Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (10 page)

Chapter 15
Fred

WHEN COACH
LANNON
sped down the path in his golf cart, the grin stretching
across his face was touching both of his ears. Lone Butte High School was ahead
of Hamilton High by two strokes, a first. And it was due mostly to my two
birdies on the third and sixth holes. The coach grinned like he already tasted
victory.

I should have been beaming, but I couldn’t. By the time we’d
finished the seventeenth hole, I was ready to pass out. My skin was flushed all
over like I had a killer fever.

As Coach Lannon approached Ryan and me, his smile faded.
“What’s the matter?” His eyes darted to Ryan, as if Ryan had done something
wrong.

Ryan swallowed as he and I stepped alongside Coach’s golf cart
for what seemed like an inquisition. My bag landed heavily on the pavement.

“Just kind of warm today. I’m a little out of breath.” I forced
a tight smile as I leaned against my bag and rubbed my shoulder. I didn’t want
him to think for one second that I was giving up, not when Lone Butte had a
decent chance at winning the tournament.
Just one more
hole,
I reminded myself.
Just one more. You can
do it.
If I wimped out and didn’t finish, the boys would have one
more reason to label me a fluke. Or worse.

“Take another water bottle.” The coach reached behind the seat
in his golf cart for the cooler. “Here.” He handed me a new bottle. It felt
deliciously cold against my fingers, and I pressed it against my forehead,
savoring how the droplets cooled my skin. “Why didn’t you call me on your cell?”
the coach said, looking between Ryan and me. I wasn’t sure whose cell phone he
meant me to use.

I dragged the back of my hand across my lips, letting the cool
water coat the inside of my throat. “I forgot mine at home,” I lied.
Along with my private jet.
“I’m fine. Really. The
water helps. Thank you.” I took another long sip and then massaged my right
shoulder with my thumb.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” He continued to scrutinize my
every move.

“Nothing,” I lied again. “It’ll be fine.”

The coach’s eyes narrowed. For a second he reminded me of Dad.
That’s how Dad would have looked at me, too. To be honest, I was a little
touched by it even as I was within inches of a full-blown heatstroke.

“Really,” I added.

Coach Lannon’s lips pursed as he considered this. “Okay, then.
If you say so. You’re up next on eighteen. The last foursome just drove from the
tee. Not too much longer now. Hang in there, Freddy.” He lifted his sunglasses
back on his face and then turned the golf cart around. “You, too, Ryan,” he said
over his shoulder. “And keep an eye on her.”

Chapter 16
Ryan

FRED AND I WALKED
ALONGSIDE EACH
other to the eighteenth tee box.

I had to slow my pace. Walking had become an effort for her
because of her bag. It practically dragged behind her across the fairway.

“Fred, there’s something I need—” I blurted, but Graham
yelled at me from the tee box.

“Berenger!”

I turned reluctantly and lifted my sunglasses. I was tempted
to flip him off.

“You’re up!” he said impatiently. “It’ll be dark soon. Coach
just said we gotta move faster.”

I let my sunglasses drop to my chest and squinted at the
darkening horizon behind Graham. Slivers of purple and orange framed the top of
South Mountain. In less than an hour, it would be too dark to play. We were
running out of time.

Fred panted beside me till we reached the tee box and our
nervous Hamilton High partners. Clearly Fred had not made their day any easier,
and frustration seeped all over their faces.

Fred’s bangs stuck to her forehead. She ran a finger through
them, lifting thick strands off her skin. Guilt hammered at my temples as I
watched her struggle with the heat.

“You go first,” I told her. “I need...” But then I
stammered. “I need to figure out which club to use,” I added lamely, fumbling
with my bag. Even though on the final par-4 hole of the course, it was pretty
clear which club I would use.

Fred nodded and trudged up the hill to the top of the last
tee box, her driver clutched in her right hand. With her other hand, she
massaged the shoulder that had been carrying the brunt of her golf bag all
afternoon.

At the bottom of the tee box, I was alone. All eyes were
glued on Fred. Quickly I grabbed her bag, gathered all the club shafts with both
hands and dumped them in a pile on the grass. Then I turned the bag on its side.
It was almost as tall as I was. With one eye on the tee box, I began to shake it
from the bottom, coaxing out the three heavy bricks. The first two tumbled out
easily and crashed into the grass; the third one got stuck underneath something
at the bottom.

