by Liz Fichera
It was just that I was nervous about Monday’s practice, my very first with the team, especially after what Trevor had said about needing to watch my back. I’d never had that worry before. Usually it was the complete opposite. Was life easier when nobody noticed you?
Like an idiot, I’d dropped things all night—silverware, napkins, bread, rolls—and then finally the dessert right into the boy’s lap. That had been the last straw, though it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. I’d recognized Ryan Berenger from English class at school, although I’d bet my parents’ trailer that he hadn’t recognized me, not that he would. Boys like Ryan and girls like me moved in different circles—well, I was pretty sure he had a circle; I simply moved.
I couldn’t understand why he’d sat and glared at everybody all night, even his own family. He’d acted as though he would have preferred to jump through one of the restaurant windows than enjoy a dinner with them. And his parents seemed so lovely, so perfect. They’d looked like the perfect family, out enjoying a perfect dinner on a perfectly good Saturday night. How nice would it be to have your parents treat you to a fancy restaurant with a special birthday cake and everything? Where’s the misery in that? Clearly Ryan Berenger was deranged.
Dad slid out from underneath the van on a piece of dusty cardboard. “No, the falcon didn’t say anything about shoes.” He sat up and brushed his hands together as if he was trying to wipe away my sarcasm. His hands were coated with dirt and grease that never seemed to wash away, no matter how much he scrubbed. “The falcon told me about something better than a pair of new golf shoes.”
I could manage only a half grin. “Better?” Dad always told me old stories and Indian legends when he thought I needed a bit of cheering up. After last night, he’d be right.
But I needed more than cheering up—I needed a decent pair of leather golf shoes, with real cleats, that didn’t pinch my toes when I walked. Was that asking the ancestors for too much?
“The falcon is a clear sign of new beginnings and adventure, but you already know that, don’t you?”
I nodded, the smirk disappearing from my face.
“With a flutter from her wings on the tree’s tallest branch, she asked me to remind you that yours is just getting started,” he said without a trace of humor in his voice. “The falcon said, ‘Tell the child born to the mother of Akimel O’odham and father of the Pee-Posh that her adventure has just begun. She should not fear the journey.’” He stood, dusted off the front of his overalls with a few pats and then walked to the driver’s door of the van.
I watched him, saying nothing, because what could I say? I would never doubt my father or the wisdom of the animal spirits. Dad had taught me all about them, from the mole to coyotes to bobcats, just like his father and his grandfather before him. Animal spirits were as much a part of our lives as eating and breathing. Only a fool wouldn’t listen. And a bigger fool would mock them.
I stood and brushed the dirt off my shorts while Dad pulled open the glove box in the van and rummaged inside. With his hand behind his back, he walked to where I stood in front of the van. Then he held out a thin package as long as an envelope wrapped in brown paper. “For you. From your mom and me.”
“Mom?” My eyes widened.
“Well, yes. And no. She doesn’t know I bought it, of course.”
My smile returned. At first all I could do was stare blankly at the package, too startled to open it. It wasn’t every day I got a present, especially when it wasn’t my birthday.
“Open it, Fred. Go on, now. It’s for you.”
Finally, I accepted the gift from Dad. I took my time tearing off the wrapping paper and laid it on the hood. Openmouthed, I stared as a piece of leather as luscious as butter fell into my hand. The leather was white with pale pink accents around a mother-of-pearl button.
“It’s not a pair of golf shoes, not yet. But you needed a new golf glove, too.” Dad stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his overalls so that only his thumbs showed.
Speechless, I tried on my new glove. It slipped easily over my hand. I snapped the button at the wrist and then stretched my fingers and clenched my fist, testing the leather.
“Golf pro at the clubhouse said that one’s the best. Size small, too, just what you needed. Now you’ll be able to grip your clubs a whole lot better,” he added when I didn’t say anything. His eyes narrowed. “Do you like it?”
