Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (11 page)

Chapter 18
Ryan

I WAS RUMMAGING
FOR A MICROWAVE
dinner in the freezer when Dad breezed into the house
from the garage.

I didn’t turn when his keys slid across the countertop
behind me. We hadn’t spoken since the day I caught him holding hands with the
family’s hairstylist. And it if it were up to me, I’d keep it that way.

“Hey, sport,” Dad said.

My jaw clenched.

“Where’s your mom?”

I counted to three. Slowly. “Still at work, I think,” I said
without turning. My fingertips burned from holding three different frozen
microwavable dinners—mac and cheese, chicken burrito and meat loaf. I chose the
burrito and tossed the others back inside the freezer.

Dad put his briefcase on the tile floor and moved closer to
the counter. His blue tie hung over his right shoulder. “Sorry I couldn’t make
it to your tournament today. Trial ran a little longer than I thought it
would.”

My shoulders shrugged. I hadn’t expected Dad to show. Why
was he apologizing? He hadn’t made it to a tournament in two years. I closed the
refrigerator door and padded across the tile in my bare feet to the cupboard
next to the sink. I reached for a plate.

“How’d you do?”

“We won,” I said without enthusiasm, still avoiding his
gaze. Mostly.

Dad’s eyes widened with obvious surprise. “Well, now.” He
chuckled, slapping his hands together. He fist-pumped in my direction but I
ignored it, pretending that my hands were busy with the intricacies of tearing
open the frozen dinner. “That’s fantastic!” Dad said anyway. “How many
strokes?”

I sighed inwardly while I took the time to search for a
microwavable plate. Unfortunately the cupboard was loaded with stacks of them.
“Two,” I said.

“Wish I could have seen it.” He sighed. “How’d you do?”

“Five over par,” I said reluctantly. The more information I
offered, the more questions he’d ask.

Dad’s mouth pulled back in a grimace. Not good. “Five over
par?” Not exactly what he’d hoped for. “Any big winners on your team?”

I slit open the cardboard package with a knife. I placed it
in the microwave and set the timer. “Yep,” I said.

Dad’s eyes bulged. “Well, are you going to tell me?” His
hands moved to his hips. “Was it Seth? Zack?” Dad knew all the players on the
team. All of their parents belonged to the same country club.

I sniffed. “No,” I said, leaning against the counter. “A new
kid on the team.”

“Who?” His voice got louder.

“Fred Oday.”

“Oday, Oday,” he said, eyes narrowed, thinking aloud. “Do
his folks belong to the club?”

I chuckled darkly. I remembered a man approaching the van
where Fred had sat after the tournament—the same rusted van that had idled
behind me the first day of golf practice. The man’s hands had been dark like
river rocks and his overalls covered with grass stains. They’d climbed inside
the van together like they knew each other. “I don’t think so,” I said
finally.

“Humph,” Dad said, surprised. “Well, you should invite him
out one Saturday to play with us. I’d like to meet this rising star.”

I couldn’t help another air-chuckle. It felt all wrong and
all right at the same time, especially when I pictured Dad’s stunned expression
if I were to bring Fred Oday to the club for that round of Saturday golf. I’d
almost give up my Jeep just to see it.

Dad looked across the counter at me like he wanted to ask
something more but decided against it at the last second. He reached for his
briefcase and then turned for the stairs.

“Hey, Dad,” I said.

Dad stopped. “Yes, son?”

“I saw you at the mall the other night.”

His back straightened. “Yeah?”

“I
saw
you.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I gathered that. Why didn’t you come talk
to me?”

“I saw you with Stacey What’s-Her-Name. The lady who cuts
our hair.”

His eyes widened, surprised. “Yeah? So?”

“So?” My eyes widened like his. Not quite the reaction I
expected. “You were holding her hand.”

Dad laughed a little nervously. “Look, we were talking about
her bankruptcy. I’m helping her file papers.”

Okay, that was a new one.

Dad’s voice grew louder. “I don’t know what you think you
saw, but I don’t appreciate your tone or the implication. If you’ve got
something to say, then spill it.”

I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. Maybe it was because
he was never around anymore. Maybe it was because I was feeling like such a
shithead. “Forget it.”

Dad turned away with a heavy exhale.

“Hey, Dad...”

“Yeah?” He stopped, his tone sounding more tired than
before.

Instead of pressing him on Stacy, I switched topics. “Would
you mind if I invited a few friends over Friday night?”

Dad’s lip curled in obvious relief. “Don’t see why not. Your
mother’s at a conference all weekend and I’ll probably have to work through
Sunday.” He made a show of dragging his hand over his chin like he really had to
mull it over. But then one corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.
“Not too loud, though. Okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” I said with mock obedience. “Not too loud.”

* * *

The next morning, I searched for Fred before school.

