by Liz Fichera
“Well, why don’t you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to wrestle. I hate wrestling. No one cool is on the team anyway. And I didn’t practice golf all summer long to go out for wrestling.” Hands jammed in his front pockets, Seth began walking again. “I still can’t believe it,” he muttered. “It reeks. It’s not fair. And then there’s my stepdad…” His voice trailed off.
“Was he pretty mad?” I asked carefully.
“Way mad. The usual.” Seth shrugged as though it was no big deal, but I knew better.
“What’d he say?”
Seth’s tone was flat. “He called me worthless and stupid. Said I didn’t practice hard enough. Blah, blah, blah. You know, his usual crank. And there’s no way I was going to tell him that I got kicked off because of a girl. And a fucking Indian.”
I winced. “Sorry, Seth.”
“At least he didn’t whack me,” he added. Too casually. “He hasn’t done that in a while.”
I shook my head. I really wished Seth didn’t have to live with his stepdad. But as mean as he was, his stepdad was the only father Seth had ever known. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
“Well, we’ve got to do something about Fred.” He spoke as if the decision had been made.
That stopped me cold, and the shoppers behind us practically slammed into our heels. “Like, what are you thinking?” I chuckled doubtfully. And what could we do? Coach Lannon’s mind was made up. Fred was all that.
Seth continued walking, and I caught up with him as we reached the golf store where we’d bought our golf bags last year. We stopped in front of the display window. “I don’t know yet.” Seth sighed. “But this isn’t over. I’ll think of something.”
“There’s really nothing you can do.” My eyes narrowed. I didn’t want him to get madder than he already was. “Coach was pretty clear. He likes her. I don’t think he’ll change his mind, not this time.”
“What if she chokes at the tournament?” Seth said. “What then?”
My head tilted, considering this. “Maybe,” I said, but not too confidently. I honestly didn’t expect Fred Oday to fail, not with her swing. Unless both of her arms were amputated by Thursday, she would probably do better than at least half the players on the team.
Seth’s nostrils flared. And just as I was going to open my mouth to try to encourage Seth to go out for wrestling again, I glanced into the golf-store display window. My teeth clamped shut. Then I mumbled, “I don’t believe this…”
Inside the store, Fred Oday picked up a white golf shoe and fingered its laces. A tiny smile brightened her face. Her smile faded into a sort of frown, a sad frown, when she turned the shoe over in her hands. Strangely, I wondered what crossed her mind. It was just a lame shoe—and a golf shoe. No big thing. But then she replaced the white shoe on the display, stood back to admire it with her hands clutched behind her back, only to pick it up a moment later like she was seeing it for the first time. Her hair fell over her bare shoulder as her head tilted sideways, covering half her face.
I gulped.
“Oh, no,” Seth moaned. He drew back a breath through his teeth. “You saw her, too?”
I blinked and then turned to Seth. I nodded but then wished I hadn’t. Now was not a good time to confront Fred Oday in the middle of the mall. She was the last person Seth needed to see.
“I didn’t think you saw her,” Seth said. “I saw them when we walked past the food court. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see us.”
My eyes narrowed. “Who are you talking about?”
“Your dad.” Seth lowered his voice along with his chin, not that it was necessary. The mall noise muffled everything. “And that girl.”
“My dad? Where?”
Seth’s head tilted sideways toward the west end of the food court.
I followed the arc of Seth’s head till my gaze landed on a round table next to the fountain. Through a fake potted fern, I watched as Dad chatted up a girl with spiky red hair. He was still wearing his shirt and purple tie from this morning except that his tie was loosened at the neck. The girl tossed her head back and laughed at something he said. She didn’t look much older than my cousin Lauren. Except the girl seated across from Dad didn’t look like she went to college. She wore a black smock with a white name tag, accentuating the paleness of her face. Her lips were bright red.
“I think that’s the lady who cuts my dad’s hair,” I muttered. “She cuts mine, too. Sometimes.”
