by Liz Fichera
I darted down the embankment toward the barbed wire.
“Hey!” Seth snarled, spinning around. “Where do you think you’re g-going?” He started to stutter. “We aren’t f-f-finished!”
The car flashed its brights, lighting up the desert. Its horn beeped, but I had already skidded down the hill toward the Rez. Half walking, half gliding through the soft earth, I finally reached the fence. Dirt rose up in my tennis shoes like water.
When I reached the barbed wire, it met my chest. Too high to hurdle. Frantically, I searched for an opening.
I had to get as far away from Seth Winter as I could.
But then there was a new voice. “Fred?” someone yelled. Quickly, he said, “Seth? What the hell are you doing here?” His voice echoed all around me.
It was Ryan. And this time there was no question that he was out-of-his-mind furious.
Chapter 60
Ryan
I PULLED MY JEEP OFF THE side of Pecos Road like the wheels had caught fire.
I recognized Seth’s oversize tires immediately. He’d parked right behind Fred’s van, dwarfing it.
My breathing quickened.
I opened the door before jamming the gear in Park. I left the keys in the ignition, the engine running.
“Where is she?” I said, running toward Seth. His arms lifted against the glare of my headlights.
“Her v-van went all ape-shit,” Seth said, stuttering a little. He motioned to it. Smoke drifted from beneath the hood in grayish-white wisps.
“Just thought I’d stop and give her a ride, but she bailed on me.” He nodded toward the open desert like Fred was the one who was crazy.
“Fred!” I yelled, my eyes squinting against the darkness. All I saw was black. It was like trying to focus on a single stone at the bottom of a murky river.
Seth yelled with me. “Fred!”
I cringed at his lame attempt at helpfulness. Then I turned to him. “What are you doing here?”
“Like I told you, just cruising down the road, saw her van and stopped to help. End of story.”
“Liar,” I said.
“Why so paranoid?” He laughed.
“Then why isn’t she here?” My hands felt like they were on fire, the weight of all my bad decisions electrifying each finger. Before I could think, I turned to Seth and smashed my fist across his chin before he could answer. It felt better than good. Seth’s bone cracked beneath my knuckles.
Seth fell backward, cupping his jaw. “What was that for? I think you broke my tooth!” he yelled, flexing his jaw. But then he leaped to his feet and lunged at me before I could catch my next breath. He plowed right into my chest.
I fell back with Seth crashing on top of me.
In the beams from the headlights, we spun around in the dirt and gravel, arms flailing and fists flying. I tasted blood and dust. And rage. Palpable, bitter, explosive rage. Our bodies rolled over each other, sharp rocks piercing through my clothing. Seth’s hot breath blanketed my face each time we spun.
I pummeled Seth till my knuckles ached. He punched me good in the ribs and the sides, but I was too enraged to feel pain.
I almost didn’t hear Fred. “Stop it!” she yelled over us.
I saw her legs sidestepping our bodies as Seth and I thrashed in the dirt, back and forth.
“Stop it!” she yelled again, but we punched harder.
“Move away!” I grunted through my teeth as Seth met my side punch with one of his. He nailed me again in the ribs.
Standing above us, Fred didn’t listen. Instead, she followed us as we flailed and kicked and punched, begging us to stop, zigging then zagging around us.
Then our bodies reached the edge of the road, oblivious to the embankment. We began to roll, slowly at first, and then faster as the incline dropped. I tasted more dirt with each roll.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four rolls in the rocky dirt?
I lost count.
Finally, we crashed in a heap against the barbed wire where Phoenix stopped and the Gila Indian Reservation began. Seth caught the brunt of it. His chest pushed into mine on impact.
He moaned.
“Stop it!” Fred yelled again and again, her voice frantic as she skidded down the hill with us. It sounded like she was crying through her screams.
The beams from the headlights barely provided any light so far off the road. “Please. Just. Stop.” She fell to her knees alongside us as our punches grew weaker with our exhaustion.
My whole body felt like it’d been in a grinder. Slowly, I pulled myself away from Seth and sat back on my knees. My chest ached. My knuckles throbbed. Every muscle in my body burned like it was on fire. I wiped my hand across my mouth and tasted more dirt, more blood. One of my front teeth wiggled against my tongue. I swallowed and then spat.
Seth lay pinned to the fence, breathing just as heavily, the fabric from his jacket stuck to the wire like Velcro. His arms extended against the barbed wire like a scarecrow.
I finally stood, unsteady at first, and then considered whether to punch Seth again, a defining one to the gut.
“No,” Fred said, taking my hand between hers. She pulled back on my arm. “That’s enough.” In the dark, her hand moved down to mine. My hand was wet from sweat and blood, but she threaded her fingers through mine anyway. Her voice cut through our panting. “Please. Stop this. Enough.”
When she squeezed my hand, I blinked back sweat trickling down from my forehead. I took one last long look at Seth. I didn’t know what to say to him. It was like being inside an endless nightmare loop.
“Come on,” Seth said, still pinned. “Hit me. You know you want to.” The whites of his eyes gleamed against the darkness. He laughed, but his voice was as tired as mine, his chest writhing as he wriggled to escape the wire.
