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Zayn is trying to distract herself.
But nothing – and she really means nothing – is working.
Not Yellowjackets on Netflix, not the book she’d gotten for her birthday about lesbian bars, not even the farm life sim on her Nintendo Switch.
She’s so desperate that she thinks about cleaning the kitchen. Like a deep clean, mopping the floor and wiping down the shelves in the fridge and everything.
But instead, she picks up her phone and opens TikTok.
One of the cats she follows hasn’t posted in a while, but she tries to put that out of her mind as she scrolls through her For You Page. Thirst traps of Shane from The L Word are intermixed with clips from independent coffee shops and tattoo artists. She cracks a smile at a video of librarians acting out a Law & Order skit – local libraries really are the backbone of this app – before scrolling to a photo of a girl laughing with white text overlaid. She keeps scrolling.
Wait.
She scrolls back up to the photo, holding her thumb on the screen to pause as she reads the text:
If someone has you blocked come visit Harry she’ll let you look them up on your phone while she’s making your drink.
Zayn huffs a laugh in spite of her mood. Her eyes drop to the account’s display name and her mouth falls open. It’s a bowling alley on the north side of town; she’s seen the sign from the highway a million times. She tries to dismiss the weird cosmic feeling, telling herself that this must be what people mean by “fyp too local.” But it doesn’t work.
It’s like this random TikTok summoned her.
The girl in the photo is pretty – really pretty – but that’s not why Zayn takes a screenshot.
She just might be desperate enough to take a bowling alley bartender up on the offer.
*
The bowling alley is deserted. Of course, that’s why Zayn chose a random Tuesday night. But she bites her lip as she stands inside the doorway. Maybe the bar won’t even be open and this whole exercise in humiliation will be a waste of time.
“Shoes?”
Zayn turns in the direction of the gruff voice, spotting an older man behind the counter. The name Gus is embroidered over the pocket of his short-sleeve shirt.
“What?”
“Shoes?” Gus points at her feet. “If you’re gonna bowl, you need shoes.”
“Oh, right,” Zayn says, looking around. “Think I might start with a drink, actually. Is there–”
“Bar’s that a way.” Gus points to the other side of the building. “Don’t forget to tip.”
For a split second, Zayn thinks she’s supposed to tip him but he’s already disappeared behind a curtained doorway. Oh. Oh, right. People tip bartenders. At the bar.
Which is that a way, apparently.
The bowling alley isn’t that large, ten or twelve lanes, only one of which is occupied. But it seems like it takes forever to cross the room, Zayn’s eyes on the ugly carpeting that might be older than she is. This is so stupid. She shouldn’t be nervous. Someone at this business, most likely the bartender herself, posted that TikTok. Zayn can hardly be blamed for being tempted.
As she approaches the bar, Zayn makes herself look up. The girl from the TikTok – Harry, Zayn remembers – is leaning against the bar, her eyes on her phone. She’s prettier in person, not that it matters. Her hair is long and kind of curly, and her fingers are crammed with silver rings. She tugs at her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger as she squints at her phone.
Zayn wonders for the hundredth time if she’s the first person to show up after that TikTok.
“Oh, hey.” Harry straightens up, pocketing her phone. She runs a hand through her hair, scrunching the ends. “Was Gus not at the desk? You’re gonna need shoes.”
This is not good for Zayn’s anxiety. She swallows, hard, and then tries to force a smile.
“Thought I’d start with a drink,” she manages, jerking one shoulder in an awkward shrug.
“Cool,” Harry says with a smile. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, um…” Zayn sits on a stool. She forgot to think about what to order. “Beer. Please.”
“What kind?” Harry’s smile doesn’t waver.
Maybe she hasn’t noticed what a loser Zayn is yet. Somehow.
“Oh, any kind,” Zayn says, waving her hand. “Listen–”
“Any kind?” Harry raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure? What if I gave you, like, Bud Light Lime?”
The joke cuts through Zayn’s anxiety and she laughs, some of the tension seeping from her shoulders.
“You’ve got a point,” she says. She looks Harry up and down. “But I don’t think you’re that mean.”
“You’re right,” Harry replies, running a hand through her hair again. “I don’t even give Bud Light Lime to people who order it.”
They both laugh.
