Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (12 page)

Chapter 20
Ryan

I PRETENDED TO
WATCH MRS. WEISZ
at the front of class when I was really studying the
shape of Fred’s head.

Her hair hung in soft waves all around her. Sometimes she’d
move in a way that would spill her hair forward, exposing a smooth bare
shoulder. And then someone would press that giant Slow-Motion Universe Button
again.

Fred was the only one taking notes. Her fingers swept across
her notebook, and she paused every few minutes to nibble on the tip of her pen.
I figured her penmanship was probably as perfect as her name on that
Gatsby
book,
each letter slanted and curved at all the right angles.

“What’s she droning on about?” Seth nudged me with a sharp
elbow.

“Huh?” I turned. For a split second, I thought he meant
Fred. But Fred wasn’t talking. “No clue,” I said finally, turning my attention
back to the front again. And Fred.

“Awesome,” Seth replied wryly. “Big help.”

I ignored him. I was too busy wondering for the hundredth
time whether Fred Oday would show up at my party. Part of me was pretty sure she
wouldn’t. And who could blame her? But then the anxious part of me wished she
would. Bad.
Real
bad.

I’d already told Seth that the joke was an epic fail. The
news had seemed to bother him, but I figured Seth would get over it. He was
always playing jokes on people—friends, family, even our math teacher, Mr.
LaFruit. Freshman year, Seth had replaced all of Mr. LaFruit’s whiteboard pens
with permanent black markers and blamed it on Troy Bean. The sad thing was Mr.
LaFruit believed Seth. Teachers always did. He had that kind of innocent face
that no one ever doubted, especially teachers. Me, on the other hand, I always
looked guilty whether I did anything or not. Just ask my parents.

Seth knew about the party tonight, and of course he was
invited, but I hadn’t told him I’d mentioned it to Fred. Yet. Knowing him, he’d
go a little ballistic at first, but then he’d accept it. I’d get him to see that
we owed it to her. Anyway, I figured I’d wait to see if she even showed up.
Given Seth’s lame hazing joke with the bricks, I had my doubts.

Seth nudged me again with his elbow.

“Mr. Berenger? Mr. Winter?” Mrs. Weisz snapped.

I blinked to attention.

Mrs. Weisz was gripping both sides of the podium like she
wanted to hurl it out a window.

Thirty heads swiveled to the back of the room, even
Fred’s.

“Is there a problem back there? Do you have a question?”
Mrs. Weisz’s tone was majorly doubtful.

“No question, Mrs. Weisz,” Seth said. His eyes blinked wide
with innocence.

That usually softened the blow. For him.

“I was just asking Ryan for a pencil,” Seth added.

“Well, Mr. Berenger?” Mrs. Weisz tilted her head.

“Yes, ma’am?” I said.

Her eyes rolled at me. “Do you have a writing instrument
that you could lend to Mr. Winter?” Her thumbs tapped the podium. “Something we
usually call a pen or a pencil.”

A few students snickered.

Seth snorted behind his hand, his face conveniently shielded
behind Harry Graser’s ba-dunk-a-dunk head.

“Um. Yeah, sure,” I mumbled, reaching into the backpack
underneath my chair. I tossed Seth a blue pen and then looked back at the front
of the room. Part of Fred’s face peered at me over her bare left shoulder. I
couldn’t see her mouth.

But from the way her black eyes sparkled, I was sure she was
smiling at me.

I felt my own mouth smile in return, just a tiny one, before
Fred turned around again. I wasn’t sure if she caught it.

Then I looked at Seth. He was glaring at me. “Who are you
smiling at like an idiot?” he whispered.

My smile faded instantly.
What?
I mouthed at Seth. But
I felt my cheeks burn.

Seth’s eyes narrowed as they darted from me to the front of
the room and then back again. “Are you bent?” he said.

I didn’t reply. But then, I didn’t need to. He’d caught me
smiling back at Fred.

Uncomfortable, I sank lower in my chair and absently drew a
feather in my notebook. I was in deep already.

* * *

The hands on the kitchen clock wouldn’t move fast
enough.

I looked at it again while I paced across the tile. It was
6:30 on Friday night, and Dad still hadn’t left for work yet, if that’s where he
was really headed.