Since there was no golf practice on Fridays, I figured she
wouldn’t be hanging by the gym or lugging her golf bag into Coach Lannon’s
office. And unless she was hiding in the girls’ locker room, I was determined to
find her. I’d decided last night that we had to talk. Ignoring her not only made
everything worse, it backfired. Big-time.

After I parked my Jeep in the student lot, I walked through
the courtyard where everyone met up before the first warning bell. I squinted
across dozens of student clusters but didn’t see her. But then I realized that
I’d never seen Fred chillin’ in the courtyard, at least not since I’d started
paying attention.

I made one fast loop around the outside of the school,
waving at a few of my friends, but not slowing long enough to talk. Fred wasn’t
anywhere outside. That much was certain.

I moved inside. I proceeded first toward the cafeteria,
passing Sam Tracy and Peter Begay outside a row of lockers. I thought about
asking them but decided against it, especially when I was pretty certain that
the big dude glared at me.

Still anxious to find her, I jogged across campus toward the
library. Just my busted luck: yesterday Fred Oday was everywhere. Today, she’d
disappeared.

I reached the double-glass library doors in minutes.
Breathing heavily, I scanned the wooden tables filling the middle of the room.
They were all empty, except for the usual dusty reference books that no one ever
opened. The room was so quiet that I could hear the soft hum of the librarian’s
computers behind the empty reference desk. I checked the two rows of cubicles
closest to the library stacks. They lined the entire side of one wall. I walked
down the middle, my eyes bouncing back and forth over the gray cubicle walls for
the tops of any heads with shiny black hair. Most of the cubicles were empty,
too.

I sighed glumly when I reached the end of the row. I really
wanted to talk to Fred before class, and this was my only chance.

Then I saw a flash of something black in the corner cubicle
next to the book stacks marked
Ww–Zz.
I jogged closer, and my breathing
quickened all over again.

It was Fred.

With her back toward me, she huddled over a thick book and
scattered notebooks.

My throat turned dry.

A strand of her hair twirled between the fingers in her left
hand as she tapped her book with a pencil in her right.

I pulled back my shoulders. “Fred?”

She jumped in her seat and turned.

I lifted my palms. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you
out.”

One hand pressed against her chest. “Ryan?” Her eyes
widened. “What are you doing here?”

“Got a minute?” I swallowed again. Hard.

She nodded reluctantly. I hadn’t exactly given her a
choice.

I bent down next to her chair so that our eyes were level.
“I need to talk to you.”

Fred pulled away, as far as her chair would allow. “Um,
okay.” Her voice was unmistakably cautious.

My eyes darted to my watch. The bell was going to ring any
second. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. About your bag, I mean. I
never really got the chance to tell you yesterday. Anyway, what we did was
stupid. And lame. We shouldn’t have done that.” The words tumbled out a little
faster than how I practiced.

Fred blinked. “We? Who’s
we?
”

My lips pressed together. There was no way I could keep this
from her, especially now. “Me and Seth,” I said finally. I seriously needed some
water.

“Seth Winter?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s Seth got to do
with this?”

“Don’t you know?” How could she not know? Everybody knew.
Everybody knew ten minutes after Coach Lannon had kicked him off the team.

But Fred shook her head, confused. “Know what?”

“You took Seth’s spot on the team. He got axed.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You know, kicked off the team?” I added.

Then her eyes began to blink faster. Finally she nodded.
“Okay, now I get it,” she whispered. “I didn’t know. The coach didn’t tell
me—”

“But that doesn’t mean what we did was right,” I said
quickly. “I wish we hadn’t done it. It was really lame. I’m sorry.” My chest
lightened just saying the words.

“But why did you wait so long to tell me? I almost passed
out on the ninth hole!”

My knees began to ache a little from stooping. I stood when
they started to tingle. Fred’s gaze traveled up to meet mine, making it harder
for me to concentrate. “I thought about it—telling you, I mean—but I didn’t.
That’s all I can say. It was wrong and I’m sorry. Really, I am. I wanted you to
know.” Jeez, I was yapping like Graham Frazier.

Fred turned in her chair so that she was facing her book,
long enough for me to catch my breath. I watched as she fidgeted with a page,
and I wondered if I should just leave.

But then I said, “I also wanted to invite you to a party
tonight. To try to make up for it.”

Fred turned, her eyes widening with more surprise. “Is this
another joke?”

I shook my head and bit back a nervous smile. “No joke.
Totally serious this time.”

“But...why?”

“Why?” I said, drawing back. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
She didn’t look convinced. Smiling at her question probably wasn’t helping.

She raised her chin. “Where is it?”

I bent down to my knees again, almost collapsing with
relief. I picked up the pen resting next to her. “My house.” I motioned for a
page in her notebook.

