Hooked (Harlequin Teen)

by Liz Fichera

  “This isn’t right.” Coach Lannon shook his head. The crowd began to murmur and fidget around us, making breathing difficult.

  My forehead began to pound, and the pavement looked like it was moving. I let the two-iron slip from my hand. It clanged to the ground, and I watched until it stopped wobbling against the pavement.

  Beside me, Ryan bent down to pick it up, startling me. I never heard his approach.

  “You know our rules,” the starter said as the crowd tightened another notch around us. “Fred will have to be disqualified.”

  Disqualified?

  “Cheater,” someone snickered behind me. “The Indian is a cheater.”

  That was even worse.

  1 Cherokee Prayer Blessing.

  Chapter 38

  Ryan

  I PICKED UP THE TWO-IRON FROM the pavement after it slipped from Fred’s fingers.

  I wasn’t sure if she knew she had dropped it. I wanted so badly to tell her not to worry, that it was just a lame golf tournament, but I lost my voice. Again.

  Then I had to listen to the names people called her. They floated through the crowd like flies you couldn’t swat. Whispers, mostly, but loud enough to hear.

  “Cheater…”

  “Disqualified…”

  “Loser…”

  “Indian cheater…”

  I took a closer look at the club. It was a TaylorMade, smooth and shiny. Familiar. There was no way that Fred could have used this club. It was too long for her arms. She would have had to have been at least six feet tall to swing it comfortably.

  The club wasn’t hers.

  Quickly, I slid my golf bag off my shoulder and balanced it in front of me. My fingers moved over the tops of my clubs, searching, moving, shuffling. Counting. One of the plastic sheaths in the middle was missing a club.

  My pulse raced at the discovery. “Seth.” My jaw tightened.

  Then I looked across the cart path for Fred. She was already walking back to the fairway, her head lowered. Half the crowd continued to trail around her, including the three newspaper reporters.

  “Fred!” I shouted, but she didn’t turn.

  “Shit,” I muttered just as Henry Graser and Zack Fisher barreled down the cart path straight for me, their golf cleats clicking against the pavement. Grins stretched across their faces.

  “Congrats, dude!” Zack said, slapping my shoulder.

  “For what?”

  “For first place!” Henry chuckled with excitement. “Word’s already down to the ninth hole that Pocahontas has been eighty-sixed!”

  I flinched at the casual way they mocked Fred. “Shut up, Graser.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. “You have seriously got to get over that chick, Ryan.”

  I ignored him.

  Zack removed his baseball cap and wiped his flushed forehead with the back of his hand. “Turned in your scorecard yet?”

  I swallowed. “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Zack’s eyes widened as they swept across mine.

  I squinted over Zack’s shoulder for another look at Fred. I caught only glimpses of her black ponytail and purple shirt through the crowd. Instead of Coach Lannon, she walked between two girls with coal-black hair, Kelly and Yolanda, girls I barely knew even though we’d been at the same school for three years. The tall Indian who’d given the blessing walked next to them, towering over everybody like a cottonwood tree. I recognized him instantly from years ago at the reservation school. He was exactly as I remembered, only with more gray hair. He carried Fred’s golf bag over his shoulder. I watched them until they reached the top of the cart path. Fred kept slipping farther away from me, and I just let her go.

  “Come on,” Henry prodded. “Let’s go.” He motioned toward the tent.

  Finally, I nodded at Zack, and all three of us turned toward the white tent without another word.

  I couldn’t hate myself more if I tried.

  Chapter 39

  Fred

  I RODE HOME from the golf tournament wedged between Kelly and Yolanda in the cab of Kelly’s gray pickup truck.

  Sam, Pete and Vernon sat with George Trueblood in the truck bed. He shouted greetings and blessings at the other passing cars and trucks on the freeway over the throaty roar of the truck’s engine in a language that no one recognized. When I turned to look at them, Sam caught my eye and smiled at me, just a tiny apologetic grin, and shrugged his shoulders. Even though I was still angry at him for the fight Saturday night, I could never hate Sam Tracy. It would be like hating Trevor. I returned a sad smile because I hardly had the energy for a happy one.