“Stupid bag,” I mumbled, shaking it harder. If only Fred had
owned a newer one, there’d have been no room for three oversize bricks. I set
the bag on its side again and bent down on one knee. My arm reached in all the
way to my armpit. My fingertips grazed one end of the brick. It scraped against
my fingers like sandpaper.

“Berenger!” Graham boomed again from the top of the tee box.
I stretched my arm another inch, wincing, as I squinted against the sunset.

Almost got it,
I thought just as the crowd from the other side of
the tee box clapped. Fred must have hit another awesome drive straight down the
fairway. If I hadn’t been wrestling with a brick, I might have smiled.

Just as I opened my eyes and pulled out the third brick,
someone said my name. It was like a whisper.

“Ryan?”

My eyes popped open, but the sun still blinded me, despite
my sunglasses.

“What are you doing?”

My body froze. Sweat dripped down into my eyes. I sat
squatting on the ground with a red brick in one hand and two more stacked next
to my knees.

Fred.

I squinted up at her. The sun behind her back turned the
tips of her hair all crimson.

Her voice got louder. “What are you doing?” Her speech
slowed. “With. My. Bag?”

She bent down on one knee so that we were eye level. The
whites of her almond-shaped eyes grew wide as they drifted from the brick in my
hand to the others stacked next to me.

I panicked, trying to come up with some reasonable
explanation.

Finally, I stood, rising one agonizing vertebra at a time.
My own gaze dropped to the ground along with the third brick in my hand. I let
it crash to the grass against the other two. It cracked in half. Carefully, I
lowered my voice to mask its rawness. “I can explain,” I said as I looked down
at Fred, still kneeling.

Fred’s head started to bob. “How could you...” Her voice
rose with disbelief as her lower lip started to tremble. Her eyes bounced from
the bricks to me and back again. “Why do you hate me so much?”

My shoulders caved forward, her words hitting me like a gut
punch. My mouth opened but then snapped shut. For once, coming up with the
perfect lie wasn’t so easy. And the betrayal that filled Fred’s face shamed me
more than words. I was a shit and Fred knew it.

“Berenger!” Graham thundered again.

Fred’s voice cracked. “You’re up.” She nodded her chin over
her shoulder at the tee box. “You’d better get going.” Without looking at me,
she gathered up her clubs and slipped them carefully into her bag, one by
one.

It was difficult to turn away and march up the hill to the
tee box as if nothing had happened.

Lone Butte High School was about to win its first tournament
against Hamilton High in two years, thanks to a quiet girl with mismatched clubs
and a plaid golf bag, but I hardly felt like celebrating.

Chapter 17
Fred

“I MAY HAVE
to quit,” I told Dad after the golf tournament.

We sat outside our front door on white plastic chairs, watching
what was left of the day as it faded behind the Estrella Mountains. Our two Labs
lay with their round snouts buried between their paws, nestled at our feet. I
fiddled with a new golf ball, tossing it absently between my hands. I hadn’t
lost a single ball during the tournament, not like some of the boys who put new
balls into the water or deep into the desert. There was almost as much
satisfaction in that as winning the first tournament of the season. But after
what had happened, I thought maybe it would be my last. The boys on my team,
Ryan Berenger in particular, were pure evil. I didn’t need them. I had enough
problems.

But Dad’s eyes narrowed. It was impossible to ignore them. They
crinkled in the corners like they always did when he was troubled. He studied my
expression like it was some kind of riddle to be solved. He’d been watching
me—studying me—ever since he’d found me at the van after the tournament. I’d sat
on the back bumper, waiting for him with my head in my hands. When he’d asked me
what was wrong, I’d replied, “Tired. Just tired.” And I was—dead tired. But it
was so much more than that, more than I could put into words.

Finally, Dad said evenly, “What’s changed since yesterday?”
Ignoring him a second longer was not an option.

“Nothing,” I said. “That’s the problem. The guys don’t want me
on the team. I can feel it. I’m not part of their little country-club clique.
They’ve been playing together forever, and I’m the outsider. Always will be.” I
didn’t dare tell him they’d sabotaged my golf bag. That would make him angry and
upset and wouldn’t change anything. Worse, he’d tell Trevor, and there was no
telling what my brother would do. Besides, I was more irritated with myself than
anything. How was it that I’d carried that dang bag for eighteen holes and
hadn’t realized something was wrong with it? Was I that clueless? And how nice
of Ryan Berenger to grow a conscience—on the eighteenth hole! They’d all
probably enjoyed one great big collective laugh over the whole thing on the bus
ride home. I’d have walked home on my hands and knees before I’d ridden back
with any of them on that claustrophobic bus.