“So what can I actually get you?” Harry asks, cocking a hip and looking at Zayn expectantly.
Zayn looks into her eyes and makes a split-second decision. She’s going to come clean.
“So, I’m not really here for a drink,” she says, trying not to wince when it comes out more as a question. “I saw this TikTok…”
“Oh,” Harry says, reaching for her phone and laying it on the bar. “Your ex blocked you?”
“Ex friend, actually,” Zayn admits. She looks from Harry to the phone and back. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Harry says. She reaches for a bottle of tequila on the shelf behind her. “I’m going to make you a margarita on the rocks. It weirdly takes the longest to make, so you’ll have more time to stalk.”
She winks at Zayn over her shoulder and then she starts pouring.
Zayn exhales a shaky breath. She tells herself this is okay. Harry’s not judging her, there’s no one else around. And Louis won’t know that Zayn wanted to see her profiles.
She opens Instagram as Harry makes her drink. When she types Louis’ handle into the search bar and selects her account, she sees that Harry follows Louis.
Fuck.
“Hey,” she starts, but it comes out as a croak. She clears her throat and tries again. “Hey, do you know Louis Tomlinson?”
“Louis Tomlinson…” Harry repeats slowly as she salts the rim of a glass. “Louis Tomlin– Oh, I do know a Louis. Kind of. My friend Niall is in a rec soccer league with her.”
Zayn should have known. It’s not like they live in a big city. All of the queer women are connected to one another somehow. This isn’t even the first time she’s played six degrees of Niall Horan. She sets the phone down. She should have known it wouldn’t be this easy.
Harry turns and sets the glass in her front of Zayn with a little flourish and a “Ta-da!”
Then her lips turn downward in a frown.
“Did you not look at her profile? I can make myself a marg too, give you some more time.”
Zayn blinks at her.
“Wait… So you’re not, like–”
“Oh, going to tell someone?” Harry shakes her head, grabbing the same bottle of tequila. “No, no, no. That’s, like, against the bartender code of honor. And besides, I’ve been through my share of friend breakups. They’re the absolute worst.”
“Yeah, they are,” Zayn mumbles, picking up the phone. She glances up at Harry and, when she sees that Harry’s focused on the cocktail shaker, she turns her attention back to Instagram.
She checks Louis’ stories first – a photo of her guitar, and then a reshare about a bar trivia night they used to go to together – and then scrolls through her posts. There’s nothing about Zayn. She backs out of the app and opens Twitter, but it looks like Louis hasn’t posted in days.
Zayn sets the phone back down on the counter and sighs.
She would have thought that she’d be relieved.
“So what happened?” Harry asks before taking a sip of her drink. “Oh, that’s good. You should try yours. I didn’t make it too strong.”
Zayn picks up her glass and lifts it to her lips. Her eyelids flutter closed for a moment. Harry was right, this drink is perfect.
“That’s really good,” she says, setting the glass down. “Thanks.”
Harry nods, her tongue darting out to lick some stray salt from her lip.
“Seriously, though,” she says. “What happened with your friend? It’s okay. This is all part of the job, listening to people’s problems.”
Zayn fights with herself for a minute, but the urge to talk to someone basically removed from the situation wins out over her natural tendency to be quiet.
“I don’t really know,” she says at last, looking down at her drink. “One day, we’ve been best friends for five years, and the next we’re fighting on Twitter. Or X, or whatever.”
“In this house, we say Twitter,” Harry says. She laughs when Zayn looks around. “Well, in this bowling alley, anyway. So you don’t remember how it started? Just how it ended?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Zayn replies. She buries her face in her hands, embarrassed at the memories flooding her mind.
“That sucks,” Harry remarks. “I hate that feeling of knowing, like, I didn’t keep my side of the street clean, you know?”
Zayn looks up. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry says, nodding. She sets her drink down and leans her forearms on the bar. “I’ve had a couple of situations where I know I wasn’t completely right, I can admit that to myself. But because I know we’re not really meant to be in each other’s lives anymore, I don’t want to reach out and apologize, as bad as that sounds.”
“It doesn’t sound bad,” Zayn says, stopping herself from reaching out to pat Harry’s hand at the last second. She’s not usually a physical touch person, not unless she’s known someone for years.
God, she’s so awkward.