She surprised me again and passed me the whole notebook,
slowly at first, like she was having second thoughts. And then she just pushed
it toward me.

I wrote my address on the corner of a page. “Will you
come?”

Fred cleared her throat. “I don’t know. I’ll...I’ll have to
check my schedule.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Okay, that’s cool. Bring your
boyfriend, if you want.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Sam. The big dude. Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“No. Why would you say that?”

My shoulders lifted at the news. “Oh, I just figured. He’s
always walking with you. You know, before school, I mean.” Great. I was starting
to ramble again.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

I drew back a breath. “Well, I really hope you can make it.
It’ll be awesome.”

“I’ll...I’ll try” was all that she’d promise before her eyes
narrowed again. “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

I stood, adjusted my backpack higher over my shoulder and
said, “I’d just like a second chance. I figure we’re on the same team. We might
as well be friends.”

Fred’s lips turned up in one corner, just a little.

That had come out best of all, and I hadn’t even practiced
it.

Chapter 19
Fred

I HAVE TO
check my
schedule?

I walked to English class dazed.
Please
tell me I didn’t really say
schedule.

I groaned inwardly as I stared into a sea of bodies, all
struggling to swim upstream to their next class while I rehashed my library
conversation with Ryan.

A warning bell buzzed throughout the school, grounding my
attention. I had forgotten which warning bell, which class period and basically
where I needed to be. I might have even forgotten my own name. So I simply kept
walking, cocooned by backpacks and shoulders, the Lameness That Is Me song on
replay in my head.
I suddenly have a schedule? I have
appointments? Why did I say that to Ryan?! Please, Fred. Get over yourself.
But Ryan Berenger actually thought I had a boyfriend....

My internal chastisement skidded to a halt at the sound of a
certain breathless voice somewhere in front of me. It squeaked, more noisily
than all others, obviously loud on purpose. I tiptoed a few steps to locate its
blond head. For once, Gwyneth was talking about something that compelled my
attention.

“I’m pretty sure Ryan’s going to ask his parents if I can come
to his family’s cabin over Thanksgiving. They go every year.”

My stomach tightened.

“That is so cool,” another girl gushed. “Do you go every year,
too?”

“I’d like to,” Gwyneth said, “but you know Ryan.”

No, I don’t.
Just when I thought I
knew Ryan Berenger, he’d hook a piece of his personality off the fairway and
into the weeds. Like inviting me to a party out of the blue. I walked faster,
eager for more eavesdropping.

I had to wedge between two freshmen who were walking directly
behind Gwyneth and her other blond-headed friend. “Sorry,” I muttered to the boy
on my left as I accidentally knocked the backpack off his shoulder. “I’m late
for class.”

I finally pushed my way directly behind Gwyneth, close enough
to smell the wake of the grapefruit gum snapping in her mouth.

“Anyway,” she said, “I’m pretty sure his parents expect me to
bunk with Riley but
so
not happening. Ryan and I
have other ideas.” They started to giggle, and my stomach lurched.

Ugh.

What did Ryan Berenger see in this girl? Was he sleeping with
her? Gah! I didn’t even want to picture that. Why did he want to be in the same
time zone as Gwyneth? My mind drifted to a whole bunch of brand-new
questions.

Before I knew it, I found myself in English class, seated in my
usual spot.

My gaze dipped nonchalantly to my watch, and I wished the hands
would move faster.

Somewhere in the back of the room, Ryan was sitting at his
desk, listening to Mrs. Weisz’s lecture on nineteenth-century literature. I
wondered if his mind was drifting like mine to places it shouldn’t. I imagined
that every so often his gaze might sweep across the back of my head, and my skin
tingled all the way down to my toes at the idea without my really understanding
why. But then I reminded myself that this was the same boy who dated Gwyneth
Riordan and who’d planted three bricks in my golf bag as a joke.

Some joke.

And then, oddly, I pressed my palm against my mouth and smiled
into my hand. At least he’d apologized. And personally invited me to his
party.

With my other hand, I doodled a golf shoe in the margin of my
notebook, trying to make a show of pretending to listen to Mrs. Weisz’s lecture
even though what I was really trying to figure out was how in the world I could
show up to Ryan’s party. Would anybody talk to me? Would he? Would I have a good
time? Wouldn’t it be wiser to snag a shift with Mom at the restaurant instead?
My brand-new golf shoes were finally within reach of my wallet. Convincing Dad
to let me drive the truck into Phoenix on a Friday night would require
superhuman persuasive skills, too.

I frowned at my options and sank lower in my seat. I wrote
Ryan’s name in my notebook and then quickly scratched it out. I nibbled on the
end of my pen. Then I wrote,
Party?

A party on the other side of Pecos Road with people I barely
knew just didn’t feel right.

But then, why did I ache to go so badly?