Seth turned to me. “She’s pretty hot.”
“Shut up, Seth,” I said.
“Well, she is,” he replied, just as Dad placed his hand over hers in the middle of their tiny table.
My stomach did a somersault before my cheeks flushed hot. Dad looked as if he liked her. I found myself clenching my fists. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sure. Where?” he said, but I’d already turned.
“Anywhere but here.”
Seth jogged after me. “You gonna tell your mom about it?”
I snorted. “Don’t have to.”
“She already knows?”
“Why do you think she’s always working?” Seth had to jog to keep up with me.
By the time we reached the parking lot, I was breathing so hard that my ribs hurt. I tried to stop thinking about Dad and his new girlfriend by thinking about Fred and her smile. But it didn’t really work. I kept seeing my angry reflection staring back at me in store windows.
Seth knew me better than to ask what was wrong. “Why don’t we head to the arcade and scare up some freshmen?”
“Nah.” I shook my head.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for the door handle to his pickup truck. “It’ll be fun.”
I climbed inside the truck, silent. I wasn’t in the mood to terrorize the newest unsuspecting freshmen at Lone Butte High School who were dumbass enough to spend time at the arcade. Last time we did, Seth had had one redheaded dude practically in tears when he kept challenging him to a game of air hockey in front of his friends. The frosh had finally relented and bombed, although not after Seth had smacked the back of his head with his hand and told him to stop being such a tool.
“It’ll be a good time,” Seth said, not letting it go. “You know you want to.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
I sighed. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” It was better than going home. Anything was better than going home.
“Good answer,” Seth said as the tires squealed across the parking lot toward the exit.
Chapter 11
Fred
THE NEXT FEW days proceeded almost exactly as the first.
Each morning before work, Dad dropped me off in front of the high school along with my backpack and sometimes my plaid golf bag, depending on whether I decided to take it home or leave it in the coach’s office. I could leave my bag in his office every night if I wanted, but I preferred to bring my clubs home and practice my swing after I did my homework. Sometimes Sam and Pete would ride with Dad and me. On those days, I relented and let Sam drag my golf bag out of the van, if I had it. It was like Sam to be nice.
Then I tried to ignore all the stares and practically nailed my chin to my chest as I trudged through layers of high school kids to reach Coach Lannon’s office. At least I had some new clothes to wear. I’ll admit that it was better when Sam walked beside me, but it nagged me that he looked like some kind of an escort. It was stupid. And I had my suspicions that somehow my brother had put Sam up to Bodyguard Duty.
I attended all my classes and study halls but kept mostly to myself. At golf practice, I was mostly ignored, although Zack Fisher did ask me once which country club my parents belonged to. I almost choked on my answer.
After a sleepless Wednesday night, I walked straight to the No Admittance metal door in the back of the gymnasium with my golf bag over my shoulder without stopping. I passed Ryan Berenger and his circle of friends in the courtyard. As I passed, their conversation stopped. Ryan pretended not to notice me and turned
to his blonde girlfriend to hide his face. I figured he was probably rolling his eyes by the grin on his girlfriend’s face. Her perfect pale cheeks filled with air like she was trying to swallow a laugh.
Nice.
I reached the rear door quickly, considering all of the weight hanging on my shoulder.
I knocked twice. Ten seconds later, Coach Lannon opened the heavy door and stood aside. “Morning, Fred,” he said, yawning as he propped the door open with his back.
“Hi, Coach,” I said as I walked through the opened door. It was familiar to me now and still barely wide enough for the both of us and my golf bag.
Coach Lannon smiled down at me as I passed. “Ready for the tournament today?”
“I think so,” I said, too late, as we walked to his office.
I didn’t have to look at his eyes to know they widened.
“I mean, yes,” I clarified.
“Good.” He was all toothy smile again. “’Cause I think we got a real chance at beating Hamilton this year.” He rubbed his hands. “Glad to see you’re wearing your golf shirt. Hope it wasn’t too big on you.”
