This is either going to be really great or really, really stupid.
He texts me one more time before I fall asleep.
Zach
So Saturday. Mini golf. 6pm. Prepare to lose.
Me
Bold words from a guy who couldn’t even order coffee without having a meltdown.
Zach
That was different. You were there.
Me
I’ll be there Saturday too.
Zach
Yeah. I’m counting on it.
5
ZACH
I’mon my third attempt at reading this windmill.
The blade passes. I count the rotation. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, the gap opens for maybe half a second before it closes again. I could time it. Should be able to time it. Except I don’t actually hit things with sticks for a living, I stop them, big difference, and my brain keeps trying to calculate angles that don’t matter because the ball’s going to do whatever the hell it wants once it leaves the club.
“What are you doing?” Mackie’s standing right beside me, pink golf ball balanced on the head of her club.
“I’m figuring out the timing.”
“It’s a windmill, Zach.”
“I know what it is.”
She watches me crouch down again, probably trying to see what I’m seeing, which is nothing useful. Just a stupid wooden blade spinning in circles and my brain refusing to admit I’m bad at this.
Then she reaches over with her club and taps my ball.
“Hey—”
It rolls straight through the windmill and drops into the cup with a soft plunk.
I stare at the hole. My ball is just... in there. Gone. No timing required.
“You just—” I look up at her and she’s grinning. “That worked!”
“Of course it worked.” She’s already marking on the scorecard, her handwriting loopy and confident. “You were trying to apply physics to mini golf, dude, that’s not possible.”
She hands me the scorecard and we walk to the next hole. There’s a group ahead of us so we end up waiting.
“So, is Mackie short for Mackenzie?” I ask.
She glances up. “Mackinnon.”
