks ass and it's light blue and violet! ) And yes, a fly just flew at me. -.-;;