He’d already informed the whole family that he needed to
drive to downtown Phoenix and finish drafting a few more legal briefs. It was
the usual excuse, especially when Mom was out of town.

But I didn’t care, not really. As long as he was long gone
before my friends arrived. Mom had left for some conference in Tucson before
anyone had gotten home. She’d put a handwritten note next to the phone along
with cash for a pizza or takeout, signing her note
MB
as if we wouldn’t know who
left it. And I could pretty much count on Riley to spend the evening in her
bedroom, surfing on her laptop. It was turning into the perfect ripper.

Getting Dad out of the house was the final hurdle. And he
wasn’t making it easy.

Dad barreled down the staircase dressed in casual pants and
a golf shirt. “Sure you don’t want to order a few pizzas or something for your
guests?” he asked as he reached for his car keys from a hook next to the kitchen
door. He turned to place two crisp twenties next to the phone. I didn’t bother
to tell him that Mom had clipped two twenties to her note.

Instead, I poked my head inside the pantry next to the
refrigerator. “Maybe,” I said. “But there’s plenty to eat here, too.”
Along with the case
of beer in the basement refrigerator.
“Maybe later,” I added, so that
Dad wouldn’t return the bills to his wallet.

“How many friends tonight?”

“Not many,” I said casually. “Six or seven.”
Make that
twenty.

Dad smiled, pleased. “Is Seth invited?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I like Seth. Nice kid. Haven’t seen him in ages.”

’Cause you’re never around,
I wanted to say. But tonight, the only
thing I needed him to do was walk to the garage, climb into his car and leave me
alone till Monday morning.

Dad’s keys jingled in his front pocket.

Finally.

My jaw unclenched.

Dad’s lips twitched like there was something more he wanted
to say but had forgotten. Or forgotten how.

Dad turned for the garage.

Almost there.

But then he stopped. He cleared his throat. “Not too late
tonight. Okay?”

I sighed inwardly and did my best to display the appropriate
Obedient Son skills. “Right, Dad,” I said quickly—too quickly. I was ready to
burst. “Not too late. Got it.”

Dad smirked at my uncharacteristic attempt to be helpful.
“And don’t be too loud if you go outside. Don’t need any angry neighbors.”

“Sure, Dad,” I said.

“Call me if anything comes up.”

I took a few steps toward him, coaxing him toward the garage
door with my body. “Will do,” I said. Another forced smile.

“Well, okay, then. I’ll see you later—”

The doorbell rang.

Dad’s face brightened, and my jaw clenched all over again.
“I’ll get that,” he said. “Might be Seth. Wouldn’t hurt to say hello,
right?”

“No, Dad,” I moaned. “That’s okay. Really. I’ll get it.”
This was so not cool.

But Dad was too fast. He marched to the front door with me
trailing behind, my eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
Why couldn’t he just
leave when he said he would? Why the sudden interest in my life?

Dad unlocked the heavy wooden door and pulled it open. I
stood just behind him.

“Hi,” said a voice that most definitely did not belong to
Seth.

“Yes?” he said guardedly, like he was greeting a salesman
selling water softeners. “Can I help you?”

“Is Ryan home?”

“Ryan?” Dad turned sideways to make room for me. We stood
shoulder to shoulder in the doorway.

I felt my cheeks tighten, then flush, just a little. “Dad,”
I said as I dragged my tongue across my lips to coax them to move. “This is Fred
Oday. The new player on the golf team I was telling you about.” Beside me, Dad’s
entire body stiffened. Then I heard a gush of air.

“Oh...” Dad cleared his throat and opened the door, still
hesitant. “Um, well. Won’t you come in?” It was an uncomfortably weird
welcome.

Fred glanced at Dad and then me like she was having second
thoughts. Her shoulders rose a little higher when she walked through the door,
like they did at school. Tonight, though, she couldn’t hide behind a golf
bag.

Dad continued with his nervous throat-clearing before
shifting from one brown loafer to the other. I’d rarely seen him at a loss for
words.

“Hi, Fred,” I said once I got control of the nervous grin
stretching across my face.

Dad had been bugging me about meeting the new star of the
Lone Butte High School varsity golf team. Here was his chance.

