by Liz Fichera
Finally, Dad said evenly, “What’s changed since yesterday?” Ignoring him a second longer was not an option.
“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the problem. The guys don’t want me on the team. I can feel it. I’m not part of their little country-club clique. They’ve been playing together forever, and I’m the outsider. Always will be.” I didn’t dare tell him they’d sabotaged my golf bag. That would make him angry and upset and wouldn’t change anything. Worse, he’d tell Trevor, and there was no telling what my brother would do. Besides, I was more irritated with myself than anything. How was it that I’d carried that dang bag for eighteen holes and hadn’t realized something was wrong with it? Was I that clueless? And how nice of Ryan Berenger to grow a conscience—on the eighteenth hole! They’d all probably enjoyed one great big collective laugh over the whole thing on the bus ride home. I’d have walked home on my hands and knees before I’d ridden back with any of them on that claustrophobic bus.
“Only two weeks ago the golf team was all you wanted. Now you’ve had a change of heart? Already?”
More like a close encounter with a heart attack.
I exhaled with the weight of all the bad thoughts taking space in my head. I stared up at the Estrella Mountains, wishing that everything would fade away. “I don’t know, Dad.” I looked straight into the sunset. “Maybe you and Trevor were right. Maybe being on this team is a bad idea.”
Dad snorted. “For you or them?”
I didn’t answer. I sank lower in my chair. The Lab at my feet lifted its head.
“Well?” he prodded.
“I guess for them. All I wanted to do was play. I wasn’t expecting special treatment. That’s the last thing I want.”
Dad chuckled. “So, play. Enjoy. Have fun for once.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Pretend those boys are invisible. Or,” he said slowly, “you could try to fit in.”
My eyes widened. Fit in with a bunch of spoiled white boys? It would be easier to pretend I’m Princess Kate.
“What happened today anyway? You won, right? How bad could winning be?”
My hands began to fidget. I tossed the ball between them to give them something to do. “Is Trevor coming home tonight?” Maybe talking with Trevor would help.
“Don’t change the subject.” Dad leaned forward. “What happened today? What aren’t you telling me?”
My shoulders shrugged indifferently, but it felt forced. “Nothing that would surprise you.”
A flock of doves cooed in a paloverde tree behind the trailer, filling the heavy silence. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, and the dogs sauntered away to investigate. I closed my eyes, letting the soft breeze brush my cheeks. It was good to finally feel cool air again. Inside the trailer, the summer had dragged on far too long.
“You can’t give up so easily, Fred,” Dad said. His words surprised me. “Besides, I don’t think that coach of yours would let you quit if you tried.” He chuckled and shook his head when my eyes opened to look at him. “I thought the coach’s eyes were going to pop out of his head from excitement when I saw him standing next to the bus.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They sure did.” Although that’s not what I remembered. I only remembered watching Ryan sulk his way back to the bus, his usual scowl plastered across his face, ignoring anyone’s attempts at conversation. He’d never even apologized for the bricks. Not really.
“Practice tomorrow?”
“No.” I rubbed my right shoulder, making a circular motion with my thumb. The muscle still throbbed where the golf strap had cut across my skin. A day off would be a good thing, but I was still going to try to play the Ahwatukee golf course on Saturday. The golf pro at the clubhouse usually let me walk on and play for free if it wasn’t too busy.
“When’s your next tournament?”
“Wednesday.”
“Where?”
“Some country club on the west side. We play Glendale High, I think.” The tournament schedule was in my nightstand next to my bed. I checked it every night. I had it memorized.
“So, now you’re not giving up?” Dad tilted his head in a way that said he already knew the answer.
I smirked. “Guess not.”
“Good.” Dad rose from his chair just as Mom appeared at the screen door.
“Fred?” she called through the screen.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Can you tell me why a sports writer from the Arizona Republic is on our phone? He wants to speak with you.”
My eyelids froze open. I turned a fraction toward Dad without blinking.
“Well?” Mom prodded. “He says he wants to talk to Fred Oday, the girl golfer he watched play today for Lone Butte High School.” The ripped screen door creaked open and then slapped shut. “Someone want to tell me what the hell’s going on around here?” Her arms crossed over her chest as she stood on the stoop.
Dad’s mouth pulled back. Then he smiled crookedly at me. “Guess it’s time we tell your mother what you’ve been up to. The cat’s out of the golf bag.”
For the first time all day, I heard myself laugh. But it was fleeting.
“Your daughter is an official member of the Lone Butte High School boys’ golf team,” Dad said, following behind me. He didn’t bother to hide the proud tone in his voice.
“Golf team? Boys?” Mom stepped down a stair.
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. “I’m on the team this year.”
“Well, isn’t that the dumbest waste of time,” she said, her eyes wide, her head shaking.
My lips pressed together as I reached for the screen door and then the phone in the kitchen. I needed to get as far away as possible.
Would it ever be far enough?
Chapter 18
Ryan
I WAS RUMMAGING FOR A MICROWAVE dinner in the freezer when Dad breezed into the house from the garage.