But Harry doesn’t seem to notice, a small smile forming on her face.
“Really?”
“For sure,” Zayn says, nodding. She wraps her hands around her glass, wondering where that urge to touch Harry came from.
“I’m such a shitty communicator,” Harry laughs, lifting her glass and clinking the rim against Zayn’s. “Here’s to doing better this year.”
They both drink. Then, deciding she doesn’t really need a quick exit plan, Zayn shrugs off her winter coat and lays it on the stool next to her.
“You don’t seem like a shitty communicator,” she says, without really meaning to. “Oh, um, I mean–”
“What you’re seeing,” Harry starts, gesturing toward herself, “is the product of years of therapy. But even now, I tend to shut down and withdraw from people if I’m left unchecked. It’s a hard pattern to break.”
“That’s how I usually am,” Zayn sighs. “But with Louis, I really lashed out.”
Zayn picks up a paper napkin, folding it in half a few times as the words swirl in mind.
“It’s just… I don’t know, I think I’m sick of not saying things.”
When she looks up, Harry just nods. And then it’s like the dam breaks.
“I feel like I’m always supposed to be polite, and not make waves, and take the high road. That’s how my grandma raised my mom, and how she raised me. And no one else seems to feel that pressure. Especially– sorry, no offense, white women.”
“Oh, God, none taken. We’re the worst.”
Zayn cracks a smile at that, and Harry beams back at her, a dimple etched into her cheek. She’s almost too pretty to look directly at, so Zayn stares into her drink instead.
“I feel like the rules are different for me or something,” Zayn confesses, her voice shaking. She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m just tired. I’m tired of not having a voice. Not being heard. Not getting mad. And I kind of unloaded all that on Louis when I felt like she wasn’t listening to me.”
“I get that,” Harry says, laying her hand on Zayn’s. “I think a lot of people would get it, honestly. And I bet you and Louis can figure it out.”
“Maybe…” Zayn shakes her head. “I know I should apologize, but just… Not yet.”
“That’s okay,” Harry says, her tone gentle. She pats Zayn’s hand. “You wait until you’re ready. In the meantime…”
“What?” Zayn asks, a smile tugging at her lips when she sees the twinkle in Harry’s eyes.
“I think I know what you need,” Harry says, beaming again. “Shoes.”
Zayn can’t help rolling her eyes. They’re obsessed with the rental shoes here.
Wait.
“You want to bowl?”
“Why not?” Harry gestures toward the lanes. “There’s no one here, aside from Mr. Murray and he’s so chill, he won’t care. He’s my favorite regular. Wait, actually, I bet he’d help you with your form if you need it. He used to be a gym coach, and I think he kind of misses helping people.”
Maybe it’s the weak marg, maybe it’s talking about her feelings, or maybe it’s just the state of the fucking world, but that literally brings a tear to Zayn’s eye. She nods.
“Yeah,” she says, looking over at Mr. Murray. “That would be really nice.”
“Let’s go,” Harry says, pocketing her phone.
She rounds the bar and grabs Zayn’s hand, pulling her into a light run across the space to Gus’ desk. Her laughter is infectious. Zayn feels about a million times lighter than when she walked in, and as she watches Gus and Harry bicker good-naturedly over shoe sizes, she realizes it has nothing to do with checking Louis’ social media profiles.
“Here,” Harry says, shoving a pair of ugly gray rental shoes toward her. “Gus thinks you’re an eight and a half, but I got you a nine. Let’s go, we can take lane three.”
Zayn bites her lip, trying not to laugh as she follows Harry’s lead. They plop down into the plastic chairs at lane three and Zayn kicks off her boots. The rental shoes fit perfectly, so she lets Harry pick out a bowling ball for her, too.
“Hey,” Harry says, turning to her after entering her name into the system. “I forgot to ask what your name is. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Oh, I, uh…” Zayn rubs her hand over the back of her neck. “It’s Zayn. Z-a-y-n.”
“Zayn,” Harry repeats slowly as she types it in. “That’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” Zayn replies. The question is going to eat at her if she doesn’t ask it, so she might as well. “So you haven’t, like–”
“What? Heard any shit talk about you?” Harry shakes her head. “Nah. Niall hates taking sides, she practically lives on the fence. And I feel like if we had more friends in common, then we would have met already. Right?”