Chapter 21
Fred

COMING TO
RYAN’S
party was a mistake. The nervous flicker in his dad’s eyes
confirmed it. Yep, I should have stayed on the other side of Pecos Road.

I’d seen that look before, unfortunately. Tons of times. Like
the first day of freshman year when I’d sat alone in the cafeteria. Or when I
went inside shops at the mall and didn’t buy anything or, worse, lingered around
a display case. Until recently, I’d seen that look at the golf course, too. The
one that said I was welcome, but not really. Kind of hard to describe. But when
it happens to you, you’ll never forget it. It washes over you like a wave,
pulling you lower like an undertow just because it can.

Ryan hadn’t given me his phone number, only his address, and he
hadn’t specified a time so I’d taken a chance on driving into Phoenix just
before it got dark, mostly to appease Dad. I was still weaning him from worrying
about my night driving. Fortunately he was too tired to put up much of a fight
tonight and had simply pressed the keys into my hand after giving me an
abbreviated version of his
It’s Not Your Behavior I’m
Worried About, It’s Everyone Else’s
speech.

I’d parked near the corner and across the street, as far from
the streetlamp’s orange spotlight glow as possible.

I hadn’t counted on meeting Ryan’s father.

“So, Ryan tells me you’re quite a golfer,” Mr. Berenger said as
he followed Ryan and me into a kitchen that was as big as the one at the Wild
Horse Restaurant.

My gaze swept over all the cherry cabinetry and stainless-steel
appliances. It was like walking into a department store. “Um, yes, I like to
play golf,” I managed numbly. My eyes landed on a lighted glass refrigerator
that held nothing but wine bottles. There must have been at least fifty stacked
inside.

“Your parents belong to the club?”

I paused and tried to control myself, pulling my shoulders
back. “My father works at the club.”

Mr. Berenger leaned against a granite countertop. It gleamed
like wet river rock, and I fought the urge to run my fingertips across it. There
wasn’t the slightest smudge anywhere. “Oh, really?” He was intrigued. “Is he the
pro?”

I swallowed. “No.” I refused to let my gaze lower. “He’s the
groundskeeper.”

Ryan’s eyes flicked between us, and I got the sick sense that
my answer pleased him.

“I see,” Mr. Berenger replied in a small voice. He cleared his
throat again and suddenly peeked at his gold wristwatch. “He must be quite a
golfer, too? Like his daughter?” He said it like a question.

I smiled. “Not really. He’s usually too tired to play after
work.”

“So, where’d you learn?”

“On the driving range.” I paused. Then I answered the next
question before he could ask it. “I just kind of taught myself by watching other
people.”

“You’re kidding?” Mr. Berenger said, wide-eyed, the first
honest reaction he’d had since I’d stepped through the front door.

I shook my head. “Not kidding.”

“No lessons?” He said it like it was mathematically
impossible.

“Not one.”

Mercifully, Ryan said, “Dad, don’t you have to be at work or
something?” He did a head tilt toward the door off the kitchen, and I sucked
back a tiny breath. “I really have to get ready for the party. You know, no
parents allowed.”

Mr. Berenger’s palms lifted up. “Sure, son. Sorry, Fred. Didn’t
mean to hammer you. It’s just that being a girl on a boys’ varsity golf
team—well, you got to admit it’s kind of...different.”

I nodded and smiled, but the sentiment was forced. Mr. Berenger
didn’t need to tell me about different. I had a Ph.D. in different. “I’m only on
it because the school doesn’t have a girls’ team.”

“Maybe next year.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe next year.”

Mr. Berenger’s eyes darted to his watch one final, painfully
long time. It was like he was having second thoughts about leaving. But then he
waved goodbye and strode toward the garage door. “Have fun, kids. Don’t forget
what I told you, Ryan, about the noise.” He threaded his car keys through his
fingers. And then he was gone.

The air felt infinitely lighter.

Ryan turned to me. “Jeez.” He rolled his eyes. “My dad’s a
lawyer. He’s used to asking a lot of questions. It’s kind of annoying. Sorry
about the third degree.”

I shrugged instinctively. “Sorry I showed up early.”

