Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (2 page)

Mom laughed and my throat tightened. Mom used to laugh a lot
more. Everybody did.

Then Mom took a long swig from her shiny beer can before
resting her narrowed eyes on me. Her head began to bob. “So, Freddy, tell me
something that happened today. One happy thing.” She framed it like a challenge,
as if answering was statistically impossible. A second beer can crunched
underneath her sandal while she waited for my answer.

My mind raced. I sat in the plastic chair across from her and
wondered how long it would be before I could retreat to the safety of my
bedroom, if you could call it that. My room barely fit a twin bed and
nightstand, but at least I didn’t have to sleep on the pull-out sofa in the
living room like my older brother, Trevor. “Well,” I said, dragging my tongue
across my lips to stall for time. There was no easy way to answer her question.
I’d lose no matter what. “I got an A on a social-studies pop quiz today,” I said
finally.

“Social studies?” Mom’s wet lips pulled back. She stared at me
like I’d grown a third eye. Then she reached inside her blue cooler for another
beer. “Who needs social studies? What exactly is that anyway?
Social studies?
” Her words ran into each other. “How’s
that going to help you pay for your own trailer?”

My jaw clenched as I coaxed my breathing to slow. I knew this
was only Mom’s warm-up, and I wouldn’t be dragged into it, not today. It wasn’t
every day a high school coach begged you to join his team. I only hoped that Mom
would drink the rest of her six-pack and pass out like she always did. Then I
could practice next to the house where Dad had built me a putting green with
carpet samples from the dump.

“I’m not real sure,” I said. “Anyway, it’s not that important.”
I certainly wouldn’t share that I’d earned the highest score. That would only
make the night more painful, especially for Dad, and I often wondered how much
more he could take. He’d left us once, two years ago, and that had been the
worst three months of my life.

Mom jabbed her third beer can at me, and a few foamy drops
trickled down her fingers. “Don’t lie to me, girl.” Her face tightened into the
mother I didn’t recognize. “I can always tell when you’re lying.” Her dark eyes
narrowed to tiny slits as she peered at me over her beer can.

“I’m not. Really.” I rose from my chair, my toes pointed toward
the trailer, anxious to be inside. “You want me to get you anything?” My voice
turned higher. “I’ll heat up the chicken.”

Mom sighed heavily, slurped from her can and let her head drop
back. She stared up at a purplish-blue sky where stars had begun to poke out
like lost diamonds. The beer can crinkled in her hand. “No,” she said. “Just
leave me alone. Everybody, just leave me the hell alone.”

I climbed the two concrete steps to the front door, biting my
lower lip to keep from screaming. Even though we were surrounded by endless
acres of open desert, sometimes it seemed like I lived in a soap bubble that was
always ready to pop.

“Hey, Fred,” Mom said, stopping me.

I gripped the silver handle on the screen door and turned
sideways to look at her.

“They’re short a couple of bussers at the restaurant. Wanna
work tomorrow night?”

My jaw softened. “Sure. I need the money.” I’d been saving up
for a new pair of golf shoes. A little more tip money and I’d have enough. And,
thanks to Coach Lannon, I now had a reason to own a real pair.

Mom smiled and nodded her head back like she was trying to keep
herself from falling asleep in her chair. “Good girl,” she slurred. “You’ll want
to make sure the chef likes you so you’ll have a job there when you
graduate.”

I bit the inside of my lip again till it stung. Then I quickly
opened the door wider and darted inside. The screen door snapped shut behind
me.

* * *

A crescent moon hung in the sky by the time Trevor
coasted his motorcycle down our dirt driveway. Low and deep like a coyote’s
growl, the engine blended with the desert. I knew it was Trevor because he
always shut off the front headlights the closer he got to the trailer. Less
chance of waking anyone, even the dogs.

I waited for him on the putting green. With my rusty putter, I
sank golf balls into the plastic cups that Dad had wedged into the carpet
samples. Dad had even nailed skinny, foot-high red flags into each of the ten
cups to make it look authentic. The homemade putting green wasn’t exactly
regulation, but it was better than nothing, and he had been so excited to
surprise me with it for my birthday last year. The moon, along with the kitchen
light over the sink from inside the house, provided just enough of a glow over
six of the twelve holes.