I swallowed back a lump growing in the back of my throat. “Like it? It’s perfect,” I whispered. Then I wrapped my arms around Dad, not saying another word. One more syllable and I would have started blubbering, and crying made Dad all fidgety, like he didn’t know what to say.
Dad patted my back when I didn’t release him right away. “Now, now, Fred. It’s just a glove,” he said in my ear.
Just a glove.
I sniffed back a tear and then pulled away reluctantly, still unable to speak.
“New beginnings, Fred. Greet them with your eyes wide open. Don’t forget that. That’s what that old mother falcon told me this morning.” Dad’s forefinger pointed to the cloudless sky, as if that golden-brown bird circled somewhere above us, eavesdropping.
“I won’t,” I said finally, unable to look away from my new glove. Suddenly a new pair of golf shoes seemed unimportant, at least for today.
Tomorrow I could think differently.
*
The next morning, Dad dropped me and my golf bag off in front of Lone Butte High School, along with Sam Tracy and Peter Begay, who’d ridden in the backseat. Pete’s dad had overslept and couldn’t get them to school in time, and they’d been thinking about ditching until we saw them hanging out at the gas station by the freeway. Dad had insisted they hop in.
“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Oday,” Sam said, turning to me.
“Next time, call if you need one,” Dad said. “It’s no trouble.”
Sam nodded. “Need help with your bag, Fred?”
“No. I can manage. Thanks anyway.”
Sam hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, looking doubtfully at my golf bag lying in the back of the van. “See you around.”
“Later,” I said as I walked around to the back door and retrieved it.
Dad pulled away, leaving me alone at the curb. And I felt alone. Really alone. Like only-person-in-the-universe alone. I realized, too late, that maybe I’d been too quick to refuse Sam’s offer.
The air had grown so thick that I wondered if the sun had swallowed all of the oxygen. My plaid bag made being inconspicuous impossible. It might have been my anxious imagination, but I felt tracked by a thousand pairs of beady eyes in the front of the school. They peered at me from everywhere, even the windows.
Head lowered, I struggled to keep from hyperventilating as I carved a path through the crowd toward the rear gymnasium door. The back door was supposed to take me to the coaches’ offices, exactly as Coach Lannon had instructed. But to get there, I had to trudge down a narrow sidewalk lined with students all vying for spots in the courtyard where the popular kids hung out. Up ahead, I saw Sam’s and Pete’s dark heads, but they were too far away for me to catch up—not unless I started running with my golf bag thumping against my back. Why not present me with the Biggest Dork Award and get it over with?
*
It felt like the first fifteen minutes of freshman year all over again, only worse. Despite my best efforts, I felt my cheeks burn all the way down to my neck.
“Plaid much?” someone murmured while another girl giggled beside her. With wide eyes, they looked me up and down like I was sale merchandise.
I didn’t stop to argue. What was the point? The bag was hideous.
So instead I kept my head down, walked faster and focused on the bottom of my shoes as they slapped against the pavement.
One, two, three… I counted each step as I absently twisted my hair into a roll to give my free hand something useful to do, all the while ignoring more giggling and hushed voices. It seemed forever before I reached the
end of the courtyard and another narrow sidewalk that took me to the rear gymnasium door.
The gray metal door had a sign that said No Admittance, but I pulled on the handle anyway.
It didn’t budge.
I moaned. Then I tried again.
Locked.
I knocked hard till it made a hollow sound.
No answer.
My stomach sank. Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe this was a mistake.
But I’d just die if I had to walk all the way to the front of the school again, and what about my bag? It wouldn’t fit inside my locker, and forget about calling Dad. He’d never leave work, not unless I was being rushed to the hospital or something.
I sucked back another breath, feeling stupid for banging on a locked door, but I knocked again anyway. This time with a balled fist.
Miraculously, the door opened and my breathing resumed.
“Fred.” Coach Lannon smiled before opening the heavy door as wide as it would go. “So glad you didn’t change your mind.”