He took a step closer and stuffed his hands in the front
pockets of his faded jeans. “Don’t be. I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure if you
would.”

I swallowed back the dryness in my throat. Ryan looked kind of
cute, standing there all apologetic. I hadn’t expected him to say that he was
glad to see me, and I wasn’t entirely unhappy to hear it either.

“Thirsty?” He turned to a refrigerator that was as tall as he
was and five times as wide.

“Yeah.”

“Beer? Coke? Water?”

“Water is good,” I said quickly.

Ryan lifted a clear compartment inside the refrigerator door
built especially for water bottles—stacks of them, and not the generic kind
either. I’m pretty sure my mouth hung open a little. “Wow,” I gushed.

“Wow, what?” Ryan turned, opened a water bottle and handed it
to me.

“Wow,” I stammered, summoning something better to say. “I’m
sure thirsty.”

Ryan chuckled. “Well, you came to the right place.”

“I guess.” I took a sip. “Can I help with anything?”

“Nope.” He reached back inside the endless refrigerator and
pulled out a shiny beer can.

My eyes narrowed automatically at the can. How I’d grown to
loathe the sight of their flashy pretty colors and fancy letters.

“Something wrong?” He popped the tab back and lifted the can at
me. “What? You don’t drink?”

“Not...not usually,” I lied as he opened a bag of potato chips
and poured them into a silver bowl.

“Well, maybe later.” He smiled, taking another sip. “Want to go
wait outside? Everyone will be here in a little bit.”

“Sure,” I exhaled. “Outside.”
Where it
should be easier to breathe.

I followed Ryan past a wall of windows to a patio surrounded by
desert that looked like a photograph, the kind you see in magazines and on
postcards. The yard was more manicured than a golf course. All of the mesquite
and palm trees dotting the rear fence were perfectly trimmed, along with the red
oleanders and the sage bushes. They lined all of the flagstone pathways like
giant mushrooms. White, twinkling lights peeked from every tree. Ryan pressed a
button on a wall switch to light up a swimming pool that shimmered like
turquoise. I stepped near the edge and peered at my reflection.

“Wow,” I whispered again as Ryan jogged over to another wall
switch next to a cabinet that held stacks of white towels. Each fluffy towel was
perfectly folded.

The only thing missing was the desert smells that I was
accustomed to—creosote, honeysuckle, sweet red earth baked all day from the sun.
Here the air tightened around every one of my ribs whenever I breathed. Even the
breezes moved differently, thick and confused, as if they were waiting to
escape.

“What kind of music do you like?” Ryan said as he fiddled with
another row of switches and buttons. Suddenly voices and guitars filled the
backyard. They came from everywhere—the ground, the trees, the skies.

I swallowed. “Um, music?” I didn’t have much time for music,
not with homework and practice and weekend shifts at the restaurant. “Anything,
really,” I said, although that was a lie, too. I’d have bet Ryan never listened
to—had never even heard of—Native Radio.

“Anything, huh,” Ryan said, making a face as he switched
through the channels. “How about this?” Electric-guitar music invaded the air.
“This is one of my playlists.”

“Playlists?”

“On my iPod?”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” I answered over the music. Just because I
didn’t have my own iPod didn’t mean I’d never heard of them. “This sounds
good.”

Ryan turned down the volume just before the doorbell rang. He
frowned but said, “Good timing.” The doorbell sounded hollow, like church bells.
He held my gaze till the bell completed its little tune. Then he jogged back
through the sliding glass. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

I fidgeted with the label on my water bottle while I walked one
fast loop around the patio, mostly to calm my nerves. I wouldn’t have minded a
few more minutes with Ryan, alone. Maybe then I could have asked him a few
questions for a change, like how many brothers and sisters he had or where he’d
learned to play golf. The only thing I knew about Ryan Berenger was that he sat
behind me in English, had a beautiful golf swing and parents who took him to
fancy restaurants. And, for some bizarro-land reason, he compelled my attention
despite my best efforts to ignore him.

I finally sat down in one of the white wicker chairs around a
glass table facing the pool. I took a few more steadying breaths of the heavy
air as I waited for the rest of Ryan’s guests.

Just don’t say anything stupid,
Fred,
I told myself.
Better yet, don’t say much
at all. You’re pretty good at that.