  “Don’t worry, Fred,” Kelly said for the second time, her arm draped over the steering wheel. “We saw you win. And we know you did your best. And you’re still my little sister’s hero. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

  “But that wasn’t my club in the bag,” I said through still-cloudy eyes. “I won that tournament. Fair and square.”

  Yolanda snorted. “One of those white fuckers did it. Guaranteed.”

  Kelly glared across the seat at Yolanda. “Seriously, Yo. Do you ever hear yourself?”

  “Can’t help it,” Yolanda said. “Those shits remind me of bloodsuckers.”

  “Not helping,” Kelly warned. “Enough with the drama, okay?”

  “What?” Yolanda said. “You know it’s true. They’re just jealous.” She paused. “Too bad we can’t have our own Rez golf team. Wouldn’t that be better, Fred?”

  My head felt as heavy as a bowling ball. “Who would I play with?”

  Yolanda didn’t say anything. But I already knew the answer.

  Kelly’s voice turned softer. “We saw you, Fred. We watched you at every hole. We know you won that tournament. That’s all that matters. That’s what we’ll tell everybody. They’ll believe us.” And by everybody, she meant everybody on the Rez.

  “But I didn’t cheat. I’d never cheat,” I said, mostly to myself. I sank lower in the torn leather seat and sighed heavily, inhaling a mixture of stale cigarette smoke and peppermint. I said nothing for the rest of the ride home.

  When Kelly dropped me off at my front door, the carport was empty. Only the Labs greeted us. George Trueblood carried my golf bag to the putting green next to the trailer. Sam hopped out of the back of the truck when I opened the passenger door, while everyone else stayed with the truck. Kelly pulled forward underneath a shade tree near the road to give Sam and me a little privacy.

  I’d been expecting something like this—with Sam, I mean. We’d been kind of dancing around it the past few weeks.

  Sam stood next to me on the stoop, his hands jammed in his front pockets. Finally, his eyes met mine, and he said, “You played real good today.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed.

  He paused. “And I’m real sorry about Saturday night. I just lost it when Pete told me Ryan was waiting for you outside the restaurant. Then I saw him pull your arm…”

  “You didn’t have to hit him.”

  “I know.”

  “Or throw him.”

  “True.”

  Without another word, Sam sighed. Then he reached for my shoulders, lowered his head and kissed me. His kiss came at me fast, like a water blast, but then it lingered, sweetlike, just like it had that first time when everything changed between us. Slowly, he pulled back with his eyes still closed, like he was afraid to see my reaction. Finally his eyes opened, and he looked straight into mine.

  I looked straight back at him.

  “Anything?” He winced.

  I swallowed and then allowed myself a breath. My answer was going to hurt. “No,” I replied quietly. I did not see stars when I kissed Sam Tracy. My knees did not go all wobbly. My stomach did not do flip-flops. It would be so much easier if they did.

  “Not even a little?”

  “Sam, you’re one of my best friends. I love you. You know that.”

  “But that’s it, right? Just friends?”

  I swallowed again. Then I nodd
ed once.

  His lips sputtered. “You really like that dude, don’t you?”

  I sighed, unable to answer. Everything was so messed up.

  Sam paused. “Still friends?”

  “Always.”

  “Well, I’m not giving up. You can’t get rid of me. I might as well warn you now.”

  I smiled up at him, grateful to be loved so much. But my head was spinning.

  With a heavy sigh, Sam stuffed his hands back in his pockets, tilted his head and began to walk backward toward the truck. “See you tomorrow.”

  I nodded just as George Trueblood rounded the corner of the trailer and met me at the door. He pressed something small and soft between my fingers. “For you, little sister.”

  I looked down at the palm of my hand. A white feather rested in the middle of it. My face turned up. “What’s this?”

  “A falcon feather,” he said. “A reminder that your journey is long but not impossible.”

