Hooked (Harlequin Teen)

by Liz Fichera

  After a few more seconds, Fred’s lips pulled back, and I had the sudden, incredibly impulsive urge to kiss them.

  “Oh,” she exhaled. “Right. I get it.”

  I laughed with her and tried to blink away the thought of kissing her. But it was never too far from the center of my brain.

  “Come on.” I pulled on her elbow. “Let’s sit in the car. I brought a few CDs. Thought maybe you might want to listen to some music.”

  “Sure. Music would be good.”

  But when we sat in the Jeep, I forgot all about putting in a CD. I was too busy thinking that my thigh was an inch from hers. My shoulder was brushing up against hers.

  “Fred, mind if I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” She turned toward me, and her knee pointed at my thigh, making breathing a little difficult.

  I blinked and tried to erase all thoughts of placing my hand on her leg and pulling her closer. “I know this sounds lame, but I think we’ve met before.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she said. “We had freshman English together.”

  I smiled. “No. Not that. I’m talking a long time ago.”

  “How long?”

  “Fourth grade.”

  “But I went to school on the Rez—”

  “I know. But don’t you remember when a busload of white kids from Kyrene Elementary invaded your school?”

  In the glow of the dashboard, Fred smiled. She nodded, once.

  “And we all sat around in a big circle while this old dude with braids—”

  “George Trueblood,” she corrected me.

  “Yeah, well, he told us stories for what seemed like a million hours. My legs almost fell off from sitting so long.”

  “You didn’t like the stories?”

  I paused. “I liked the stories. But I think I was too busy trying to get your attention to care.”

  Fred’s chin pulled back. “Me? How’d you know it was me?”

  “Did you wear ponytails back then?”

  “Yeah, but so did just about every girl in my school. Yolanda, Kelly, Wil—”

  I lifted my hand to her mouth. “But did you have a space between your teeth?”

  Fred laughed, and I felt her breath against my palm. “Yeah. I used to, but my teeth grew together, thank god. But are you so sure it was me?”

  “I think so.” My hand fell to her leg. “It had to be. You smiled right back at me. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember the bus. I remember a bunch of kids. But we got a busload every year. I think it was to try to show the kids on the other side of Pecos Road how the Indian kids lived.” Her nose wrinkled, and I wanted to lean over, badly, and kiss the tip of it. “We really didn’t like those field trips very much.”

  I pulled back. “Why?”

  “It felt like being an animal in a zoo or something. I mean, we had school, ate, dressed, lived, just like everybody else, except we lived on a reservation. We never really understood the attraction. Did you all think we lived in tepees or something?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Figures.” Fred chuckled.

  “How come you never visited our school?”

  “Field trips cost money.”

  “Well, if the reservation is no big deal, how come you won’t let me come pick you up at your house?”

  Fred pulled her long leg down and slowly swiveled forward, her gaze fixed on the dashboard. “It’s kind of complicated at my house at the moment.”

  I put my arm along the top of the seat, wanting desperately to reach for a strand of her hair. And wanting her to turn and face me again. “Join the club.”

  “You, too?”

  “Totally.”

  “Your mom?”

  “My dad,” I said, feeling a heaviness return to my shoulders, despite the nearness to Fred. I almost wished I hadn’t said anything. But then I heard myself say, “It’s like my dad and I don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. And when we do, it’s total crap.”

  “But your family seemed so perfect at the restaurant—” Fred’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oops.”

  I bit back my grin. “So busted.”

  “I am?” She cringed behind her hands.

  “Totally.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “I remembered you from the fourth grade. I think I could remember you after you dropped a piece of cake in my lap.”

  Her clasped hands fell to her lap. She turned again in her seat, her kneecap touching my thigh, and my heart began to beat faster again. My fingertips brushed her silky hair. “Sorry about the pants,” she said.

  My grin spread, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Finally, Fred. I was wondering when you were going to tell me. I can’t believe you waited this long. I’m impressed!”

  Fred smirked.

  “The cake in my lap was the highlight of the dinner. Did you do it on purpose?”

  “No!” She laughed.

  “Sure you didn’t,” I teased.

  “When did you realize it was me? I really thought you didn’t recognize me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think I realized it the next time I saw you in English.”

  “Why were you in such a bad mood that night? You were practically breathing fire. I should have spilled water on you. Was the food that bad?”

  My smile faded. “You don’t know my parents.”

  Fred leaned closer, placing her hand on my thigh, and my body temperature began to explode. “My dad always says there’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  I inhaled, trying very hard to slow my heartbeat. “He’s never met my family.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, mine’s a piece of work, too.”

  “Not perfect?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then I guess we do have something in common.” In a weird way, I got the feeling she was happy to hear that, even if we were comparing family dysfunction.

  The Jeep grew silent. I was pretty sure Fred had stopped breathing. I knew I had.

  Carefully, I edged closer, just an inch at first and then another, till finally my arm was completely wrapped around her, and her head was nestled against my shoulder. It felt so good, the closeness. I had wanted to reach for her, to touch her, all day.

