by Liz Fichera
Ryan’s face brightened, as if what I’d said surprised him. His eyes lowered to my hands, and for a moment I thought he might reach for mine again. I wished he would. I wanted those goose bumps.
But then I had a better idea. “Do you know where Pecos Road ends? At Chandler Boulevard? There’s a barbed-wire fence at the end.”
Ryan nodded, but his eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“Meet me there at eight?”
He blinked. “Can’t I come pick you up?”
I swallowed. “No, that’s okay. I can get there myself.”
“In your van?” His tone turned doubtful, but I ignored it.
“Something like that.” By eight o’clock, Dad would be sleeping, and if Mom was home, she’d already be well into her first six-pack and wouldn’t notice I was gone. She’d think I was in my bedroom, reading. It could work.
It had to work.
“Okay, then,” Ryan said as he rose from his chair. “Eight o’clock. I’ll be there.”
I smiled up at him, every inch of my skin still tingling from my forehead to the tips of my toes. My hands reached underneath the table and pressed against my stomach when it started to do flip-flops.
Chapter 26
Ryan
JUST BEFORE I DROVE AWAY FROM the golf course, I texted Seth. I didn’t want to call his cell because I knew what he would say, and I didn’t want to hear it. I’d deal with it later.
Dude. Cant make it 2night. Sry. 2hungover. TTYL.
It was probably the first time in two years that we wouldn’t hang on a Saturday night. I knew Seth would be pissed, but I figured Gwyneth for full-blown furious. Unfortunately I’d have to talk to her at some point, but I didn’t expect her to understand either. I wimped out and texted her, too:
G. Sry. Have 2 do somethng with the fam 2night. Later. TTY Mon.
Lame? Totally. But my head was buzzing. I couldn’t wait to see Fred. There was something about her that pulled at me. I was done fighting it.
Could another person make you feel so different? Better?
When I got home from the golf course, I was in such a good mood that I wasn’t even upset that Dad was sitting in front of the television watching a football game with a beer in his hand and wearing the faded University of Arizona sweatshirt he loved so much. Usually when Mom was away for a weekend, Dad prepared for a trial 24/7. Those were the best weekends ever.
“Hey, Ryan!” Dad called out in a playful voice that made me wince. Dad’s arm draped across the couch. “Wildcats are playing the Sun Devils! It’s the biggest game of the year!”
“I know, Dad.” I moved to the refrigerator for a soda. I couldn’t match his enthusiasm for the game. It wasn’t that I didn’t like football. It was just that Dad would start listing all the clubs and fraternities he’d want me to join when I went—if I went—to the U of A.
“Come watch the game with me!” He raised his beer can like we were frat brothers.
“Can’t,” I lied.
“Can’t watch your future alma mater with your old man?” Dad looked stunned, as if we watched games together all the time. There’d been a time when that was all I’d wanted—just a fraction of his attention.
“Sorry,” I said from behind the refrigerator door. “Got plans. Got to get ready.”
Dad shot up from his leather lounge chair, the springs creaking from his weight. He swaggered into the kitchen. “Well, I’m sorry, too. Sorry I couldn’t make it for golf today.”
I guessed sorry was better than nothing. If only it meant something.
“S’okay, Dad,” I said without looking at him. I really wished he’d stop apologizing. Missed tee times had become the norm. And everything was cool, as long as his secretary kept calling the clubhouse every week to make my Saturday tee times on Dad’s behalf. I probably heard more from her than Dad.
“So, did you play with Seth?” He grinned like he already knew the answer.
I turned, considering his question. “Nope,” I said, purposely evasive. It seemed wrong sharing anything with him about Fred. But it sure was tempting.
Dad’s eyebrows lifted. “Henry?”
“Nope,” I said again, popping the cap to a Coke. I waited for the fizz to stop and then slurped the foam, hoping he’d go away.
But Dad wouldn’t let it go. He chuckled. “Well, are you going to tell me?” He leaned against the counter when his tone turned noticeably sharper. “Or do we keep playing word games?”