I waited for him to break free and charge me again. I wanted it. Bad. But he didn’t. Couldn’t.
Finally, Fred pulled at me. Together, we turned toward the embankment. Seth’s jacket tore as he pulled away from the barbs.
“You were supposed to be my best friend,” Seth yelled into the night, his voice echoing all around us.
My chest tightened again. Then I stopped. I turned. “I was. Just not anymore. I’m done.”
Fred and I began to climb in the soft dirt toward the road, our feet sinking with each step. It was like walking up a mud bank. We leaned against each other for support, saying nothing. I just wanted to get away. And I wanted to get Fred away from Seth, as far from his hatred as possible.
But then Seth’s laughter grew softer, almost like a whimper.
My chest tightened again, but for a different reason.
Seth did something that he hadn’t done since we were nine years old when his stepdad belted him, right in front of me, for forgetting to lock his bike at school the same day it turned up stolen.
Seth started to cry.
My traitorous throat thickened, listening to each sob.
He tried to choke them back.
“Wait,” he said, more like an exhale.
We didn’t answer.
“I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m sorry, Fred.” His sobs filled the sky. “Help me,” he begged.
I stood frozen and silent, holding on to Fred, not knowing whether to walk backward or forward.
“Please, dude,” Seth said. “Please don’t leave. Help me.”
“How can we trust you?” I called down to him.
Seth didn’t answer. His cries turned muffled. The ripping noises from his jacket stopped as he continued to hang, trapped, against the fence.
I sighed, listening to him moan. Then I knew.
Fred tugged on my hand, pulling me back, like she could read my mind. There was just enough of a muted glow from the road to see tears in her eyes.
Without another word, we turned around and skidded back down the embankment.
Seth’s legs were outstretched on the ground but his back and arms were pinned to the
wire. His hands hung limply at the wrists.
“I’ll pull his right arm. You pull his left,” I told Fred as we stood on either side.
Seth didn’t protest.
Silently, we tugged forward on both shoulders, ripping his jacket even more as the wire twisted and pinched the fabric like sharp fingers. If it hurt, Seth didn’t complain.
We finally freed him. He collapsed forward and gasped. Then he drew his knees together and buried his head between them like he was too ashamed to look at us.
I sighed tiredly, looking down at him, seeing only his dark, cowering outline. Then I extended my hand. “Come on, Seth. Let’s go.”
He looked up, swallowed back a sob and reached for my hand. His was slippery like mine with sweat and blood. He rose to his feet, almost falling backward again on the first try.
Without another word, the three of us climbed up to the road. I took Fred’s hand again, threading my fingers through hers. Seth trailed behind us, silent, one heavy step forward at a time.
All of a sudden, two red flashing beacons lit up the sky.
We stopped and stared up at the road. A flashlight’s beam washed over us, and I had to squint from the burn of the glare.
“This is the police!” a man bellowed down at us from a megaphone. His deep voice boomed across the desert. “Is everyone all right?”
It was hard not to laugh.
Epilogue
WITH A SHRILL BLOW ON HIS SILVER whistle, Coach Lannon started the tournament between Lone Butte and Anthem High at the Ahwatukee Golf Club. If we won, our next meet would be the state championship.
The coach stood on the first tee with most of the Lone Butte players waiting behind him. He began to bark out names and pairings beneath a cloudless sky. For a moment, the low hush from the swelling crowd turned silent.
I stood alongside Ryan at the bottom of the first tee box with our golf bags, oblivious to the commotion. We were hidden behind a crowd that that had begun to line the cart path. It was the first time we’d been alone all day.
“Does it hurt?” I pressed my fingertips below Ryan’s temple. Though his sunglasses hid most of the bruises, a red blotch above his right eyebrow still peeked out. The fight with Seth seemed aeons ago, but the fresh marks on his face and knuckles said otherwise.
Ryan winced. “Only when you touch it.”
“Sorry.” I cringed.
But then Ryan smiled at me. “This is better.” He took my hand in his, and a new line of goose bumps flew all the way up my arm.
“You sure you can play?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
More goose bumps.
“How do the shoes feel?” Ryan asked me.
I looked down at my brand-new golf shoes, the white ones with the pink piping that matched my golf glove. A present from Ryan. He’d insisted, no matter how much I’d protested. “They feel great.” But that was an understatement. Next to my golf glove, the shoes might have been the nicest present I’d ever received. “How’d you know my size?”
“Your mom told me.” He smiled. “I think she’s starting to dig me.”
“Yes, but how did you know these were the ones I wanted?”
Ryan just looked at me with a crooked grin, like he preferred to keep that a secret.
I smiled back at him, shaking my head, even as Coach Lannon’s voice boomed in the background with names and instructions that didn’t feel so strange anymore. I wondered if that had to do with me or whether that had everything to do with Ryan.
“I’ve missed you,” Ryan said, and I thought my chest would burst from wanting him.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said, even though we’d only been apart a day. It might as well have been a year. A thousand years. After golf, Ryan Berenger was all that I could think about, wanted to think about. I had it bad.
The coach waved at us from the top of the tee box, his arm moving back and forth like a windmill. It became impossible to ignore him.
