Hooked (Harlequin Teen)

by Liz Fichera

  If only.

  “This is your last chance, Fred.”

  My breathing quickened and my nostrils flared as my mind—my whole body—struggled for control. Instead, my eyes darted to the swinging door when it burst open from a busboy carrying a tray stacked with dirty dishes. The door swung wide enough for me to catch a glimpse of the table nearest the window.

  “But they’re kids from my school, Mom. It’ll be too humiliating.”

  Mom snorted. “Yeah, welcome to my world. It’s humiliating for me every time I come to work. Trust me, you get used to it.”

  My lower lip began to quiver before I could bite down on it. “But, Mom…” I moaned softly. I hated sounding like a child, but never in a million years had I expected to be waiting on a table full of kids from Lone Butte High School.

  In my haze this past month, I must have missed the usual posters announcing a dance this weekend. Was it Homecoming? Girls’ Choice? I barely noticed. Or cared. I never expected to go to dances and was too focused on avoiding Ryan Berenger and his creeptastic friends.

  Of all the fancy restaurants in Phoenix, why did they have to come to the Wild Horse?

  Mom yanked on my elbow hard enough to make me blink.

  “Look, one of the kids’ parents is friends with the chef. That’s how they got a reservation. That’s all I know. Now, you just stay behind me and do as I say. You won’t even have to talk to them. I’ll do all the talking.” Her tone softened a fraction. “Now, we’ve got to go to work. They’re in our section tonight. Can you at least manage that?”

  I nodded stiffly.

  “Good.” Mom released my arm. She turned to a shelf just inside the kitchen door and picked up two water pitchers, handing one of them to me. “Try not to drop anything, Fred. Concentrate.” Her brow wrinkled with new doubt. “Please?”

  I took the pitcher with both hands. It was ice-cold and felt as heavy as the rest of my body. With my head lowered, I followed behind Mom and wished that I could die.

  Chapter 36

  Ryan

  IN MY CHAIR NEXT TO GWYNETH, I pulled on the black tie at my neck. It had gotten tighter the moment we stepped inside the Wild Horse Restaurant.

  The part about school dances that I despised the most, other than the lame dance itself, was going to fancy restaurants and pretending that all of the other diners weren’t staring at us.

  Unfortunately, the dinner was the part of the evening that Gwyneth loved most, even though it’d be a miracle if she ate a speck of anything. And I should have seriously paid more attention when she squealed about the dinner reservations yesterday at lunch. I’d only half listened to her, as I was prone to do. When our rented limousine had pulled up to the front door of the Wild Horse Restaurant, I’d felt sick all over.

  Across from Gwyneth and me at our round table, Seth and Zack scanned the menus while Gwyneth, Sara and Kari discussed who was having the best after-dance parties and whether we should stop at the gas station on the reservation to buy tequila with Gwyneth’s fake ID.

  “Indians never check your IDs,” Kari said. “All they care about is selling beer.”

  I sank lower in my chair as my eyes scanned the crowded restaurant. I was torn between wanting to see Fred and not seeing her at all. It was bad enough trying to pretend that I didn’t want to talk to her, to touch her, every moment in school and at golf practice. The tournaments were even worse. My play in the past three tournaments had sucked while Fred had played as if she was on fire. I supposed she was over me with golf scores like that, if she had ever been into me at all.

  I also wondered about her and Sam. A lot. He followed her everywhere—before school, between classes. Sometimes he even carried her backpack. He’d become like her permanent shadow. If I had tried to approach her, he’d have probably stuffed me into a locker or something.

  Despite it all, I hoped that Fred’s waitressing career had ended the night she’d dropped a slice of mesquite-honey mousse cake into my lap.

  “Something wrong?” Gwyneth said to me, taking a rare pause from Sara and Kari. Since our quasi breakup a month ago, which had lasted all of five minutes, she’d been annoyingly attentive, as if she expected me to break up with her again at any moment.

  I cleared my throat. “No,” I said. Yes. Everything.

  “Really?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Just wondering what to eat for dinner,” I lied. My menu rested untouched in the middle of the table.