“Hey, Freddy,” Trevor said after parking his bike next to the
van. The Labs trailed on either side of him, panting excitedly.

“Hey, yourself,” I said after sinking another putt, this time
into a hole near the edge that I couldn’t see. I liked the hollow sound the ball
made every time it found the edges of the cup. It was strangely comforting. And
predictable. The ball swirled against the plastic like it was trapped before
resting at the bottom with a satisfied
clunk.
“How
was work?”

“Oh, you know, same shit, different day.” Trevor’s usual
reply.

I smirked at his answer. I should be used to it by now, but a
small part of me wished that once, just once, he’d surprise me with something
different. Something better. Something that could take my breath away.

Trevor worked at a gas station in Casa Grande off the
Interstate doing minor car repairs like fixing tires and replacing batteries
when he wasn’t making change for the never-ending cigarette and liquor
purchases. His long fingers ran through the sides of his thick black hair as he
waited for me to pull back my club for the next putt. His hair hung past his
shoulders, all knotty and wild from his ride. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d have
to say that he looked like one scary Indian.

“When are you going to quit that job?” I looked up at him.

“And do what?” He chuckled but not in a sarcastic way.

“I don’t know,” I said, purposely casual. I struck the ball and
looked at him. “Go back to school, maybe?” I walked over to the cup and reached
inside for the ball. “You always said you wanted to open up a repair shop one
day.”

“Don’t need school for that, Fred.” He sat on the edge of the
carpet, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, well, when I win the lottery, I’ll let you know.” He
looked up at the kitchen window and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, you’ll find
out soon enough.”

I swallowed. I worked hard not to picture the future at all. I
couldn’t imagine working at the gas station, the restaurant or even the Indian
casino for the rest of my life. Whenever I did, it felt like someone pressing on
my chest with both hands.

“Mom?” Trevor said.

“Asleep. Finally.” I laid down my putter and sat next to him,
pulling my bare knees into my chest. “So’s Dad. I think.”

“Bad night?”

My shoulders shrugged. “Same shit, different day,” I said,
regretting it instantly. I hated swearing. My chin dropped to my knees.

“You don’t mean that, Fred.” Trevor placed his arm across my
shoulder and pulled me closer. “You really don’t want to let yourself get angry.
Because once you start, it’s hard to stop.” His voice turned softer. “Look what
it’s done to Mom.”

My eyes closed as I sank deeper into the corner of his arm. His
shirt smelled like grease and cigarette smoke, but I didn’t care.

“And just remember,” Trevor said, “it hasn’t always been like
this.”

“It’s getting harder to remember when it wasn’t.”

He pulled me closer, and together we stared up at the stars.
There were so many filling the sky that there didn’t seem to be enough room for
the moon.

“Are you staying home tonight?” I lowered my chin to my knees
again. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, and both Labs lifted their
snouts from their paws long enough to grumble.

“Nope.” He stroked the smooth coat of the black Lab next to
him. “Just gonna go inside for a quick shower and change.”

“Where to tonight?”

“Not sure. There’s a party in the Estrellas—”

“Take me?” I interrupted, sucking in a breath.

“No way. You’re too young.” His stock answer. In Trevor’s mind,
I was perpetually ten years old.

“Am not.” I frowned. “I’m sixteen.”

“Forget it, Fred. You can’t come. This crowd isn’t for
you.”

“What crowd is?”

“Not this one.”

“Killjoy.” I lightly punched my fist against his chest. I never
went to parties. I never got invited to any either. It was depressing, really.
“Will you come home after that?” My tone remained hopeful.

“I’ll probably head over to Ruth’s. Haven’t seen her in a
couple of days.” Ruth was Trevor’s girlfriend. They’d been dating for almost a
year, but Ruth lived on the other side of the Rez near Coolidge. Between
Trevor’s job and Ruth’s night shifts at the Walmart, they didn’t see each other
very often.

“How about tomorrow?” My eyebrows pulled together as I felt the
weekend sinking away. I was probably the only teenager in all of Phoenix who
counted down the hours till Monday mornings.

Trevor’s eyes squinted into the darkness. “Not sure.”