I nodded and tried to match his enthusiasm, but smiling only made my cheeks feel like they would crack. I slipped through the door and waited for Coach Lannon to lead the way down the bright hallway. I’d never seen this part of the school before. It was one colorless office door after another separated by gray-speckled linoleum tiles and pale yellow walls. The hallway smelled like the girls’ locker room, musty and thick, almost as heavy as the air outside.
Coach Lannon stopped at the second door on the right side of a wide hallway. “You can leave your bag in my office during the week,” he said. “Some of the other boys have already been by to drop off theirs.”
My back stiffened.
Although I was anxious to get started, I wasn’t ready to meet my new teammates. I’d already lost sleep imagining what they’d think about me, the lone girl on the team. Would it be too weird?
“And don’t worry. Your bag is always safe in here.”
An anxious chuckle rumbled inside my chest as the coach took my bag. Someone steal my plaid bag and rusty clubs? Not likely.
I quickly scanned his office. Besides his desk and the other golf bags stacked against the wall, there was barely any room to stand. His desk was littered with folders, but I did notice a framed photo—a woman and three teenage girls, all smiling, probably around my age. I smiled inside. At least Coach had been honest about having daughters.
“Practice starts at 3:30,” he said as he led me outside his office.
Like I could forget.
I nodded, tried to smile again and then lowered my head before walking down the long, musty hallway that I hoped would lead me to the classrooms and oxygen.
Coach Lannon called after me. “One more thing…”
I stopped and turned, my shoes squeaking on the linoleum. I’d almost made it to the end of the hallway.
A grin spread across his face. “Welcome to the team,” he said, just as two boys, one tall and one short, with dark golf bags threaded over their shoulders, barreled down the hallway. Their bags brushed my shoulders as they passed. They exchanged confused looks.
Instinctively, my gaze returned to the dotted specs on the linoleum floor.
It was going to be a very long day.
Chapter 4
Ryan
WHAT’S UP WITH HER? I TRIED to mind-meld with Seth as we passed a girl with the ends of her black hair wrapped around her hand. She looked at the floor as soon as we spotted her, like we’d caught her snitching or something.
As Seth and I approached Coach Lannon’s office, the coach filled his doorway, absently scratching the side of his head.
I’d seen that pinched look on his face before. He looked a little pissed, and I wondered if word had gotten back to him about Friday night’s party. We’d been in trouble with the coach a couple of times last year for partying, but nothing major. He’d given us the “don’t do drugs” speech and warned us about how alcohol burned brain cells, and we’d halfheartedly promised to stay out of trouble—or at least promised ourselves behind his back not to get caught. I’d heard that one of Zack’s neighbors had called the police because of the music, but, really, I barely remembered any of it.
“Seth,” the coach said, clearing his throat as we stopped at his door. “Got a sec?” The warning bell buzzed in the background, indicating a ten-minute window before Homeroom.
“Sure, Coach.” Seth balanced his dark blue TaylorMade golf bag in front of him. He grabbed the sides with both hands and waited.
The coach’s right eyebrow shot up. “Alone,” he said. “Sorry, Ryan.”
“Oh, right,” I said as I wedged myself and my bag between them. My best guess was that the coach was going to give Seth another warning about failing grades and ditching class, two things that Seth had done really well last year. Although I’d probably ditched as often, I’d maintained a decent grade-point average without trying too hard. Seth really needed to start taking the coach’s rules seriously. One more warning and he’d probably be off the team. Before I could think it through, I said, “If it’s about Friday night, I can explain—”
The coach cut me off with a wave of his hand. “What about Friday night?” But then he shook his head and sighed. “Forget it. It has nothing to do with that, Berenger.” His jaw clenched, and I realized that I’d just made things worse.
Before I could make him angrier, I dumped my golf bag inside the office where six others already crowded one of the corners, including a busted-up plaid one that must have been someone’s idea of a joke. Then I turned around for the hallway without stopping. “See you in class,” I mumbled to Seth as I passed through the doorway.