For real? It’s as big as a hogan.1
“It’ll do,” I said.
“The boys treating you okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.
“Good,” he said. “’Cause I expect you to tell me if they don’t. Okay?”
I nodded without looking at him.
When we reached his office, I scooted around the coach and dropped my bag in its usual spot while he plopped into the seat behind his desk. I stood back and frowned at it. My bag stood out like a laser light among all the stylish navy blue, black and gray bags with their trendy logos and shiny clubs that barely looked used. I tried to stuff my bag into the corner, but there was only so much you could do to make a thirty-year-old plaid golf bag look inconspicuous.
“Listen, Fred,” Coach Lannon said as he opened a yellow folder on his desk. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Privately. You want to have a seat for a minute?”
My stomach dropped.
He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. I sat down.
Had I done something wrong? Had he seen me muff the two short shots yesterday on the putting green? Was he angry already with my performance? Was he kicking me off the team?
My breathing quickened exponentially.
“I notice you wear tennis shoes instead of golf shoes.” He made a tent with his fingers.
I sat higher in my chair. I wasn’t expecting that. “Yes,” I said with an equally careful tone. It was like tiptoeing around Mom.
“Well, I just wondered if your play wouldn’t benefit from a pair of decent golf shoes—”
I interrupted him, surprising myself. “I haven’t had a chance yet to buy a pair.” I paused as my cheeks began to burn. “With school and practice and all. Maybe I’ll get to the mall this weekend.” Not a huge lie. It could happen.
Coach Lannon sat back in his chair. His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I see.”
I inhaled once, deeply, through my nose. The office walls began to shrink.
His palms lifted. “If it’s a question of money, let me help—”
“I don’t need any help with the shoes, Coach, really, I don’t. I just need time to get to the mall,” I said quickly.
The coach lowered his voice. “Okay,” he said, leaning forward again. “Didn’t mean to upset you. But if you should change your mind—”
“Maybe this weekend,” I said again, mentally calculating the tip money I’d already saved minus the money I’d just paid for two new pairs of shorts. And Mom had even promised to talk to the chef at the restaurant again. I’ll ask him when he’s desperate for extra hands, she’d promised the night before. Then he’ll have to take you back. Besides, Mom had said, you’ll need the job when you graduate. Her words had ingrained themselves in my brain like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.
Coach Lannon lowered his chin. His tone was kind, and I felt a tiny lump grow in my throat. “You know, Fred, there’s no harm in asking for help. When you need it.”
I pulled away from his desk, swallowing back the lump. Then I popped up out of my chair like there was a spring in the cushion. Dad would be mortified if I ever accepted charity. “Thank you, Coach. I appreciate it, but I don’t need any help.”
“Would it help if I talked to your parents?”
I felt my face go ashen. That would be a thousand times worse. “No. Please, don’t,” I said. “They’re busy enough as it is.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Please, don’t. Please, don’t do anything.” I wanted to tell him to just leave me alone and let me play golf. I’d never needed golf shoes before. I could survive without them for a little while longer.
The crease in the middle of the coach’s forehead softened. I think he finally understood, but just as he was about to say something else, the first warning bell rang.
“I better get to class,” I said, eager to be anywhere but trapped with Coach Lannon and more questions.
The coach sighed and followed me reluctantly to the door. He leaned against it. “One other thing, Oday,” he said in his coach voice as I stepped into the hallway.
I was still breathing heavily through my nostrils, anxious to sprint. I turned.
“I’m pairing you with Berenger at the tournament today.”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah.” He squinted at me like he was surprised that I wouldn’t know. “You two are our best players. You’re in the top spot, and he’s in the second.”
“Oh.” My voice squeaked. “Right.” More unexpected news.
“Anyway, don’t forget the bus leaves here at two sharp.”
I nodded and then finally turned and charged down the long hallway. When I got to the end, I nearly knocked over Ryan and his stocky blond friend, another white boy at Lone Butte High School with a permanent snarl that contradicted his angelic face.