“Fred Oday,” I said simply. It felt good to say her name. “I played with Fred Oday.”
Dad made a face as if he’d heard me wrong. “The Indian girl?”
I cringed. “Yeah.”
“Humph.” His brow furrowed. “You really think that’s a good idea?”
“What do you mean?” I said, but then wished I hadn’t.
Dad shook his head like the answer was obvious. “You know, playing with a girl and all.”
“You mean an Indian girl? Or just a girl?” Dad knew that I’d played with Gwyneth once, and that had been perfectly fine with him. Dad, in fact, had encouraged it, paying for her tee time and everything. I wondered what would happen if I told him that he’d paid for Fred’s tee time today, too? Gwyneth had been a golf-course nightmare and had never stopped complaining about how hard it was to hold a club, how her arms ached, how hot the air felt. She’d complained about everything. I hadn’t been able to wait for that afternoon to end.
Dad’s lips pursed. “That’s not what I mean, not exactly.” He braced himself against the counter. “I just mean it might be better if you play with your friends on the team—Seth, Troy, Henry and the others. They’d probably give you a better game. Better practice.”
“Dad, Fred Oday is the best player on the team. We could go to the state championship because of her. Don’t you get it? You should see her drive a ball,” I said, knowing full well that would never happen.
But Dad rolled his eyes like I was a little bit crazy. “Just because she played well in one tournament does not a champion make,” he clipped in his best know-it-all, professorial voice.
I bristled. “I’ve got to get up to my room.” I swallowed back building anger.
“Sure, sure.” Dad lifted his palms. He must have seen the aggravation in my eyes. “Whatever you need to do. I just thought we could spend some time together. Talk. Catch up. That kind of stuff.”
I swallowed, hard. “Sorry, Dad. I already made plans. It is Saturday night, you know.” I began to walk away.
“S’okay. Bad timing. My mistake.” Dad walked after me toward the stairwell. “Well, what do you have going that’s so important?”
“I’m meeting Fred.”
Dad crunched the beer can in his hand.
I forgave myself for grinning just a little.
Chapter 27
Fred
“WHERE ARE YOU going?” Trevor asked in the kitchen where he was watching a television propped on a dictionary next to the refrigerator. The antenna had a wadded ball of tinfoil wrapped around the tip.
“Shh!” I said, my eyes darting between Trevor and our parents’ bedroom. Their bedroom shared the wall with the kitchen, and the wall was as thin as cotton. “You’ll wake Dad.” I was drying dishes from the sink.
Trevor chuckled. “Doubt that. He didn’t even eat dinner, he was so tired.”
“I know. I put chili and fry bread in plastic wrap for later.”
Trevor wiggled his fingers at me, fanlike. “So, Freddy. Come on. Tell me where you’re going. What’s on your social calendar for this evening?” Obviously he could tell from my clothes that I wasn’t going to be spending the next three hours in my bedroom. He’d probably also noticed that I’d used a little of Mom’s mascara and some lip gloss. Totally not my usual Saturday night attire.
“I’m meeting some friends.”
“Who?”
I didn’t answer.
“Rez kids?”
“Yeah,” I lied. If I told him the truth, he’d freak
and get all annoyingly older-brotherly protective.
“Well, who?”
I sniffed, avoiding his gaze. “Yolanda, Kelly, Pete and Sam.”
Trevor grinned. “Big Sam? I think he has a crush on you.”
I avoided his gaze. “You need to stop encouraging him. Sam and I are just friends.” I needed to talk to Sam, too. I just needed to find the right time, the right words. Why had I kissed him? Why did he have to be so kind?
Trevor laughed. “I think every girl on the Rez over the age of thirteen has a full-on crush on him. Why don’t you?”
“’Cause I’ve known him since kindergarten.”
“So?”
“So?” My eyes blazed at him. “So I was there when he spit up milk during class in the first grade. I remember when he cried in the third grade after Yolanda pulled his pants down when he hung from the monkey bars. That’s why. For starters.”
