Lori Cortelloni describes herself as kind of a quiet person. Reserved. Keeps to herself.

Except on Thursday nights.

That's when she's at the Vandalia Bowl, rolling a 15-pound fingertip ball with a curve she can usually trust — and sometimes can't.

"I could have a 190 game," she said, "and then my second game could be a 95."

Cortelloni has been bowling in Thursday night leagues for about twenty years. What started as a way to get out of the house one night a week while her husband was on the road as a truck driver became something more durable — a standing appointment with a group of women she's been rolling alongside for years. She says she does it for fun. That's mostly true.

"I probably take it a little more seriously than I really let on," she admitted.

This year, her team is in first place after two straight seasons at the bottom. A few weeks of the season remain. She's cautiously hopeful.

Cortelloni wasn't originally from Vandalia. She grew up in Brownstown, and her parents moved the family when she was a sophomore. Her older brother got to finish his senior year at Brownstown. She had to start over.

"It was horrible," she said.

But she graduated with the Class of 1984, and Vandalia stuck. She married, stayed, and raised two kids. Her son Cody played center on the football team — though she admits she didn't fully realize at the time how hard high school was for him. He was also a bowler, good enough to make it to state in the youth league a few times. Her children are now 35 and 38, out in the world.

Cortelloni's own path into the school district grew organically out of the life she was already living. She'd stayed home with her kids, then started babysitting for local teachers — an arrangement that kept her summers free. Those teachers are the ones who eventually nudged her toward substituting. She did, and kept going.

"It'll be 13 years in June," she said.

She spent ten of those years as a clerk before moving into her current role as secretary at Vandalia Junior High. The front office is her domain, and she's clear about where she stands.

"I love this building," she said. "This is the best one out of all of them."

What she values most isn't any particular program or initiative — it's the people in the hallways. The culture. The way the staff actually enjoys being around each other.

"We've always had such a good group of teachers," she said. "It's always been a good group of people in this building."

That warmth extends beyond the school walls. When asked what makes Vandalia special, Cortelloni didn't reach for grand claims.

"It's just the people," she said. "It's just a friendly town."

She sees a mix here — all kinds of families, all kinds of work, all kinds of backgrounds. "We've got a good blend of people," she said. To her, that blend is part of why the town feels approachable, why people stay, why people come back.

Back at the bowling alley, the community shows up in its own way. Tony, the owner, noticed a few years ago that Cortelloni's ball wasn't working for her anymore. He found her a new one — a 15-pound fingertip — and just gave it to her. It helped her game. That's the kind of thing that happens here.

She still talks about the Thursday night she bowled the highest game of her life — a 229 or 230, at a city tournament about ten years ago. The detail she remembers most isn't the score. It's what she ate beforehand.

Pancakes. For supper.

Her bowling friends have never let her forget it. To this day, they ask her on league nights: "Did you have pancakes tonight?"

Some nights the curve works. Some nights she throws it straight and trusts what happens. She's never fallen down. Never dropped the ball behind her. And after twenty years in the same league, with the same people, in the same town that wasn't originally hers but became hers anyway — she's still showing up every Thursday.

"I do it more for fun," she said.

But she's in first place. So there's that.