The Wildwater Walking Club by Claire Cook Page B

fun,” he said. “Okay, ladies’ choice. Tennis, boxing, golf, or bowling?”
    “Bowling,” I said, thinking bowling movements would be the most likely to register on my pedometer.
    “Okay,” Rick said. “But I have to warn you, it’s totally addictive.”
    “I’ll take my chances,” I said.
    He pushed a button and the huge TV screen faded to black. He browsed through several screens until a strange-looking cartoon guy appeared.
    “What do you want your Mii to be?” Rick asked.
    “My what?”
    “Your Mii.”
    “I’m you?” I asked.
    “No,” Rick said. “Your Mii.”
    “That’s what I said,” I said.
    Rick wrinkled his forehead. “Who’s on first?”
    I wrinkled mine. “What’s on second.”
    We grinned at each other like idiots. It was possibly a bit premature, but I had a serious urge to kiss him.
    “Okay,” Rick said finally. “Moving right along. Another name for a Mii is an avatar. It’s your virtual you—your designated bowler, if you will.” He pushed some buttons until he came to something called the Mii Channel, then pressed Start from Scratch. “Okay, we’re going to make you a designer Mii. Which one is your face shape?”
    I pointed. “Maybe that one?”
    “Eyebrow shape?”
    “Before or after plucking?” I said. “You know, this is getting kind of personal. Is there any way we could just skip to the bowling part?”
    Rick pushed a few more buttons and six cartoon characters appeared on the screen. “Sure, we can go with the default Mii’s. Which one?”
    “Lower right,” I said.
    “Done,” he said. “I’ll be top middle.”
    He picked up two little rectangular wireless remote controls and handed one to me. “Okay, you push the A button, right there, then swing your arm back and push the B button, right there, to let the ball go. And here’s a trick I wouldn’t share with just anyone. Release the ball high, so it drops on the lane before rolling, making sure you don’t rotate your Wiimote.”
    “My what?” I said. “This is crazy. It’s like learning a new language.”
    “Wait,” he said. There was a little strap attached to the remote, or apparently the Wiimote, and he stepped closer and looped it around my wrist like a bracelet, then slid a little plastic Ziploc thing back to tighten it. His hair was still damp, and I could smell his shampoo, something fresh and citrusy.
    He looked up and smiled. “You can’t be too careful. There’ve been a surprising number of accidents with these things. More than a few television screens taken out.”
    “I bet,” I said. I felt a flicker of disappointment when he let go of my wrist.
    “Go ahead,” he said. “Just bowl.”
    I took an awkward little swing back, switched direction, and pushed the button. “Oops,” I said. “Gutter ball.”
    “Push this arrow to change the angle,” he said. “And watch your Mii’s movements for the timing.”
    I hit three pins with the second ball. I handed Rick the Wiimote. He took an athletic step forward as he swung his bowling arm back gracefully.
    “Strike!” I yelled. “Ohmigod, you’re amazing.”
    “Thanks,” he said. His thick hair, pale brown with paler strands of gray, was getting shorter and lighter as it dried, but it could still have used a good cut. He pushed a clump of it off his forehead. “Here’s the thing though. Anybody over the age of twelve who’s a pro at Wii bowling is quite possibly not living up to his full potential.”
    “You and me both,” I said. “Come on, hurry up so I can have another turn.”
    After we finished the string, we sat down in two of the red recliners to take a break. I tilted mine back until my feet popped up in front at a comfortable level. “Wow, that’s a workout,” I said. I was dying to check my pedometer, but I didn’t want to call undue attention to my midsection.
    Rick tilted his recliner back, too. “Wait till you try the tennis,” he said.
    “So,” I said a long minute later.
    He looked up at the