Zayn nods. It doesn’t seem necessary to mention that she’s a weirdo loner, so she decides to let that thread of conversation die.
Harry’s up first. She grabs her bowling ball and lifts it, holding her stance at the end of the lane. The longer she stands there, the more the tension builds, and Zayn realizes she’s holding her breath.
After a (very) long moment, Harry walks forward and rolls the ball down the middle of the lane with what looks like perfect form. Not surprising considering where she works, but Zayn is still impressed. Eight pins fall, and Harry wiggles her hips in what Zayn assumes is a victory dance while she waits for her ball to pop back up in whatever you call that machine. She rolls it again, managing to get one of the remaining pins down, and Zayn claps.
“Ugh,” Harry says, letting her head fall back. “Don’t clap! That was a terrible start.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zayn says, not sure where her confidence comes from as she gets up to take her turn. “That was absolutely terrible, I can’t believe you even wanted to play.”
“What can I say?” Harry laughs as she sits down and throws an arm over the back of the chair next to her. “I’m competitive as fuck.”
“Yeah,” Zayn replies, shaking her head as she reaches for the bowling ball that Harry picked out for her. “I’m getting that.”
“Okay, okay. Time to show me what you got.”
Zayn turns to face the lane, her arm and the ball dangling at her side. She takes a breath, exhales, and then tries to mimic Harry’s movements as she lifts the ball. She kind of throws it instead of gracefully rolling it like Harry did, but she manages to knock a few of the pins down.
Zayn whirls around to Harry with a grin.
“Not bad,” Harry says, a smile tugging at her lips. “Your form is pretty sloppy, but not a bad start at all.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Zayn grabs her ball and turns back to the lane.
She tries not to think too hard, lifting the ball and aiming for the middle as she throws the ball down the lane again. It goes into the gutter almost immediately. When she turns around, Harry is tugging at her lower lip.
It’s obvious that she’s trying to hide a smile.
“Wow, you really weren’t kidding about being competitive,” Zayn says with a laugh, finding it hard to mind. “I feel like I’m getting hustled or something, except we didn’t put any money on this.”
“Oh, no,” Harry replies, walking over to the machine with the bowling balls. “Gus says I’m not allowed to do that anymore.”
Zayn tilts her head, trying to decide if she thinks Harry was kidding or not.
They bowl a few more frames, Harry beating Zayn so badly that it’s probably not even fun anymore. She trots over to lane one to ask Mr. Murray to help with Zayn’s form.
It quickly becomes apparent why the older man is Harry’s favorite regular. He doesn’t talk down to Zayn, advising her on simple things like standing with her feet shoulder-width apart, and more complicated things like focusing on the arrows marked on the lane instead of the pins. Gus walks over to see what they’re doing, and ends up offering a few tips himself. They’re both kind of obsessed with follow through, but Zayn sucks at it. She ends up losing to Harry pretty badly, but she’s having too much fun to care. She’s been in such a funk the past few weeks; she doesn't know the last time she laughed this much.
“Well,” Harry says as she stands up after changing back into her own shoes. “Time to close the bar.”
“Oh,” Zayn says, looking up from the laces on her boot. “I forgot to pay for my drink before. I’m sorry, I–”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Harry says, waving her hand. “But, um… It should only take a few minutes. I just have to wipe down the counters and wash our glasses, and that’s basically it. Would you mind waiting for me and walking me to my car?”
Zayn can feel her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She knew they were both having fun, but that was honestly the last thing she expected Harry to say. In fairness it does get dark at, like, five o’clock this time of year, so she probably just feels safer with a buddy in the parking lot.
“Yeah,” she says, trying to look casual as she nods. “Yeah, of course. I’ll take our shoes back.”
“Thanks!” Harry grins as she stands and heads over to the bar.
Zayn waves at Mr. Murray as he walks toward the exit, bowling bag in hand, and he winks at her. What a nice guy. It’s too bad Zayn didn’t have more teachers like him in school. Gus doesn’t let her pay either when she sets the rental shoes on the counter, waving her off with a wink.
Is that just, like, an old guy thing? Old guys at bowling alleys say goodbye by winking?