Trevor laughed, harder.
“He’ll never be anything more to me than a friend.” I paused. “And that’s another thing. You can tell him to stop following me around at school like some kind of bodyguard.”
Trevor’s lips sputtered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
He shook his head. “Sure don’t.”
I exhaled loudly before reaching for my jacket on the kitchen chair. I didn’t know whether to believe him, but I didn’t care. I was more concerned with leaving the house on time.
“At least tell me where you’re going, in case Dad wakes up and asks.”
My nose had to be growing a mile long. “By the Estrellas,” I lied again, avoiding his gaze as I turned back toward the refrigerator and pretended to look for something else to eat even though I was still full from the cheeseburger at lunch.
“A bonfire?”
I pirouetted around and forced a smile. “Something like that.”
“Want a ride on the bike?”
“Nope. I’m going to walk.” Fortunately it wasn’t a long walk to the Estrellas or to the end of Pecos Road. A mile at most in the desert. Trevor and I had done it so many times that we could do it with our eyes closed on a moonless night if we had to. We knew our corner of the Rez better than anybody. We knew which washes raged during the monsoons and all of the flat dirt paths that snaked around the endless sage and saguaro. Besides, with the stars and a half-moon to light the way, it’d be like walking underneath strings of Christmas lights.
“Okay, but don’t forget the flashlight,” Trevor said in his big-brother voice. “Just in case.”
“I won’t,” I said as my shoulders began to loosen.
Finally.
I’d survived the evening’s second hurdle. The first had been learning that Trevor would be staying home till midnight and could entertain Mom if necessary before he had to work his night shift at the gas station. Fortunately, Mom would be too tired to notice me missing and too drunk within thirty minutes of arriving home to care. And Trevor would keep her occupied outside long enough so Dad could sleep.
My eyes darted to the clock on the green stove. The second hand ticked so loudly that I heard it over the television. “I better get going,” I told Trevor. “There are leftovers if you get hungry.”
“Thanks, Freddy,” he said before turning back to some old rerun with motorcycle cops. “Say hi to Sam.” His eyebrows wiggled as he got up to slap the television on its side when the screen turned fuzzy.
Relieved, I practically skipped to the front door, pushed open the screen and bounced out the door into the cool desert.
I couldn’t be late.
I had no idea why I’d agreed to meet Ryan at eight o’clock. I really should have my head examined.
Why would someone like Ryan Berenger want to spend time with someone like me? Alone?
He should be spending Saturday nights with his girlfriend. Not girls named Fred who lived on the other side of Pecos Road.
It was just that we’d had such a nice time on the golf course. Ryan was so surprisingly funny and attentive. At least, he had been when I’d been able to focus. Half the time, I’d barely heard a word he’d said, even when he’d talked about golf and last year’s tournaments. I should have been concentrating, especially when he’d told me about the other golf teams, the best and worst players, the tricky courses on the tournament schedule, filing away all information for future use. Instead, I’d been too busy pretending not to be studying the back of his head, his jaw, the way his shoulders rippled when he swung his club, his perfect smile and his eyes, the color of a morning sky.
Was there more to Ryan Berenger than I’d realized?
Once in a while I’d caught him studying me, too, but he’d quickly lowered his chin and pretended to fiddle with the rubber grip on his club or the silver button on his glove, biting back a nervous smile. It had been kind of sweet. Those had been the silent moments when my knees had almost buckled. Other than Sam Tracy, I’d never had a boy’s eyes sweep over me before. Like he wanted me. Like I was special. The difference between Ryan and Sam was that I wanted Ryan, even though there were a hundred perfectly logical and sane reasons not to.
My feet barely touched the ground. I felt as if I could fly all the way to the end of Pecos Road.
Chapter 28
Ryan
I RACED DOWN PECOS ROAD WITH the windows down. The radio was blaring, but the dry wind whipping through the Jeep’s plastic flaps drowned out most of it.