By the time the first few arrived, I’d almost completely peeled
off the wrapper around my water bottle. I stuffed the sticky mess into the front
pocket of my newest pair of jeans just as Seth Winter and Troy Bean bounced
through the back door. Two girls I recognized from yearbook photos walked behind
them. Seth held a brown paper bag in his arms.

Seth Winter.
I wanted to crawl
underneath the table.

“Whoa,” Seth said the moment our eyes met. His blue ones
widened to the size of quarters, enough to show that his pupils were dilated and
glassy. The girl walking behind him bounced off his heels when he pulled back in
midstride. But then he lifted his chin and grinned.

I didn’t like his smile.

“Well, there.
Hola,
Pocahontas—I
mean...”

My stomach tightened.

But Seth quickly faked a grimace. “Fred,” he said finally.

“Winter!” Ryan said. He frowned at Seth as they stood in the
doorway. Ryan nudged Seth’s shoulder, hard, but not enough to knock him over. I
wished he had.

Seth made a show of mock pouting as he lifted sheepish eyes
from Ryan back to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said to Ryan with a frozen
smile. There was more than playfulness behind his words and his glassy
smile.

“Cram it, Seth,” Ryan added but with a dark kind of chuckle. He
ripped the bag from Seth’s arms and placed it on the table where the items
rattled against the glass top. He pulled out a bag of potato chips, another
six-pack and an opened bottle of vodka, and lined them up on the table.

“From my old man’s stash,” Seth said, grinning and still
studying me. I wished he’d stop. His eyes traveled across my face and then down
toward my shoes and up again. It lasted less than a heartbeat, but it was enough
to prickle every inch of my skin. Then he added almost as an afterthought,
“Graser was behind us on the freeway.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Should be
here in a few.”

I’d hoped that was the end of Seth.

Someone turned up the music so that everyone had to yell around
the table to be heard.

I continued to fiddle with my water bottle, pretending to be
interested in their conversation as Seth dragged back a chair across from me.
Something about someone’s new car. All the while, I could feel Seth’s eyes on
me, challenging me to look back at him when he knew I wouldn’t. My forehead
began to throb from the mental game we played, and I jumped when Ryan sat beside
me. It seemed like hours had passed since I’d last seen him instead of a handful
of minutes.

No one introduced me to the other two girls, but one of them
answered to Tiffany. She looked like a Tiffany, and I recognized her from gym
class. They sat across the table but didn’t acknowledge my existence, which was
fine. I’m not sure what we would have talked about.

I placed the water bottle below the table and between my legs
as Tiffany lined up vodka shots with pale pink fingernails and white tips that
presumably had never seen the bottom of a sink full of dirty dishes. Her
fingernails matched her lipstick. I kind of liked the color and wondered if it
would look as nice on me.

When there was a brief pause between songs, the somber doorbell
filled the air again. No sooner had the sound ended when a new voice filled the
kitchen. “Who drove the Tenement on Wheels parked out front?” the voice yelled
through the opened patio doors. Like Seth’s, her words slurred. Tiffany and the
other girl began laughing again, more loudly than before. Seth joined them, in
between a vodka shot and a swig from his beer can. He made an obvious head tilt
in my direction.

My breathing stopped.

The girl from the kitchen laughed again, a high-pitched sound
that was sharp enough to compete with the electric-guitar music in the backyard
speakers. I recognized her voice immediately. It belonged to Gwyneth Riordan. I
was starting to hear her voice everywhere. Of course she would be invited to her
boyfriend’s party.

My stomach sank a little more.

Gwyneth sauntered through the glass doors, smiling. But the
grin turned icy just as soon as her eyes met mine. Like Seth, I didn’t have to
be a psychic to read her mind:
What’s she doing here?
her eyes demanded of everyone seated at the table. Everyone but me.

Then I remembered Ryan was sitting next to me with his arm
draped casually across the back of my chair.

Seth laughed again, forced this time. For Gwyneth’s benefit?
His nervous laughter filled a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “Yeah, I saw
that, too.” Seth tossed back another shot and slammed the glass on the
table.

I pressed my hands against my stomach. They were discussing
Dad’s van.