We’d just about managed to stop laughing and breathe again when Lee pulled me to a stop. Quickly, he covered my eyes.
“All right, Elle. Do you know where you are?”
“Uh, the boardwalk?”
“Elle.”
I huffed, but indulged him, turning my focus from the hands covering my face to the electronic pinging sound somewhere in front of me. A clattering noise like…like foosball. Something that sounded like the go-karts, along with a tinny voice that said, “Player One wins!” The plastic-y bang and slamming of air hockey.
I gasped, pulling Lee’s hands away and snapping my eyes open to stare in awe at the arcade in front of me. I turned to Lee to find his eyes glittering. He seemed to be shaking. So excited he could barely contain himself. Lights from the games flashed across the arcade and kids ran back and forth. A couple of preteens were trying to win something from the claw machine and a few parents hung around.
“Lee…this is the arcade.”
“Elle,” he said. “This isthearcade.”
Both of us holding our breath, we stepped across the threshold and into the arcade. It was like stepping back in time. Our moms used to bring us here when we were really small. Lee and I had come out to the arcade by ourselves during the summers when we were in middle school—and even played hooky one day to come here. (We got caught and were grounded for two weeks each, but it had felt so totally worth it at the time.)
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d come out here. I guessed, at some point, we’d just grown out of it.
But I could remember our favorite game: theDance Dance Maniamachine was sitting proudly in the center of the arcade. Its silver steel was flecked with rust and was a little misty-looking, but the blue and pink flashing arrows were bright as ever.
Wordlessly, Lee and I approached it.
I ran a hand over the handlebar at the back of the game. I could see Lee beaming at me, proud to share this.
“We came out here for the eighties mini golf,” he explained, “and walked right past this place. I’d forgotten all about it till then.”
“Oh my God” was all I could say. Because—oh my God. It was still here. How many hours had we devoted toDDMwhen we were kids? I wasn’t always especially coordinated, but this game had been one of my few strong suits in that area. We used to rule this game.
Lee fished in his shorts pocket for a bunch of quarters. He held them out to me, cradling them like diamonds. They even seemed to sparkle in the glare of all the flashing lights.
“Ready, Player Two?”
“Oh, you aresoon.”
The two of us leaped up onto the machine, taking up our old spots. Lee fed the quarters in and the demo video on the screen switched to a list of songs. Lee paused on “All Summer Long” by Kid Rock.
“That’s it,” I told him. “That’s the one.”
He selected it and then gave me the biggest, most impish grin imaginable as he selectedDifficulty level: Expert.
“You don’t think we’re a little rusty for expert, Lee?”
“Bwok-bwok-bwok-bwok-bwok,”he clucked, fanning his arms at his sides, elbows out. “Is that a chicken I hear?”
I narrowed my eyes, turning back to the screen. “Mind you don’t trip over those two left feet, Lee. I’ve got a game to win.”
The screen switched to the game.
THREE.
Chicken? I’d show him chicken. I’d crush this.
TWO.
There was no chance in hell of me winning. I bet Lee would suck, too. We were in an arcade surrounded by little kids half our age and we were about to make utter fools of ourselves, trying to play at expert level onDDM.
ONE.