Seth flashed me a grateful grin, but I could tell by the way his lip twitched that he was anxious.
Coach Lannon barely gave me a chance to leave before he closed the door.
That couldn’t be good.
*
The next time I saw Seth, his nostrils were flaring.
He marched into Homeroom with his fists clenched. His eyes blazed and his chest heaved as if the coach had just forced him to do one hundred push-ups. The veins in his forehead looked ready to pop.
Seth scanned the room until he found me. I nodded at him from the back row and lifted my backpack from the empty seat next to mine.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed Seth. At least thirty other faces in Homeroom watched him storm his way to the back of the room. He dropped so heavily into his seat that his desk knocked into the guy seated in front of him, but the dude didn’t turn around and bitch. Probably too scared.
I feared the worst. “What’d the coach say?” I whispered to Seth as he jammed his backpack underneath his seat. Fortunately the Homeroom teacher was too busy going through her attendance sheets to care.
Seth shook his head and stared into space, then garbled something unintelligible. Totally not like Seth to act so out-of-control crazed.
I leaned in and tried again. “Come on. Tell me. What happened?”
Seth’s face darkened another shade, and all I could think was He got expelled. That had to be it. I wondered if I should get a hall pass to see Coach Lannon and try to explain a way out of this. I could promise that both of us would be on our best behavior all year. We had practiced so hard over the summer. The coach had seen us tons of times at my parents’ country club. And if I had to, I’d even break down and beg Dad to reason with him. Dad was an expert at convincing people to do stuff they didn’t want to do.
Finally, Seth spoke, but his teeth stayed clenched. “Dude, you are so not gonna believe this.” He exhaled as the principal’s voice filled the room over the loudspeakers with a list of upcoming SAT test dates.
I pulled closer, full-on curious.
“He. Kicked me. Off. The fucking. Team.”
“Say what?” My shoulders caved forward. “That is so busted!”
Seth nodded, nostrils still flaring.
“Maybe if I talked to him. Maybe if my dad talked to him…”
A
frenzied smile took over his face. He looked as whacked as I’d ever seen him. “Don’t bother,” he said, surprising me again.
“Don’t bother?” My chin pulled back. Seth never gave up without a fight. “Why not? We could talk to him. We could talk him out of it—”
“Save it, Ryan,” he said.
“Why?” I said. “Why not try?”
“Won’t matter,” he fumed.
“But the coach saw you at the club this summer, practicing your ass off.” Seth might not have been the best player on the team but he had gotten a lot better. The coach had to have noticed.
Seth half laughed, half snorted. “Seems I got axed anyway.”
“Did it have to do with the party? Did he hear about it?”
“Had nothing to do with the party.”
“What, then? Why?”
Seth’s tight-lipped smile faded, but the anger behind his eyes only got worse. The blood vessels around his forehead looked freakishly ready to explode. “Some girl named Fred Oday got my spot.”
“A girl?” I was speechless. My eyes narrowed. There was that odd girl name again: Fred.
“Here’s the best part,” Seth continued, his voice growing raspier. “Coach isn’t even making her try out.” He chuckled darkly. “He handed my spot right to the bitch.” His glassy eyes stared back at me. “Sweet deal, huh?”
I shook my head. Hardly.
I didn’t even know this girl, but I already hated her.
*
Homeroom was only fifteen minutes, but it felt like fifteen hours.
Afterward, Seth stormed into the hallway. “I gotta ditch,” Seth told me. “I need to chillax before my head explodes.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Seth shook his head, surprising me again. “No, I just got to figure out how to explain this to my parents. They’re going to go ape-shit.” What Seth really meant was that his stepdad would freak. Getting cut from the golf team would give him one more reason to be disappointed in Seth. Unfortunately, Seth’s stepdad had a habit of showing his disappointment with a few well-placed punches, most of which left a bruise or two.