I didn’t turn when his keys slid across the countertop behind me. We hadn’t spoken since the day I caught him holding hands with the family’s hairstylist. And it if it were up to me, I’d keep it that way.
“Hey, sport,” Dad said.
My jaw clenched.
“Where’s your mom?”
I counted to three. Slowly. “Still at work, I think,” I said without turning. My fingertips burned from holding three different frozen microwavable dinners—mac and cheese, chicken burrito and meat loaf. I chose the burrito and tossed the others back inside the freezer.
Dad put his briefcase on the tile floor and moved closer to the counter. His blue tie hung over his right shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to your tournament today. Trial ran a little longer than I thought it would.”
My shoulders shrugged. I hadn’t expected Dad to show. Why was he apologizing? He hadn’t made it to a tournament in two years. I closed the refrigerator door and padded across the tile in my bare feet to the cupboard next to the sink. I reached for a plate.
“How’d you do?”
“We won,” I said without enthusiasm, still avoiding his gaze. Mostly.
Dad’s eyes widened with obvious surprise. “Well, now.” He chuckled, slapping his hands together. He fist-pumped in my direction but I ignored it, pretending that my hands were busy with the intricacies of tearing open the frozen dinner. “That’s fantastic!” Dad said anyway. “How many strokes?”
I sighed inwardly while I took the time to search for a microwavable plate. Unfortunately the cupboard was loaded with stacks of them. “Two,” I said.
“Wish I could have seen it.” He sighed. “How’d you do?”
“Five over par,” I said reluctantly. The more information I offered, the more questions he’d ask.
Dad’s mouth pulled back in a grimace. Not good. “Five over par?” Not exactly what he’d hoped for. “Any big winners on your team?”
I slit open the cardboard package with a knife. I placed it in the microwave and set the timer. “Yep,” I said.
Dad’s eyes bulged. “Well, are you going to tell me?” Hi
s hands moved to his hips. “Was it Seth? Zack?” Dad knew all the players on the team. All of their parents belonged to the same country club.
I sniffed. “No,” I said, leaning against the counter. “A new kid on the team.”
“Who?” His voice got louder.
“Fred Oday.”
“Oday, Oday,” he said, eyes narrowed, thinking aloud. “Do his folks belong to the club?”
I chuckled darkly. I remembered a man approaching the van where Fred had sat after the tournament—the same rusted van that had idled behind me the first day of golf practice. The man’s hands had been dark like river rocks and his overalls covered with grass stains. They’d climbed inside the van together like they knew each other. “I don’t think so,” I said finally.
“Humph,” Dad said, surprised. “Well, you should invite him out one Saturday to play with us. I’d like to meet this rising star.”
I couldn’t help another air-chuckle. It felt all wrong and all right at the same time, especially when I pictured Dad’s stunned expression if I were to bring Fred Oday to the club for that round of Saturday golf. I’d almost give up my Jeep just to see it.
Dad looked across the counter at me like he wanted to ask something more but decided against it at the last second. He reached for his briefcase and then turned for the stairs.
“Hey, Dad,” I said.
Dad stopped. “Yes, son?”
“I saw you at the mall the other night.”
His back straightened. “Yeah?”
“I saw you.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I gathered that. Why didn’t you come talk to me?”
“I saw you with Stacey What’s-Her-Name. The lady who cuts our hair.”
His eyes widened, surprised. “Yeah? So?”
“So?” My eyes widened like his. Not quite the reaction I expected. “You were holding her hand.”
Dad laughed a little nervously. “Look, we were talking about her bankruptcy. I’m helping her file papers.”
Okay, that was a new one.
Dad’s voice grew louder. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I don’t appreciate your tone or the implication. If you’ve got something to say, then spill it.”
I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. Maybe it was because he was never around anymore. Maybe it was because I was feeling like such a shithead. “Forget it.”
Dad turned away with a heavy exhale.
“Hey, Dad…”
“Yeah?” He stopped, his tone sounding more tired than before.
Instead of pressing him on Stacy, I switched topics. “Would you mind if I invited a few friends over Friday night?”
Dad’s lip curled in obvious relief. “Don’t see why not. Your mother’s at a conference all weekend and I’ll probably have to work through Sunday.” He made a show of dragging his hand over his chin like he really had to mull it over. But then one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. “Not too loud, though. Okay?”
“Sure, Dad,” I said with mock obedience. “Not too loud.”
*
The next morning, I searched for Fred before school.
Since there was no golf practice on Fridays, I figured she wouldn’t be hanging by the gym or lugging her golf bag into Coach Lannon’s office. And unless she was hiding in the girls’ locker room, I was determined to find her. I’d decided last night that we had to talk. Ignoring her not only made everything worse, it backfired. Big-time.
After I parked my Jeep in the student lot, I walked through the courtyard where everyone met up before the first warning bell. I squinted across dozens of student clusters but didn’t see her. But then I realized that I’d never seen Fred chillin’ in the courtyard, at least not since I’d started paying attention.
