im baaaaaack


6th of May, ABC

Giggles and snickering and tapping.

The only noise I've been hearing for the past hour.

The origin of those cackles is the five foot two, black haired, eyeliner wearing, lana del rey obsessed pixie sitting next to me. Also known as Alice.

Her misty blue eyes have not left her phone for the past hour. She's been constantly tapping away at her keyboard, sending messages to god knows who.

She hasn't spoken to me at all in the past hour. I need her attention.

I'm her best friend, she should be talking to me, not some mystery messenger.

I don't even know who she's texting. What happened to her telling me every single online-romantic-conquest she has. What happened to her relaying to me every single detail of every single conversation she's ever had.

If I hear her grown out black acrylic nails tap her phone screen one more fucking time i'm going to reek havoc on every patron in Armvale Bowling Club.

taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap

Suddenly I'm snatching her pink bedazzled iphone out of her hand and throwing it out onto the lawn.

"What the fuck Bella?"

I stare at Alice's rage filled eyes and feel no mercy or remorse.

"Who the fuck are you texting?" I question her.

Her face suddenly breaks into a wide grin and her eyes fall to the floor. She shakes her head in what I assume is wonder and glee.

"No one." Alice giggles again.

I continue to glare at her pure, unadulterated happiness and then notice,

"Alice, it's your turn."

She walks off of the bench and onto the pitch. She casually picks up a bowl and tosses it to and from her hands, warming up I suppose. She takes her stance behind the mat and completes a few arm windmills, warming up again. Then with the grace of a swan, She bends forward onto her left foot and launches the ball onto the pitch. She angles her throw in such a way that her bowl curves effortlessly towards the jack, landing only 20 or so centimetres away, a perfect shot.

Abe whistles from the sideline and coresses Alice's shoulder in… encouragement? Alice shivers before picking up her previously tossed phone and sitting down back next to me.

Her lawn bowl talent doesn't distract me like I'm sure she hoped it would.

I get back to my interrogation.

"So who are you texting?"

"Why do you care?" Alice asks in fake confusion. I haven't been bestfriends with her for the past five years for me to not care about her mysterious texting.

"I'm not even going to answer that."

She looks at me from under her eyelashes scoldingly, avoiding the question.

"Tell me or I'll steal your phone case and pick off all the cryst-"

She cuts me off before I can finish my threat, "Fine. I'll tell you."

I gesture with my hands for her to continue.

"His name is Jasper Anarchy Whitlock. He lives in Adelaide. He has shoulder length curly blonde hair and a gold septum piercing that he swaps for a silver one every second day. He wears a size 11 in shoes and wants to be an astrophysicist when he's older. His favourite colour is blue, but not the over-saturated kind like on the weezer album cover. He has 700 hours of gameplay on Final Fantasy 7 and calls me his Tifa."

"What a dreamboat." Is all I can reply.

I'm used to Alice's romantic ventures. Usually just random discord moderators she finds on gaming servers. They'll usually end up asking for her nudes after two days of correspondence and every time this occurs Alice feigns shock and disgust and blocks them.

There's nothing more Alice likes than some social interaction, good and bad.

But this Jasper character seems different…

Maybe her encyclopaedic knowledge of him is throwing me off.

The aim of the final game of the afternoon is simple.

And there's a reward.

Everyone plays on the same pitch, all aiming their bowls at the same target.

But this time, the target is different.

The target is a can of soft drink.

If your bowl is closest to said target, the soft drink is yours.

And I need that fucking soft drink.

Eric is first to bowl, taking his pigeon toed feet of the bench and onto the lawn. Eric's technique is what I guess you can consider… unique.

He takes an efficient approach and launches the bowl overarm and onto the pitch, probably about to make a massive dent and earning himself an angered grunt from Abe. (Don't fuck with Abe.)

His bowl lands directly into the gutter on the other side of the pitch. My chances are currently in my favour.

Some year nine girls go up to take their turns with little enthusiasm. This disgruntled mood is most likely due to the fact that they had to leave snapchat for two minutes. Their blasé and disinterested attitude works well for me though, as it gives them some piss-poor aim. Their bowls managed to end up just two metres past their feet.

Alice manages to tear herself away from "Jaspie" for two minutes to have her go. She glides onto the lawn with her balletic steps and chooses a pink bowl that so conveniently matches her pom pom earrings. She takes her lithe stance and begins to swing her arm forward to throw-

"DING"

The blaring notification that signifies a text from Jasper completely distracts her, causing her bowl to fly from her hands and directly to the left. It lands on the complete opposite side of the target, ruling her shot completely out of the competition. She doesn't seem to notice though as she flies back to the bench and to her phone, furiously typing a reply.

Next to the pitch is the hyperactive year 10 boys that play lawn bowls like their life depends on it. Their stance is meticulously perfected and they call out tips to each other for maximum performance. Each bowl is seamless and they easily become the most likely to win the prized soft drink. I hate them.

A few more students take their turns, but don't land their bowls anywhere that might hinder my objective; Winning that soft drink.

It's now my turn to bowl and I prep myself by mumbling manifestations to myself,

"Thesoftdrinkisminethesoftdrinkismine" I whisper over and over, in hopes that if I focus all my thoughts on my desired outcome, it will come into existence.

I can be spiritual.

I stand behind the mat with my bowl in hand, continuing my mantra. I cast my throw slightly diagonally to create the foolproof lawn bowls curve, adding just enough power to ensure ideal distance. My ball glides down the pitch just like Alice would and comes to a stop a few centimetres off the target soft drink can.

An unexpected and outstanding feat, if I do say so myself.

"TAKE THAT FUCKERS!" I yell in elation, throwing my hands into the air and practically dancing back to my seat next to alice. I ignore the year nine's complete ignorance and the year ten's eye rolls.

I just gave my best ever throw and I can already taste the sweet victory of that soft drink.

My winning celebration is cut off though, as there is one more person left to throw.

Edward Masen.

He stands from his crouched spot on the bench, taking off his hood from his black hoodie and ruffling his hair. The bright winter sun of today causes it to reflect enchanting gold highlights. My eyes hyperfocus on his long frame as he nonchalantly picks up a bowl. He steps up behind the mat and casts his throw, pushing his hair back and watching the bowl. He nods slowly in appreciation, which tears me away from my blatant ogling and forces my attention to his bowl.

I watch as it completes a curve in almost the exact path that my own took.

It slows almost to a stop, but not before catastrophe occurs.

It ever so slightly collides with my bowl, knocking it away from the target.

Edward's bowl essentially replaces my own perfect spot.

His bowl becomes the closest. He wins.

I am defeated.

My eyes widen in complete shock and outrage as Abe collects Edward's bowl and deems it the closest.

Edward won the fucking soft drink. And I didn't.

He takes his soft drink from Abe, opening it quickly. He takes a long, languid sip and releases a satisfied "ahh". He begins to walk back to the benches, casting those glittering green eyes directly into my own.

As he walks closer, he inflicts a smug wink on me before coming up behind me and bending his head down to whisper in my ear,

"Better luck next time, Isabella." and walking off again.

Although I'm completely overjoyed and thrilled at the sound of my name coming off his lips, I have never wanted to punch a person more in my entire 17 years of being.

Fuck you Edward Masen and your stupid beautiful smug face and outstanding lawn bowl talent.


Notes: thankyou so so so much for following and reviewing this story! i was so shocked to see any interaction at all and i am eternally grateful. hope you liked this one. is this... plot building i see?

see you next time