“Only two weeks ago the golf team was all you wanted. Now
you’ve had a change of heart? Already?”

More like a close encounter with a heart
attack.

I exhaled with the weight of all the bad thoughts taking space
in my head. I stared up at the Estrella Mountains, wishing that everything would
fade away. “I don’t know, Dad.” I looked straight into the sunset. “Maybe you
and Trevor were right. Maybe being on this team is a bad idea.”

Dad snorted. “For you or them?”

I didn’t answer. I sank lower in my chair. The Lab at my feet
lifted its head.

“Well?” he prodded.

“I guess for them. All I wanted to do was play. I wasn’t
expecting special treatment. That’s the last thing I want.”

Dad chuckled. “So, play. Enjoy. Have fun for once.” He leaned
forward in his chair. “Pretend those boys are invisible. Or,” he said slowly,
“you could try to fit in.”

My eyes widened.
Fit in with a bunch of
spoiled white boys? It would be easier to pretend I’m Princess
Kate.

“What happened today anyway? You won, right? How bad could
winning be?”

My hands began to fidget. I tossed the ball between them to
give them something to do. “Is Trevor coming home tonight?” Maybe talking with
Trevor would help.

“Don’t change the subject.” Dad leaned forward. “What happened
today? What aren’t you telling me?”

My shoulders shrugged indifferently, but it felt forced.
“Nothing that would surprise you.”

A flock of doves cooed in a paloverde tree behind the trailer,
filling the heavy silence. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, and the
dogs sauntered away to investigate. I closed my eyes, letting the soft breeze
brush my cheeks. It was good to finally feel cool air again. Inside the trailer,
the summer had dragged on far too long.

“You can’t give up so easily, Fred,” Dad said. His words
surprised me. “Besides, I don’t think that coach of yours would let you quit if
you tried.” He chuckled and shook his head when my eyes opened to look at him.
“I thought the coach’s eyes were going to pop out of his head from excitement
when I saw him standing next to the bus.”

“Yeah,” I said. “They sure did.” Although that’s not what I
remembered. I only remembered watching Ryan sulk his way back to the bus, his
usual scowl plastered across his face, ignoring anyone’s attempts at
conversation. He’d never even apologized for the bricks. Not really.

“Practice tomorrow?”

“No.” I rubbed my right shoulder, making a circular motion with
my thumb. The muscle still throbbed where the golf strap had cut across my skin.
A day off would be a good thing, but I was still going to try to play the
Ahwatukee golf course on Saturday. The golf pro at the clubhouse usually let me
walk on and play for free if it wasn’t too busy.

“When’s your next tournament?”

“Wednesday.”

“Where?”

“Some country club on the west side. We play Glendale High, I
think.” The tournament schedule was in my nightstand next to my bed. I checked
it every night. I had it memorized.

“So, now you’re not giving up?” Dad tilted his head in a way
that said he already knew the answer.

I smirked. “Guess not.”

“Good.” Dad rose from his chair just as Mom appeared at the
screen door.

“Fred?” she called through the screen.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Can you tell me why a sports writer from the
Arizona Republic
is on our phone? He wants to speak
with you.”

My eyelids froze open. I turned a fraction toward Dad without
blinking.

“Well?” Mom prodded. “He says he wants to talk to Fred Oday,
the girl golfer he watched play today for Lone Butte High School.” The ripped
screen door creaked open and then slapped shut. “Someone want to tell me what
the hell’s going on around here?” Her arms crossed over her chest as she stood
on the stoop.

Dad’s mouth pulled back. Then he smiled crookedly at me. “Guess
it’s time we tell your mother what you’ve been up to. The cat’s out of the golf
bag.”

For the first time all day, I heard myself laugh. But it was
fleeting.

“Your daughter is an official member of the Lone Butte High
School boys’ golf team,” Dad said, following behind me. He didn’t bother to hide
the proud tone in his voice.

“Golf team? Boys?” Mom stepped down a stair.

“Yeah, Mom,” I said. “I’m on the team this year.”

“Well, isn’t that the dumbest waste of time,” she said, her
eyes wide, her head shaking.

My lips pressed together as I reached for the screen door and
then the phone in the kitchen. I needed to get as far away as possible.

Would it ever be far enough?