  “Isn’t it?” I half laughed.

  “Don’t give up. You can’t give up,” he said over his shoulder, walking back to the truck. With one easy leap, his long legs landed back inside the bed next to the rest of the boys. His voice turned louder, at least for him. “You made us all proud today. Your journey has become bigger than you, Fred. Others live through you now. Don’t forget that.” He slapped the side of the truck, and Kelly dutifully put the vehicle in Drive.

  “But—” I said.

  George Trueblood just smiled as Kelly tooted the horn.

  I watched the truck chug its way to the road. The Labs barked and chased it all the way to the edge of the driveway, oblivious to the dirt clouds swirling behind the mostly bald truck tires. I watched till everyone was completely out of sight. Only the sound of the phone ringing inside broke my concentration.

  Mom must have paid the phone bill this month. I sighed with relief.

  I stuffed the white feather inside my front pocket and reached for the door.

  It was unlocked, as usual. I ran the three steps to the green wall phone in the kitchen.

  “Hello?”

  “Fred?” The voice was deep.

  My eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

  “It’s Coach Lannon.”

  I closed my eyes, leaned all my weight against the wall and then very slowly sank to the floor, one muscle at a time. “Hi, Coach,” I said with forced enthusiasm.

  “I’ve got some strange news to report. It couldn’t wait. Got a minute?”

  “Sure,” I murmured, unsure if I wanted to hear it. Had the judges found something else wrong with my bag? Did I forget to sign my scorecard? Was there another reason why I should have been disqualified?

  “One of your teammates came forward,” he started.

  Teammates. That’s a stretch. “For what?”

  “To say that the club in your bag wasn’t yours.”

  “What?” My eyes popped open. My voice filled the tiny kitchen. “Who?”

  Coach Lannon paused like he was hesitant to tell me.

  “Who?” I said again, sitting straighter against the wall. “I need to know. I have a right to know.”

  Coach Lannon exhaled heavily into the phone. “It was Ryan Berenger. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Fred. I know he’s your partner.”

  My brow furrowed. “Ryan? But that’s not possible….”

  “He told the judges when he turned in his scorecard.”

  “He confessed? But that would mean he’s disqualified, too—”

  “Correction.” Coach Lannon drew out each syllable. “That means that he’s disqualified, and you won the tournament.”

  Silence.

  “Fred?”

  I swallowed. “Yes?” I began massaging my temple, closing my eyes.

  “Are you going to be all right?”

  Hardly. “Um. Sure, Coach.” But that was a lie. If anything, I was far from all right.

  “Look, Fred, I may be a teacher and all, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve got two eyes.”

  I stayed silent, still processing.

  “I know some of the guys have been giving you a hard time. And I know what’s going on between you and Ryan. I’m a little slow sometimes but not entirely blind.”

  Oh, god. I could barely speak. I didn’t want to talk about Ryan with Coach Lannon. I could barely discuss him with Kelly and Yolanda.

  “Would you like me to talk to the other guys? Maybe have a special meeting—”

  “No!” It came out like a shout. “I mean, please don’t.”

  He paused. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will.” Make that, never. The last thing I wanted was some kind of intervention.

  “Well, anyway, I just want to say how sorry I am. How hurt you must be, about Ryan.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, but it came out like a whisper.

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I am.” I swallowed. “Really.”

  “Hmm,” he said, unconvinced. “Well, maybe this will cheer you up….” He paused to exhale again. “I got calls today from recruiters from ASU and U of A. They’re sending reps to the tournament next week.”

  “Why?” My eyes flew open again.

  The coach laughed, and I had to move the phone away from my ear by about six inches. “Because they’re interested in watching you play, Fred. You’re making an impression. You hold your own against boys twice as strong. That’s why.”

  “Oh,” I said numbly. “That’s nice.” That’s nice? That was the whole reason I’d joined the team. It was supposed to change my life. Unfortunately, it had, but in ways that I’d never dreamed.