“Oh.” I swallowed back more disappointment. Home was always way
more fun when Trevor was around. The air inside the trailer felt lighter. Mom
didn’t snap at everyone as much, probably because Trevor was always making her
laugh, knowing exactly when to lift her spirits right before they threatened to
nosedive.

“Don’t worry, Freddy. I’ll be back Sunday. Monday at the
latest.”

With a heavy sigh, I lifted off his shoulder and padded across
the carpet to where I’d left my putter and golf ball. I placed the ball about
six feet away from the nearest cup. I could barely see the hole, but I gripped
the club handle, right hand over left, and pulled back the club just enough
before hearing the satisfying
plunk
inside the cup.
I smiled when it hit bottom.

“Good shot,” Trevor said, standing. “Hey. How’d it go today
with Lannon?” Trevor was the first person I’d told about the coach’s offer to
join the team, even before Dad. But I hadn’t told Trevor the whole story.

“He asked me to be on the team,” I said with mock disinterest.
“And I accepted.”

“No kidding?” His teeth glistened in the moonlight. “That’s
great. Congrats.”

“There’s just one catch,” I said as I sank another putt.

“What?” He laughed. “He didn’t dig your groovilicious golf bag
or something?”

I ignored his jab. “I’m on the team.” I paused, making him
wait. “It’s just that I’m officially on the boys’ varsity team.”

Silence.

Trevor’s neck pulled back. In the soft glow, I watched the
whites of his eyes grow dangerously wide. If he hadn’t been certifiably
scary-Indian-looking before, he was now.

I lowered my gaze, focusing on the ball.

“Um, Freddy, did you say the boys’ team?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the
p.
“Lone
Butte doesn’t have a girls’ team.”

He scratched the side of his head, considering this. “I don’t
know, Fredders. A boys’ team? A bunch of spoiled, rich white boys? That doesn’t
sound...”

“What?” I prodded.

“Normal,” he blurted finally.

My voice got louder. “Why not?”

His voice got louder. “Because the boys there ain’t gonna like
it.”

“And why not?”

He stepped closer, his hands jammed in his front jean pockets.
“Because that means you’re taking someone’s spot, someone who’ll think he
deserves it more than you.”

Air sputtered through my lips. “Well, that’s just stupid,” I
said. “What’ll it matter, if we win tournaments? The coach told me I was
probably the best player on his team.”

Trevor chuckled as his chin pulled closer to his neck. “Oh,
great. He told you that, too? Believe me, Freddy. It’ll matter. It’ll matter to
someone.”

I swallowed hard but said nothing. Till now, I’d never thought
that I’d be taking someone else’s spot. I’d thought Coach Lannon had merely
created a new one. He was the coach, after all. Couldn’t he do such things?

“You’re being paranoid,” I said finally.

“Am I?” His doubtful tone caused a line of goose bumps to fly
up my neck. “Just be careful,” he said before turning toward the front door.
“You’re gonna need to watch your back. Stick close to the other kids from the
Rez when you’re at school, at least at first.”

“That might be kind of hard. Not to mention freaky.” There were
only seven Rez kids in my entire school, four boys and three girls, including
me. Kelly Oliver and Yolanda Studi were both seniors. Kelly was the only other
person I’d ever heard utter the word
college,
mostly
because she wanted to become a nurse. Yolanda was her cousin and best friend,
and I was pretty sure Kelly was the only reason she hadn’t dropped out. Yolanda
had a mouth and attitude worse than my mother. Then there were Sam Tracy, Peter
Begay, Martin Ellis and Vernon Parker. Vernon was a freshman, skinny and quiet
as a saguaro; Martin was a sophomore; and Sam and Peter were my age. Sam was big
enough to play football, but he had no desire to be on the Lone Butte team. Like
most of my people, there were trust issues with anyone off the Rez that ran so
deep I couldn’t begin to understand where the puzzle pieces started and where
they ended.

I’d known these Rez kids my whole life; they were like family,
even if we rarely hung out. They all lived miles away from our trailer. But just
like family, whenever we bumped into each other, like in the school hallways or
sometimes in the cafeteria, our conversations pretty much continued where we’d
left off, whether it had been a day, a month or even six months.