My foot pressed harder on the accelerator the farther I got from Phoenix, and I passed only a handful of cars traveling in the opposite direction. The air even tasted lighter. I caught my smile in the rearview mirror.
“You’re a complete idiot,” I said aloud, laughing to myself.
When I reached the end of Pecos Road, the only thing that separated my front bumper from the Gila River Indian Reservation was decades-old rusted barbed wire. I shut off the engine, even the radio, and the world grew so still that silence became its own sound.
I left the headlights on, though. They shone across the desert over endless saguaro and paloverde, casting frozen shadows. If you didn’t know you were staring straight into the desert, you might have thought you were gazing over the heads of giant soldiers. On Mars.
I reached for the roof bar and pulled myself out of the Jeep. My shoes slapped onto the pavement.
Then I walked toward the headlights, my footsteps filling the air. I leaned against the hood, waiting, staring out into the desert. Just as I pushed back, my breath hitched. Fred walked out of the darkness into the headlights’ yellow path like she’d just beamed down from a cloud. I’d never even heard her approach.
“I don’t believe it.” I lifted off the hood, mesmerized.
“I told you I’d be here,” Fred said, switching off her flashlight, squinting against the headlights as she crossed from the desert onto Pecos Road. The waist-high barbed-wire fence that separated us had been trampled down in most places. She found a low spot to cross over.
I met her at the first opening in the wire and extended a hand.
“I saw your headlights from the wash. Didn’t even need my flashlight. Nice assist.” She took my hand, only for a moment, and then hopped over the broken wire.
“You’re welcome,” I said as her hair and eyes blended against the darkness. “Fred?” I swallowed.
“Yes?” She looked up at me, and my knees wobbled.
“You are officially the coolest girl I know. I don’t know a single girl who’d walk across the desert in the dark. By herself.”
Fred chuckled. “I’ve done it lots of times.” Her tone was far from boastful. I was learning to like that about her. A lot.
“Really?” I said.
“With my brother,” she added quickly. “Usually.”
“You know, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to come pick you up at your house.”
She shook her head and placed her flashlight on the hood of the Jeep. “No.” She rubbed her hands together as if she was cold. “Th
is is way better.”
“What’s wrong with coming to your house?” It tugged at my gut that maybe I embarrassed her or something. Did her parents hate white guys?
Another shoulder shrug, and she looked behind her into the desert. “This is just easier.”
“But what about animals?”
She surprised me again. “The coyotes are skittish. And the jackrabbits don’t bother anybody.”
“Rattlesnakes?”
“If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone.”
“Bobcats, then. You hear about attacks on the news. Sometimes.”
“That’s rare. Besides, they stick to the high rocks.” She nodded over her shoulders at the Estrellas, but it was too dark to see their jagged peaks.
I chuckled, still watching her. “Well, that’s good to know. Are you cold?” I said as her hands crossed over her chest. She wore a bright white T-shirt underneath a blue windbreaker.
But Fred shook her head.
“Thirsty, then?”
“Yeah,” she said carefully, “a little.”
I reached into the backseat of the Jeep and pulled out a cooler big enough for a six-pack.
Fred peered over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. It’s just root beer. You liked it today, remember?”
Fred’s smirk turned into a tiny smile. She nudged me with her shoulder. “Yeah.”
I took out one can from the cooler and popped the top. “Here. Drink this.”
“Thanks.” As Fred took the can, a green glow shimmered into the sky about a block down the road. It looked like the glow from a dashboard or maybe a dome light in the front seat of someone’s car. “Who’s that?” she whispered.
I looked over my shoulder. The truck must have just pulled off the road. “Don’t know. But people come here to park all the time.”
“Park?”
I paused, reading her face. She really didn’t know. “You know, Fred.” My mouth pulled back, embarrassed. “Park.”
“You mean, like car trouble?”
I cough-chuckled and then snapped open another can of root beer. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean I think they just want to be alone.” This time I tilted my head, waiting for her to catch on. Seriously, was she that naive? It was curiously refreshing.