  Her breath warmed my neck. Slowly, I lowered my chin so that it brushed the top of her head. My eyes closed as I listened to our breathing, her heartbeat and all the corny things that scrolled through my head. I wanted to say something lame, like how her hair smelled as sweet as the desert, because that was how she made me feel—alive and special. Even when I didn’t deserve it.

  I’d never said anything like that to a girl before. “Fred.” My voice cracked from too much silence.

  But Fred didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her face upward to meet mine. The tips of our noses brushed against each other. Hers was warm and soft. Like her hair. Like everything about her.

  I took a chance and lowered my mouth toward hers till we were a breath apart.

  She didn’t pull away.

  Then I very gently pressed my lips against hers. Soft and curious at first. Then I pressed harder.

  When Fred kissed me back, my universe cracked open.

  The other parked car screeched in reverse across the pavement, its headlights flashing across ours, before racing in the opposite direction.

  We barely noticed as our kiss grew deeper.

  Chapter 29

  Fred

  I DIDN’T KNOW what time it was when I headed back home across the desert, but it was late enough for the moon to have dropped behind the Estrella Mountains.

  It wasn’t easy convincing Ryan to let me walk home either. It was barely a mile, I assured him, compared to at least twenty if we drove all the way down Pecos Road, got back onto the freeway and then drove another ten miles onto the Rez off the next freeway exit. It would have been like driving in a complete circle when all you really needed to do was walk to the center.

  “Let me at least drive
you through the desert, then?” he insisted as we leaned together against the hood of his car. “My Jeep can handle it. It’s four-wheel drive.”

  “No. If the Tribal Police catch you, they’ll arrest you for trespassing.” That was only partly true, although I made it sound as if there was an army of Tribal Police patrol cars on the Rez when really only a handful existed. What I wanted to avoid was introducing Ryan to my most assuredly drunk mother. There was no telling what she would say if she caught us on the doorstep. Ryan would have been as out of place at our trailer as a stretch limousine.

  Despite my protests, Ryan insisted on keeping his headlights shining over the desert as I walked back home. Halfway through the desert when I stopped to look over my shoulder, I could still see his headlights, a reminder that we were connected by a beam of light and his concern. The headlights were as bright as stars. I kept glancing over my shoulder, watching them, until they turned the size of fireflies. I had a crazy stupid happy grin on my face the whole way home.

  When I finally got home, the house was so quiet that I could hear the reliable tick of the second hand on the stove clock in the kitchen. I crept into my bedroom, barely letting the screen door squeak. In the darkness, I looked up at the sky from my bedroom window, still smiling. When the curtain fluttered, I was treated to a blanket of stars. Just like I always did, I found the Big Dipper. Then the Little.

  As I gazed out the window, my fingertips brushed over my mouth, cheeks, neck, all the places that still tingled from Ryan’s kisses and warm hands. His fingers, like his kisses, were gentle and curious. Nothing like I expected. When I closed my eyes, I could still see him, feel him, his arms wrapped around me, his hands pressed against my skin, mine against his, exploring each other. When I kissed Ryan Berenger, I swear I saw more stars than all the stars in the sky.

  I vowed that I would never forget this day—this night—for as long as my ancestors allowed me to live.

  It had been the happiest, most perfect day. And it had happened when I least expected it.

  *

  The rules have changed, haven’t they?

  That’s what I thought as I walked to the school library on Monday morning, just like I always did, after dropping off my golf bag in Coach Lannon’s office. Sam called to say that he and Pete would catch a ride with Kelly and Yolanda, but, other than that, it felt like your basic Monday.

  But…was it?

  The day might have felt the same, but I felt completely different, almost like a person reborn. My heartbeat pounded louder, stronger. I didn’t walk so much as glide. The sky smelled fresher, the air felt lighter. Whenever I touched my face, my lips were turned up in a goofy smile. Jeez! Would anyone else notice? Was my happiness that obvious?

  I’d wondered all weekend whether Ryan and I would eat lunch together in the cafeteria. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  What about English?

  Would we sit together in Study Hall, too?

  And what about golf practice? Surely we’d practice alongside each other, wouldn’t we?

  Or—and this was the part that frightened me the most—would everything in my life stay exactly the same? If it did, then Saturday night never happened. It might as well have been a dream. My chest tightened, imagining such a cruelty. And for an instant, my goofy smile faded.

  I just had to find out. I had to know.

  With my backpack threaded over my shoulder, I opened the door to the library and breezed by the empty library desk. Then I walked along the quiet row of mostly empty cubicles until I reached the last one at the end of the stacks. It had been my pre-first-bell hiding spot for the past two years, one month and three days, but who was counting?

  When I reached my usual spot, I almost swallowed my tongue. That’s because I was about to trip over the tops of Ryan Berenger’s Converse tennis shoes. They were crossed at the ankles and sticking outside the cubicle entrance like tree branches.

  “Hi, Fred,” Ryan said.

  Fred. I loved the way he said my name. It almost sounded pretty.

  My stomach dropped, but in a good way. I could barely mouth, Hi. I had to blink, just to make sure he wasn’t an illusion.

  “Thought you’d get here earlier.” He stood slowly and dangerously close, making just enough room for me to squeeze into the cubicle.

  Instant body heat.