  “Have you eaten here before?” Seth peered at me above the menu.

  “Uh-huh,” I mumbled. “Once.”

  Seth placed the menu on the table and grinned wide enough for my hand to tug again on my tie. “Really?” Seth said. “Me, too. Once. With my parents.” His tone turned innocent, enough to get my attention. I knew that tone. It was the opposite of innocent.

  “Well, if we ever see our waitress, it’ll be a freakin’ miracle,” Gwyneth said behind her hand in a singsong voice but plenty loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “My dad promised we’d get the VIP, but so far…” Her mouth pursed with impatience.

  I ignored her. There was no pleasing Gwyneth. Instead, I glanced across the table toward the back of the restaurant just as the rear doors swung open. “Oh, no,” I mumbled.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwyneth said.

  A lady approached our table with a tight but friendly smile. It was the same waitress from Mom’s birthday dinner.

  “Good evening, kids,” she said. “Welcome to the Wild Horse. Enjoying a dance tonight, I see. You all look so nice.” She smiled at everyone at the table, not too brightly or loudly, but in that way that said she wouldn’t be an intrusion.

  My breathing stopped when Fred stepped around her.

  With lowered eyes, she began filling our water glasses with an enormous pitcher. She started with Gwyneth.

  “Oh?” Gwyneth said before biting down on her lip to stifle a giggle. Her eyes blinked wide as she tracked Fred’s movements. Then her hand proceeded to cover her smile as Fred reached for her empty crystal glass.

  If our waitress noticed, she said nothing, while Fred moved silently around the table. The older lady proceeded to list the chef’s entrée recommendations. No one really paid any attention to her, least of all me.

  “The chef recommends the braised lobster tail with avocado mousse or the Sea of Cortez seviche…” the lady continued as I watched Fred finish pouring water into the glasses. Her hands shook, but only a few drops spilled onto the white linen tablecloth, mostly because the water pitcher was as bulky as a goldfish bowl. It was crammed full of ice and lemon slices.

  Fred saved my water glass for last. Instead of having her reach into the center of the table, I handed her my glass, and for an instant our fingers brushed. Hers were cold from holding the pitcher.

  “Hey, Fred,” I said quietly as the waitress continued to rattle off the specials in the background.

  “…grilled tenderloin with onion pearls, marinated duck breast in a wine reduction sauce…”

  Fred’s eyes flickered at the touch of my hand but only for a moment.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see what you’ve decided,” the waitress said. “Can I bring you some freshly baked olive bread?”

  “Is this bottled water?” Seth asked Fred, pointing a silver fork at his glass. The way he tapped it against the glass made my teeth clench.

  The waitress pulled her shoulders back. “It is filtered water, sir. Would you like us to bring you something else? A bottle of sparkling, perhaps?”

  Seth shook his head and took another long sip. “No, this is fine. Can I get some more?” He shook his half-empty glass at Fred, and her cheeks darkened to a deeper shade.

  I wanted to reach for the water pitcher and dump the rest in Seth’s lap.

  Carefully, Fred moved alongside Seth. Seth placed his glass in the center of their table. Fred’s lips twisted as she reached across him for the glass. Her hands shook, and my chest tightened. I was afraid she’d drop the gla
ss.

  As soon as Seth’s glass was full, Fred turned and walked in the opposite direction with her empty water pitcher. “And some bread!” Seth called after her. “Please?” he said with that perfected wide-eyed innocent look. He turned it on the waitress, too, but she nodded at Seth with a strained smile beneath flared nostrils.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes to let you decide on dinner.” And then she was gone.

  Gwyneth giggled as soon as we were alone. “Awkward!” Her eyes bulged with delight.

  “Jeez, I think just about every Pocahontas from school works at this place,” Seth said, nodding toward the table across from us. “I recognized two more over there.”

  “What is your fucking problem?” I glared at Seth.

  Seth’s grin faded. “No problem,” he said, blinking slowly when he realized that I wasn’t laughing. “Just making an observation.”

  “Did you have to act like an asshole?”

  Gwyneth’s giggling ended abruptly as Seth leaned back in his chair. “What’d I do? I was just asking for water. And bread. Isn’t that allowed in a restaurant?”