1 A traditional Navajo house.
Chapter 12
Ryan
“IS IT JUST ME, OR IS that girl whacked?” Seth muttered after Fred passed between us in the hallway, forcing us to part abruptly. She barely glanced at us.
Seth glared over his shoulder. “Nice,” he yelled after her. “Walk much?” he added.
“Seth…” I frowned at him. “Come on.”
“What?”
“Let’s just go,” I said, tugging at the thick black strap digging into my right shoulder. “I gotta dump this.” I was anxious to be rid of my golf bag, but what I really craved was more distance from Fred Oday. I didn’t want to start the day arguing with Seth about her all over again. I’d had enough of it at the mall.
Outside Coach Lannon’s office, I placed my hand on Seth’s shoulder. I nodded at the coach’s brass nameplate next to the door. I was pretty sure that next to Fred Oday, Coach Lannon was the last person Seth needed to be around.
But Seth strode inside the office anyway, chin up. “It’s cool.” A strange grin spread across his face when he saw the office was empty.
Quickly, I walked around him and headed straight for the corner, grateful to release the golf bag from my shoulder. I wedged it between a half-dozen other bags while Seth dropped his backpack to the ground, bent over and unzipped the top pocket.
“What are you doing?” I said to him.
Seth looked up at me, still grinning, before rummaging inside his open backpack. He pulled out three red bricks, each the size of a dictionary.
My eyes narrowed. “What’s with the bricks?”
Seth held them up like each was a gold bar, two balanced in one hand, one in the other. His smile broadened. I hadn’t seen that look since the time Seth had figured out how to hot-wire his mom’s car before either of us had had a driver’s license. He’d succeeded. And then received a month’s grounding along with a purple welt on his arm, compliments of his stepdad.
“Dude, what are you doing?”
“Shut up. Watch the d
oor for me,” Seth whispered. “You’ll see.” He went to the wall of stacked golf bags and moved two to reach the bright red plaid one partially hidden behind them. It was impossible to miss.
He shook his head as he pushed the clubs inside the plaid bag to one side. He wrapped one hand around the irons. “Friggin’ thing smells like mothballs,” he muttered, head still shaking. The clubs clanged as they jostled together in his hand, and I instinctively turned toward the opened door, expecting Coach Lannon to bust us at any second.
We were so screwed.
“Um, Seth?” I said again, my eyes darting between Seth and the door. “What are you doing?” I repeated, my tone more anxious.
But Seth still didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied with dumping the bricks to the bottom of the bag, one by one.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“There.” He wiped his hands against his thighs. “That should do it.” Then he arranged the plaid bag behind the others and turned to me.
My eyes widened. “Do what?”
“Let’s see how well Pocahontas does today carrying around a load of that.” His head tilted toward Fred’s golf bag. His eyes dipped conspiratorially to the bottom. But then his grin faded as his expression darkened. “Serves the bitch right for stealing my spot.”
I swallowed back a hollow feeling of nausea. “She didn’t exactly steal it.”
Seth glared at me.
“Well, not exactly,” I added.
His glare lasted only an instant. Then he patted my shoulder. “But don’t worry.” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I was never here.”
Without another word, we turned for the door and headed down the long hallway for Homeroom while I pictured three heavy bricks lying at the bottom of Fred’s golf bag.
They might as well have been lining the bottom of my stomach.
Chapter 13
Fred
I WAS THE first person to board the bus before our first golf tournament. Not a huge surprise. I’d probably been stressing about it the most.
I slipped into the empty seat behind the bus driver at 1:55, relieved that Coach Lannon had already loaded all of the golf bags in the storage compartment below the back of the bus. “What are you carrying in your bag, Fred?” he teased when he climbed inside. He made a dramatic show of wiping his shiny forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re only allowed fourteen clubs, you know.” But then he winked at me, and I knew he was joking, his attempt to get me to relax.