“Oday! Berenger! Get up here!” he yelled. “You’re up!”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“What?” Ryan chuckled. “Is the coach trippin’?”
“Do you hear that?” I tilted my head. A steady beat hovered above the crowd from somewhere on the fairway. But it came from the direction of the tee box, just below Coach Lannon. I squinted through the crowd for a better look.
“Is that a drum?” Ryan said.
“I think so.”
“Well, that’s a new one.”
We moved closer to the cart path to peer above shoulders and heads. I stood on tiptoe, as tall as I could go without falling forward.
The drumbeat drowned out Coach Lannon until even he had no choice but to turn silent. Slow and steady, the drumbeat replaced the voices on the golf course.
Thump-thump-thump.
Then the drumbeat grew frenzied, louder and faster, until it stopped abruptly, quieting the sky.
The crowd froze, even me.
George Trueblood began to chant as steadily and deeply as his drum. With his face lifted toward the sun, he extended his arms like he was trying to greet the entire sky and everything in it. His feet shuffled and stomped in small, deliberate movements as the fringe from his jacket fluttered all around him.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
“A lot of people from the reservation are here today,” Ryan said, unfazed. “I saw Sam and Pete. And Kelly and Yolanda. Your brother even nodded at me. I’ll take that as a good sign.”
“Just be patient, Ryan. My brother needs time.”
“I got time.” He squeezed my hand.
“He’s stubborn. And annoying.”
“He’s being a good brother. Can’t blame him. Anyway, I saw a bunch of other people from the hospital here, too. Seems you’ve got a real fan club. Guess this isn’t just about you anymore, is it?”
I bit back a smile when I remembered the banner hanging across the front of the community center on the Rez. I’d seen it on the drive to the freeway and it made me feel as tall as the Estrella Mountains. It said, Good luck, Fred Oday. You make us proud! It wasn’t professionally done or anything, just a long white sheet with blue-and-black loopy painted letters made by Rez kids at the elementary school. I would never forget it as long as I lived.
“That’s what George Trueblood told me,” I said.
“Smart dude.”
“More than you know.”
Scanning the crowd for George Trueblood and his drum, I found Mom. She stepped out of the crowd and began to dance alongside him on the fairway, her feet pivoting in small steps from underneath her long denim skirt. The crowd parted to make room for her. She wore Grandmother’s silver-and-turquoise necklaces, blue flat stones the size of my fist. I hadn’t seen Mom wear the jewelry since I was in grade school.
She danced next to George Trueblood with her eyes closed. A few weeks ago, I would have been mortified. Today, only pride filled my heart.
Then George Trueblood began to speak:
Hold on to what is good, even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe, even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do, even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life, even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand, even when I have gone away from you.1
“Oh, no,” I whispered again to Ryan behind my hand. My eyes shifted to the right of George Trueblood.
“What?”
“Your parents. Next to my mom.” I said.
The Berengers stood behind Mom. Dr. Berenger was smiling, but in a tight-lipped kind of way as if she wasn’t completely sure of protocol. Clearly she hadn’t seen a chanting Indian at a golf tournament before. Mr. Berenger looked every bit as uncomfortable with his arm around his wife’s shoulders. But I could tell that they were trying. That was something.
Instead of looking at his parents, Ryan’s eyes stayed locked on mine. “Is my mom cringing yet?”
I look
ed over his shoulder at his parents. “A little.” I smiled. “Can you blame her?”
Ryan chuckled. “It’s the first time my parents have come to one of my tournaments in two years. You’re probably just seeing them in a little bit of shock. Don’t worry about it. They’ll be okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Definitely,” he said. “It’s getting better.”
“For you, too?”
Ryan nodded. “They grounded me for a week this time, but I deserved it.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s all good, Fred Oday, Daughter of the River People.”
My breath caught in my throat. Ryan looked down at me with that smile that reached deep inside my soul and lifted my spirits into the clouds. “How’d you—”
“I’m learning. And you have a lot to teach me.”
And then, as George Trueblood continued the blessing in his deep, clear voice, Ryan kissed me. He placed his hand behind my neck and pulled me closer, pressing his lips against mine. He tasted sweet, just like on Pecos Road all those weeks ago. I wanted more of Ryan Berenger, more than just his lips.
Too soon, we pulled apart, and I’d swear I saw stars when my eyes managed to open, and it had nothing to do with the sun.
“You’re absolutely right.” My voice cracked. “I have a lot to teach you.”
His chin pulled back.
“About the River People, I mean,” I added, a little breathless, still focused on the perfect curve of his mouth.
“Can’t wait.”
I could tell he meant it.
“Does this mean you’re not leaving Phoenix?” I’d been dreading his answer all day.
He shook his head and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”
I leaned against him, relieved. “I am so glad.” It felt like my cheeks would break from smiling, even as my eyes turned a little blurry.
“Me, too.”
George Trueblood finished his chant and the crowd clapped. The coach blew his whistle and began waving like a windmill again.
I wished that Ryan and I could have a few more minutes, just us. Alone.
Then Ryan took my hand again. This time he didn’t let it go. “Good luck today, Fred.”