  “No, you weren’t. You were trying to embarrass her.”

  “Who?”

  My nostrils flared. “Fred.”

  Seth’s eyes opened wider. “So what?”

  My breathing quickened. “How’d you know she worked here?”

  Seth’s lips fluttered. “I may have overheard her talking to one of the other Pocahontases. Besides, where else can they work around here?”

  “Shut your mouth, Seth.”

  “Make me,” he said, clearly enjoying his moment.

  “You can’t let it go, can you?” I said.

  “Let what go?” Seth said, a maniacal grin blanching his face. “The fact that I got balled up and she got my spot?” He leaned closer to the table, his smile replaced with a sneer. “You’re right. It still pisses me off. Would you be okay if it’d happened to you?”

  I said nothing, and the rest of the table turned silent. I couldn’t stop glaring at Seth. It was like looking across at a complete stranger, not someone I’d known my whole life.

  But then Seth tried to laugh it off. “Hey, I’m only messing with you. Lighten up, okay?”

  My throat turned dry. I suddenly wanted to be as far away from the table as possible. I scooted out my chair. “I’ll be back.”

  Gwyneth grabbed my forearm, stopping me. “Where are you going?”

  “To find the bathroom.” I shook off her hand.

  Chapter 37

  Fred

  RYAN WAS PACING outside the front of the restaurant when I found him, his hands jammed in the front of his pants. Truthfully I had seen him through the front windows before I pushed open the wooden door.

  He had offered Peter a twenty to find me. Peter didn’t take his money but found me anyway. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed by his persistence, but my brain knew better than to come looking for Ryan Berenger.

  “What do you want, Ryan?” I said before the door had a chance to close. The air swirled, hazy and weird. I looked up at the sky and heard thunder rumble in the distance. “I’ve only got a minute.” It was the first time I’d spoken to him in over a month. We were still paired at tournaments, but I’d kept my distance as best I could and focused on my strokes.

  *

  “I am so sorry, Fred,” Ryan blurted. “I didn’t plan this. None of it.”

  “Now you’re sorry?” I heard my voice get louder. “Great timing, Ryan.”

  His hand pulled through his hair like he wanted to tear it off. His collar was completely open, his tie crooked. He looked a wreck. “I’m sorry about what Seth said, too. He didn’t mean it.”

  “Really?” My chin pulled back. “Seems to me he’s the only one being honest. I’ll give him that.”

  Ryan paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My teeth clamped shut.

  Ryan exhaled heavily. “Look, Seth was just having fun. The stupid kind. That’s just Seth.”

  “And I see you continue to follow his lead like a puppy dog. Congratulations. Gold star for you.” I turned for the door.

  Ryan followed and pulled back on my elbow. “Fred, please. I want to talk to you. I need to talk to you—”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “You never gave me a chance to explain. About Gwyneth, I mean.”

  “I saw everything perfectly.”

  “No, you didn’t. I was breaking up with her.”

  I laughed. “And yet you’re here with her.” I looked him up and down, all debonairly disheveled in his suit. “Going to the dance?”

  Ryan exhaled. “I promised to take her a while ago.”

  I turned for the door.

  He pulled back, harder. “Well, what about you and Sam? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend. And yet he follows you around everywhere.”

  “I’ve known Sam my whole life.”

  “I could say the same thing about Gwyneth.”

  “Well, you’ve picked a lovely girl.” I looked down at his hand but said nothing, because what else could I say? It was true. Especially the part about Ryan in a suit and Gwyneth in a beautiful dress, together, at a dance. Sam and I and our pretend dates seemed secondary. And delusional.

  He lightened his grip. “I know. It’s whacked. It looks all wrong.”

  I laughed again, but the chuckle wedged deep in my throat, threatening to dredge up tears. I wasn’t handling this well at all.

  “Fred, please—”

  “I’ve got to get back to work. Apology accepted, okay? But do me a favor and leave me alone.” My voice cracked, and I immediately hated myself for it. Now was not the time to cry.

  “Please don’t cry, Fred,” he said. “Please.”

