Page 100 of Repairing the Wreckage

Skeleton-man walks backward and snatches the bunny from its hook. “You’ve got thirty seconds to sink one ball in each basket.” He points to one of three fifteen-foot-tall animated skeletons holding a wide basket in each hand.

I glance at Kyla. “That sounds easy enough.”

“It’s like double basketball with a countdown clock.” She shrugs. “Right?”

The operator grins. “More or less.”

I can’t tell if he’s naturally creepy or if it’s an act for his job. But dammit, I want that bunny.

“Five chances for five dollars.” He holds out his hand.

I pull a five from my purse and set it on the counter.

“You’ve got this, Molly,” Kyla says. “You always crushed it in gym when we played basketball.”

“That’s being generous.”

“Positive vibes, Molly.” She waves her hands over and in front of me like they’re two sage sticks.

The operator lines the skull-shaped balls on the counter in a neat row. I pick one up, testing its weight. It’s almost squishy but kind of hard in the middle.

Now that I’m actually trying to launch a ball into the basket, the opening looks so much smaller. I aim for the basket on the left and throw. It hits the skeleton’s hand, then bounces away.

“Har, har, har, is your batting average legally drunk?” the animated skeleton barks while its lower jaw hinges up and down with more mechanical laughter.

“What the—!?” Kyla presses her hands over her mouth and laughs. “It heckles you too?”

“Twenty seconds,” the operator reminds me.

Oh crap. I forgot about the time limit. I pick up the next ball and quickly throw it at the right basket. It bounces wildly off the rim.

Shoot.

Ignoring the inane insults from the mechanical skeleton, I aim for the left basket again. It hits the rim of the basket, rolls in, then bounces out.

“What the heck was that?” Kyla yells. “That counts, right?”

“Nope. Gotta stay in the basket,” the operator says.

I throw my last two balls at the left basket and miss both times.

Well, that humbled me fast.

The operator holds five more balls in his hands. “Wanna go again?”

“Sure.” I slap another five on the counter.

The third ball actually lands in the left basket and stays there.

“Ah-ha!” I punch my fist in the air. “Right basket, you’re mine now.”

I line up my shot so carefully, trying to remember exactly how I got the one to stay in the left basket. I throw the ball with a perfect arc. It hits the rim, rolls around it, then bounces out onto the floor.

“Oh, come on!” Kyla shouts.

“Five seconds…”

Dammit. I throw the last ball without thinking and it ends up hitting the skeleton in the jaw.

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