  Ryan had to have felt it, too. His mouth twisted into a shy smile so breathtakingly beautiful that my body swayed.

  Finally, my vocal cords caught up to my brain. “I had to drop my bag off in the coach’s office.” I laid my backpack on the desk and reached for the zipper, grateful for something to occupy my hands.

  “Want to work on English before Homeroom?”

  “English?” What’s that?

  Ryan nodded. He wedged around me to squeeze outside the cubicle. More heat, followed by enough electricity to power half the country. “I’ll get another chair.”

  Please don’t, I wanted to say. Please stay. Instead, I said, “Okay,” quietly inhaling the minty shampoo scent from his still-damp hair. Some of the blond ends were clumped together with moisture. I wanted to run my fingers through his soft waves like I had Saturday night.

  Ryan found another empty chair and wedged it inside the cubicle. There was barely enough room for one chair, let alone two, and that was perfectly fine by me. Our thighs melded together as we sat alongside each other, warm and secure.

  “Have you written your paper yet?”

  I nodded, although I hoped he wouldn’t ask what I wrote yesterday. Gazing into his eyes, I couldn’t remember a single word. I wasn’t sure I remembered the instructions.

  Ryan threaded his fingers through his hair, and I wished that I were that hand. “I didn’t.” He sighed. “Maybe we could get together this week and work on it? I could really use your help.”

  I nodded again, numbly. This week? Work on it? Work on what? He wants to do homework together? With me?

  When I didn’t answer, Ryan reached for my hand, just about putting me over the top on the emotional scale. It was like I’d ridden to the highest point of a roller coaster, the wind swallowing my breath. Another second and I’d start screaming with my arms over my head. Then he placed his other hand over mine like a sandwich. “Fred…you’re shaking. Are you okay?”

  I managed a small nod. I wished I could tell him how happy I was, but the words wouldn’t come.

  By the way his smile turned crooked, though, I figured he already knew. “Good,” he said as he squeezed my hand. “I thought about calling you yesterday, you know.”

  My stomach fluttered all over again. “You did?” My voice squeaked with more surprise. I would have loved a call from Ryan yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about him all day.

  “You’re not in the book.”

  “What book?”

  “Phone book.”

  “Oh.” Quickly, I took the blue pen from the front pocket of my backpack and wrote down my phone number.

  “Your cell?”

  “No,” I said without looking at him. “It’s to the phone in our kitchen.” And it works, so long as my mother pays the phone bill.

  He put his arm behind the back of my chair. “You don’t mind if I call you at home?”

  “Call anytime.” I tried to sound casual, but I was so not good at sounding casual. I wasn’t good at sounding like anything.

  Ryan let out a breath like he was relieved. Or surprised. “I really had fun on Saturday,” he said, reading my mind. “The whole day, I mean. Not just at Pecos Road.”

  I felt my cheeks blush, remembering. I remembered every kiss, every touch, every second, every breath. I put down the pen, just in case he wanted to hold my hand again. “Me, too,” I said. There was so much I wanted to tell Ryan, if only I had more nerve. Me, too hardly described it. I wished I could tell him how the mere sight of him made my stomach do flip-flops, how being close to him made every inch of my skin tingle. If he was patient, I’d tell him everything. Everything.

&n
bsp; “I brought you something.” He leaned forward for his backpack.

  I leaned forward, too, curious.

  From the top pocket, he pulled out a rolled-up Arizona Republic, the sports section. He laid it over the opened notebook and turned to page three.

  “I wasn’t sure if you saw this, but your picture is in here, along with a blurb about our win last week.” He turned, his face so close to mine that I could see a tiny freckle on his nose. “It’s a pretty good picture.”

  “What? Me?” I broke away from Ryan’s gaze to smooth the newspaper. On the bottom of the page, there was a black-and-white photo of me standing on the fourth tee at the Ahwatukee Golf Club. I remembered the hole well. I had just swung my driver and was staring down the fairway, waiting for the ball to drop, hoping it would miss a gigantic sand trap. I didn’t remember any camera or flashes. The caption read Fredricka Oday from the Gila Indian River Community, Lone Butte High School Varsity Golf Team. I wondered if anyone from the Rez would see it. I didn’t know anyone who got the newspaper delivered.

  “Ugh. They used my full name.”

  Ryan smiled. “I like it. It’s different.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Totally serious.”

  I bit back a smile. Ryan Berenger continued to amaze me. “Who took it?”

  Ryan didn’t answer. Instead, he said again, “Pretty picture, too,” smiling at me sideways until the heat turned up in my cheeks. “Looks like you’re getting famous around here,” he teased, and my skin burned hotter. I finally smirked at him and wrapped my hand around his arm.

  Then I studied the picture again. “I don’t remember a photographer. Someone from the paper did call my house, but he only wanted to know how long I’d been playing golf. He said he’d try to come watch one of our tournaments but didn’t make any promises.” Never mind that I’ve never been in a newspaper before.

  “You’ll get used to it, especially when you keep winning.”

  “If, not when.”

  “No way,” Ryan chuckled. “You’ll keep winning. I’ve seen you play. And I have a good feeling.”