  I pressed my lips together when the lower one started to quiver. I turned and covered my face in my hands.

  “How did things get so messed up?” Ryan whispered.

  Slowly, I uncovered my face.

  Ryan wrapped his arms around me, and, for a second, I let myself sink against him, breathing him in, his minty shampoo and cologne. But it was over before it started. The door burst opened behind me. I instinctively pulled away, expecting customers leaving the restaurant—or worse, Mom hunting me down.

  But then a flash of white and a whiff of the kitchen invaded my senses. Beside me, Sam’s hands reached for the lapels of Ryan’s jacket. In less than a heartbeat, Sam threw Ryan into the air and across the sidewalk like he was a pillow. Ryan crashed so hard against the cement that I worried he’d broken all the bones in his back. In his whole body. I didn’t expect him to get up.

  “Sam!” I yelled.

  Without a word, Sam charged after Ryan.

  I ran after him, trying to reach Ryan, but before I could get to him, Ryan was on his feet and lunging toward Sam’s stomach, the whites of his eyes blazing with anger. He ran straight for Sam with widespread arms, surprising him. Surprising me.

  Sam fell back, only for a split second, until he charged right back at him.

  “Ryan! No!”

  Neither one listened.

  “You must be deaf, because I thought I heard her say, ‘Leave me alone,’ White Boy,” Sam said, pulling his fist back for a punch.

  I screamed as I leaped for Sam’s arm. If he connected his fist to Ryan’s face, there would be broken bones. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

  Crack! The sky flashed.

  Then someone behind us yelled, “Hey, what the hell’s going on?!”

  In the next instant, bussers, waitresses, even customers flooded the sidewalk, wedging between Ryan, Sam and me even as the sky split open with lightning and thunder.

  Someone pulled me back—Kelly, I think—as two guys pulled Sam off Ryan, even as they continued to throw punches at each other, some connecting, others missing.

  Then the rain started to fall in gray sheets, mixing with the desert air. Customers ran for their cars.

  Another lightning bolt
.

  The thunder competed with the thrashing and yelling that spilled into the parking lot. After a while, I couldn’t tell who was fighting, who was hitting whom. My hair clung to my forehead like wet noodles as I stared, stunned, at a sea of moving bodies and loud voices.

  I kept trying to get a look at Ryan, but people stepped in my way as Kelly dragged me back toward the door. Forget yelling. No one was listening to anybody. Anger and rage mixed with the rain, charging the air. Complete chaos, in the time it took to blink.

  But then the headlights of a car appeared from somewhere in the parking lot, freezing the pandemonium like a camera flash. A limousine. It stopped parallel to the crowd. The door opened and someone was thrown inside. I prayed it was Ryan.

  I didn’t know what to do. I tried to run forward, but Kelly gripped my arm, tight.

  “We better get inside. We’re getting soaked,” Kelly said. “Sam will take care of it.”

  Take care of it?

  I turned to Kelly. “Sam’ll kill him.”

  “Sam just tossed him in that limousine. He’ll be fine. Safest place for him.”

  “Fuckers,” said a voice behind us. Yolanda. “Told you they can’t be trusted. None of those shit-faced motherfuckers can be trusted.”

  “Enough, Yo!” Kelly said.

  “It wasn’t like that,” I started to say, still straining to see between the arms and legs. “He was trying to apologize.” And I wouldn’t listen.

  With her arm still wrapped around my waist, Kelly and I walked through the door. “We gotta get back to work. Chef’s gonna be pissed.”

  I didn’t care.

  Back inside the restaurant, I had no idea what to expect. It seemed that half the guests were still milling around outside, even as the sky opened up with rain.

  When I returned to the spot where Ryan, Seth and their girlfriends had been seated, their table was abandoned.

  “I don’t believe this,” Mom said behind me, her nostrils flaring. She proceeded to fill an empty serving tray with their unused plates, napkins and glasses, not bothering to soften clanging silverware. “Our biggest table of the night. Gone.” She tossed the last bread plate into the pile with a loud exhale. Then she turned sideways long enough to glare at me. “Happy now?”