But then she turns and sees Harry behind the bar, reaching up to put a bottle of tequila on the shelf. Her flannel shirt lifts just enough to reveal a strip of pale skin above her jeans.
Oh.
Oh.
She likes Harry. Like, really likes her. Harry is pretty, but she’s also so nice and kind of wise and not judgmental at all and competitive in a serious, but funny way.
Oh, it must have been so obvious. Two winks obvious.
Zayn’s eyes are glued to Harry moving around behind the bar as she walks over. Harry trips and bumps into the sink, none of the poise that was so evident while they bowled on display. Zayn bites back a smile. She adds “really fucking cute” to the list of things she’s observed about her.
“Oh, hey,” Harry says, breathless. “I just have to grab my coat and bag.”
“Cool,” Zayn replies, picking her winter coat up from the stool she’d left it on. She puts it on, but struggles with the zipper.
“Here,” Harry says, appearing before her. “Let me help.”
Zayn finds herself holding her breath again as Harry takes the zip pull in her sure fingers, slotting it with ease and dragging it up the length of Zayn’s coat.
“Thanks,” Zayn says. It comes out soft, like a whisper, and she’s too lost in Harry’s eyes to be embarrassed. They’re green, with tiny flecks of gold. Zayn could write poetry about them.
“Let’s go,” Harry says, tugging at her sleeve.
They wave to Gus on their way out, and Zayn avoids meeting his eye in case he winks again.
“Where are you parked?” Harry asks as they walk outside. It’s so cold that Zayn can see her breath.
“Oh,” Zayn says, looking around and noting how well-lit the parking lot is. She’d probably feel okay leaving on her own. “I Ubered.”
“Listen,” Harry says, slowing to a stop next to one of two cars in the lot. “It’s only nine o’clock. Do you want to go get a real drink?”
Zayn hesitates, and Harry’s face falls.
“No, no! I would love to get a real drink,” Zayn says all in a rush. “With you. And it’s on me, since I didn’t even tip you back there. I just, um… I kind of need to confess something first.”
“Okay,” Harry says with a nod, without a hint of judgment on her face.
“I, um…” Zayn flexes her hands, willing them not to shake.
There’s a gust of cold wind and Zayn notices that the tip of Harry’s nose is starting to turn pink. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t seem impatient at all, even though Zayn is making her stand outside in the worst winter weather the Midwest has seen in years.
Oh, wow. She could really be the one.
“I didn’t come here tonight to use your phone,” Zayn says, relieved at how steady her voice sounds. “Not really. I came because of your photo. You’re, like, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah?” Harry smiles. Not a grin, no dimple in sight. Just a small, pleased smile.
“Yeah,” Zayn replies, nodding. “And I stayed because, well, you’re kind of amazing. I really appreciate the way you listened to me and related, but then got me out of my own head.”
A light pink dusts Harry’s cheeks, but Zayn doubts that it’s from the cold.
“So, um… I’d love to get a drink with you, and get to know you better.”
“I’d love that, too,” Harry says, linking their pinkies together.
Her skin is freezing, and it reminds Zayn that they’re still out in the bitter cold.
“Let’s go,” she says, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Maybe we should get hot toddies or something.”
“God, that sounds great,” Harry says with a light laugh. She lifts her key fob, pressing a button. “Okay, let’s go.”
Zayn rounds the car and hops in the passenger seat. An Indigo Girls song starts playing when Harry starts the car, and Zayn smiles as she buckles her seat belt. Then she looks over at Harry.
“Ready?”
“Actually…” Harry tugs at her lower lip for a moment. “I have a confession, too.”
“Okay,” Zayn says slowly. She has no idea what Harry would have to tell her, she can’t even hazard a guess. “What is it?”
“So that TikTok,” Harry starts, running a hand through her hair. “Gus only posted it to get me a date.”
“No,” Zayn says. When Harry nods, she says again, “No. Are you serious?”
“I’m kind of impressed it worked,” Harry says, her dimple appearing in her cheek as she smiles. “I’ll have to thank him tomorrow.”
“And then maybe take the post down,” Zayn says, brushing a stray curl from Harry’s face. “I don’t think you’re going to need it anymore.”
“Yeah?” Harry raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah,” Zayn replies. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Me too.” With one last smile, Harry turns to face forward and puts the car in gear.
They’re on their way.