I made one fast loop around the outside of the school, waving at a few of my friends, but not slowing long enough to talk. Fred wasn’t anywhere outside. That much was certain.
I moved inside. I proceeded first toward the cafeteria, passing Sam Tracy and Peter Begay outside a row of lockers. I thought about asking them but decided against it, especially when I was pretty certain that the big dude glared at me.
Still anxious to find her, I jogged across campus toward the library. Just my busted luck: yesterday Fred Oday was everywhere. Today, she’d disappeared.
I reached the double-glass library doors in minutes. Breathing heavily, I scanned the wooden tables filling the middle of the room. They were all empty, except for the usual dusty reference books that no one ever opened. The room was so quiet that I could hear the soft hum of the librarian’s computers behind the empty reference desk. I checked the two rows of cubicles closest to the library stacks. They lined the entire side of one wall. I walked down the middle, my eyes bouncing back and forth over the gray cubicle walls for the tops of any heads with shiny black hair. Most of the cubicles were empty, too.
I sighed glumly when I reached the end of the row. I really wanted to talk to Fred before class, and this was my only chance.
Then I saw a flash of something black in the corner cubicle next to the book stacks marked Ww–Zz. I jogged closer, and my breathing quickened all over again.
It was Fred.
With her back toward me, she huddled over a thick book and scattered notebooks.
My throat turned dry.
A strand of her hair twirled between the fingers in her left hand as she tapped her book with a pencil in her right.
I pulled back my shoulders. “Fred?”
She jumped in her seat and turned.
I lifted my palms. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
One hand pressed against her chest. “Ryan?” Her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”
“Got a minute?” I swallowed again. Hard.
She nodded reluctantly. I hadn’t exactly given her a choice.
I bent down next to her chair so that our eyes were level. “I need to talk to you.”
Fred pulled away, as far as her chair would allow. “Um, okay.” Her voice was unmistakably cautious.
My eyes darted to my watch. The bell was going to ring any second. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. About your bag, I mean. I never really got the chance to tell you yesterday. Anyway, what we did was stupid. And lame. We shouldn’t have done that.” The words tumbled out a little faster than how I practiced.
Fred blinked. “We? Who’s we?”
My lips pressed together. There was no way I could keep this from her, especially now. “Me and Seth,” I said finally. I seriously needed some water.
“Seth Winter?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s Seth got to do with this?”
“Don’t you know?” How could she not know? Everybody knew. Everybody knew ten minutes after Coach Lannon had kicked him off the team.
But Fred shook her head, confused. “Know what?”
“You took Seth’s spot on the team. He got axed.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You know, kicked off the team?” I added.
Then her eyes began to blink faster. Finally she nodded. “Okay, now I get it,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. The coach didn’t tell me—”
“But that doesn’t mean what we did was right,” I said quickly. “I wish we hadn’t done it. It was really lame. I’m sorry.” My chest lightened just saying the words.
“But why did you wait so long to tell me? I almost passed out on the ninth hole!”
My knees began to ache a little from stooping. I stood when they started to tingle. Fred’s gaze traveled up to meet mine, making it harder for me to concentrate. “I thought about it—telling you, I mean—but I didn’t. That’s all I can say. It was wrong and I’m sorry. Really, I am. I wanted you to know.” Jeez, I was yapping like Graham Frazier.
Fred turned in her chair so that she was facing her book, long enough for me to catch my breath. I watched as she fidgeted with a page, and I wondered if I should just leave.
But then I said, “I also wanted to invite you to a
party tonight. To try to make up for it.”
Fred turned, her eyes widening with more surprise. “Is this another joke?”
I shook my head and bit back a nervous smile. “No joke. Totally serious this time.”
“But…why?”
“Why?” I said, drawing back. “Does that mean you’ll come?” She didn’t look convinced. Smiling at her question probably wasn’t helping.
She raised her chin. “Where is it?”
I bent down to my knees again, almost collapsing with relief. I picked up the pen resting next to her. “My house.” I motioned for a page in her notebook.
She surprised me again and passed me the whole notebook, slowly at first, like she was having second thoughts. And then she just pushed it toward me.
I wrote my address on the corner of a page. “Will you come?”
Fred cleared her throat. “I don’t know. I’ll…I’ll have to check my schedule.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Okay, that’s cool. Bring your boyfriend, if you want.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yeah. Sam. The big dude. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
My shoulders lifted at the news. “Oh, I just figured. He’s always walking with you. You know, before school, I mean.” Great. I was starting to ramble again.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
I drew back a breath. “Well, I really hope you can make it. It’ll be awesome.”
“I’ll…I’ll try” was all that she’d promise before her eyes narrowed again. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
I stood, adjusted my backpack higher over my shoulder and said, “I’d just like a second chance. I figure we’re on the same team. We might as well be friends.”
Fred’s lips turned up in one corner, just a little.
That had come out best of all, and I hadn’t even practiced it.
Chapter 19
Fred
I HAVE TO check my schedule?
I walked to English class dazed. Please tell me I didn’t really say schedule.