  “Nice?” He tsked at me like I was a child. “Anyway, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” Another phone rang somewhere in the background of his office. “Gotta run. Let’s talk more tomorrow, okay?”

  “But what about Ryan?”

  “He’s off the team. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “But he’s one of our best players.”

  Coach Lannon sighed into the phone. I could tell he wasn’t happy about his decision. “I know, but the school has strict rules about cheating.”

  “But what if it was an accident? Maybe his club just wound up in my bag by mistake.”

  “Fred,” the coach said slowly, like he had more bad news. “I’m sorry, but that was no accident.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Ryan said so.”

  My throat tightened.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to lay all this on you. But I did want you to know that you won the tournament. That’s all. That’s what you should focus on. That’s all that matters.”

  If only that were true.

  “Okay, Coach,” I said. I wasn’t sure if he heard me.

  “See you tomorrow.” Coach Lannon hung up and I continued to stare numbly at the silver-speckled linoleum floor, the phone still pressed against my shoulder. I opened my palm for George Trueblood’s feather.

  Your journey has become bigger than you, Fred.

  Finally, I blinked when my eyeballs turned dry.

  The dial tone buzzed near my ear. Standing, I placed the phone back in its cradle.

  Now I had no choice but to talk to Ryan, once and for all.

  Chapter 40

  Ryan

  “WOULD SOMEONE MIND EXPLAINING TO ME why I just got a call from Coach Lannon kicking my son off the golf team? And he informs me in a voice mail?”

  Angry blotchy red spots covered Mom’s cheeks when I walked into the kitchen from the garage. She looked as stressed-out as ever. Her cell phone was still clutched in her hand, and she was pointing it at me. I hated when my parents talked about me in the third person, even when we were in the same room.

  “What?” Dad had this panicked look on his face like we had just received instructions to evacuate the neighborhood or something.

  “Great,” I muttered to myself. The one night I needed them to work late like they normally did, and they picked tonight, of a
ll nights, to pretend we were the Cleavers. And Coach Lannon. Why did he have to call Mom? She handled bad news about as well as Dad, despite dealing with worse at work. Strangely, she’d been calmer when the police had called Dad last month to report my partying at the house when I should have been in school. She expected that, I guess. Walking away with only a police warning had softened the blow. But an unexpected voice mail from a teacher or a coach? Mom went ballistic.

  My car keys skidded across the kitchen counter, filling the silence.

  Before I answered, I scanned the kitchen table. It was set for an actual sit-down dinner, with plates and folded napkins and everything. Not a microwavable box anywhere. There was even an orange candle burning in the middle that smelled like grapefruit. If it were any other night, it might have been…nice. For a change.

  Riley sat cross-legged in her usual spot at the table, studying me. She twirled a strand of her hair between her fingers. When our eyes met, she smiled, an unspoken promise that she was on my side no matter how badly I screwed up.

  I shot her a grateful smirk.

  “Well?” Mom said, louder. “Can you explain what’s happening here?”

  “Can I take a shower first?” I said, even though I already knew the answer.

  “I don’t think so, young man. You’re not leaving this kitchen until you tell me what is going on.”

  “Yeah,” Dad said behind her, his hands on his hips. “Come on, Ryan. Talk to us.” It was the first time that I’d seen them together since the birthday party at the Wild Horse Restaurant.

  Cornered, I scratched the side of my head. “It’s true,” I said finally. “I got kicked off the team.” My shoulders shrugged as if dudes got kicked off varsity sports teams all the time.

  “Yes, Ryan. I gathered that,” Mom said. “But why?”

  I exhaled with the weight of the news. “I got disqualified from the tournament today.”

  Dad’s gaze pulled back another notch. “Disqualified?” He said it like he didn’t understand the meaning of the word.

  “Seems one of my clubs wound up in my partner’s bag.” Another shoulder shrug. Truthfully, telling my parents didn’t feel as bad as I’d thought it would. In fact, it felt pretty good. At least it was the truth this time.