Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (28 page)

Chapter 53
Fred

“MR. LANNON?
HI.
It’s Fred Oday.”

“Fred? What can I do for you?”

It was Monday morning. I pictured Coach Lannon sitting in his
office, his sunburned eyelids narrowed as he stared at the golf bags stacked
against his back wall, probably wondering why he didn’t see the plaid
eyesore.

“We had an emergency this weekend. At home.” I paused,
wondering if I was talking too loudly into Ryan’s cell phone. My voice echoed in
my ear. “I won’t be at school for a few days.”

“What happened?”

I swallowed. It wasn’t easy to say the words, even though the
doctors said that Dad would be fine. He didn’t look fine, especially lying in a
hospital bed hooked up to a million clear tubes and silver machines that never
stopped buzzing. “It’s my father. He had a heart attack on Saturday.”

“Hank? Oh, my god.” Coach Lannon exhaled. His chair creaked in
the background. “I am so sorry, Fred. Is he all right?”

“Yes. He’s better.”

“Good, good. So glad to hear that.” He paused. “What can I
do?”

“Nothing. But thank you.”

“When do you think you’ll be back?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. I need to help my mom. Wednesday?
Thursday, maybe. I don’t know.”

“So you’ll have to miss Thursday’s tournament.” He said it like
it was already decided.

“Maybe.”

“No worries, Fred. You take care of your father. That’s what’s
most important. You can’t replace family, and golf you’ll have forever. I’d give
anything to have one more minute with my dad.” Coach Lannon’s voice actually
cracked a little before he cleared his throat. “Golf can wait, Fred.”

I took a deep breath. I had practiced this last night a
thousand times, but it didn’t make me any less nervous. And it just felt strange
asking for something, especially from a teacher. I pulled my shoulders back and
did it anyway. “I do need a favor.”

“Anything,” he said, his voice back to normal. “Name it.”

“It’s about Ryan Berenger....”

“Ryan?” His voice got louder. “What about him?” I heard the
wheels of his chair shift and shuffle.

“I’d like you to put him back on the team.”

Coach Lannon laughed nervously. “But I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, Coach. You have to. Ryan didn’t put that club in
my bag.” I paused.

“Who did?”

“Someone else” was all that I’d say.

Silence.

Coach Lannon breathed heavily into the phone. Finally, he said,
“But I’ve already told Ryan—”

I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter to steady myself and
squeezed my eyes shut. The coach wasn’t making this easy. But it was the only
thing that made sense in a sea of so many things that didn’t.

Finally, I said, “If you don’t put Ryan back on the team, I’ll
have to quit.”

Chapter 54
Ryan

RILEY AND I DROVE
INTO THE
school parking lot on Monday morning with time to spare
before Homeroom. I even stopped to talk with Peter and Sam after Peter’s dad
dropped them off at the curb. We talked about meeting up for lunch in the
cafeteria.

Then, instead of walking straight to the courtyard to hang
with Seth and Gwyneth, I went to the library to study. It felt totally weird,
but it didn’t feel wrong. More like I needed to practice it.

As I opened my backpack inside a library cubicle, I heard
the front doors open followed by heavy footsteps across the carpet. They came
straight toward me. I lifted my head, curious.

“Coach?” I said, surprised. I rarely saw Coach Lannon away
from the locker room or the football fields.

“Berenger,” the coach said with one of his trademark tightly
wound smiles that really wasn’t a smile at all. It was usually a prelude to bad
news, and I wasn’t sure how much worse the news could get. I guess I was about
to find out. Was I getting expelled? The idea should have bothered me more than
it did.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Just talked to your sister. She said you’d be here,” he
said, as he dragged a chair across the carpet from the adjoining cubicle. “Mind
if I sit?”

Like I had a choice.

“Um, sure.” I leaned back in my chair, my chemistry and
English books unopened on the desk. So much for the extra studying time.

Coach Lannon cleared his throat. “Anyway...” He scratched
the side of his head. “I’ve been doing some thinking.” He cleared his throat
again.

I sank lower in my seat. This sounded bad.

“And I think I may have reacted a little too harshly last
week.”

Huh?

“I’ve recently been handed some new information about last
week’s tournament.” He paused. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe I shouldn’t
have taken you off the team without asking a few more questions. Dropping you
was probably a little extreme, considering.”

Considering what?
I blinked slowly. “But I told you that I was the
one who put the club in Fred’s bag. Isn’t that grounds enough?”

The coach leaned closer, close enough so that I could smell
the morning coffee on his breath. “But did you? Really?” His eyes leveled with
mine.

My throat turned dry. I said nothing.

The coach lowered his voice and leaned even closer. “Will
you tell me who did?”

I shook my head slowly.
No. Way.

“That’s what I thought.” Coach Lannon exhaled and leaned
back, his eyes still locked on mine with his chin lowered, assessing me. “So,”
he said after a pause that lasted an eternity. “What d’you say?”

This was completely unexpected. I had accepted that I was
off the team. “I’m not real sure,” I said finally. “I’m going to be moving to my
uncle’s house in a couple of weeks.”

“Moving?”

“Just for the rest of the school year.”
Just till I get my head screwed on
right.
“Then I’ll be back.”

“But what about golf?”

“They have a golf team at the school in San Francisco. A
pretty good one, too,” I added, although I really didn’t know for sure. My uncle
said they did.

“But...” the coach stammered. “You’re needed here.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But my mind’s made up.”

“You’re sure? You’re completely sure?”

I nodded.

Coach Lannon dragged his hand through what was left of his
hair. “Well, someone’s going to be real disappointed if you don’t return to the
team.”

“My parents?” I shrugged. “Yeah, I know that already.”

The coach’s hand moved to his chin. “Well, not exactly.”

I shook my head, confused. “Who, then?”

The coach sighed heavily as his hands dropped to his knees
like gavels. “Fred Oday. She insisted that I reinstate you. Starting
immediately.”

Chapter 55
Fred

“WHAT IS SO
fascinating about that damn phone?”

Mom sat alongside me in a mostly stuffed vinyl chair at the
foot of Dad’s bed in the hospital. She continued to watch me press buttons on a
cell phone no bigger than a candy bar. It became impossible to pretend I didn’t
notice.

Then she purposely dropped her
People
magazine to the linoleum floor when I didn’t answer. The magazine opened
to a page of a bare-chested Liam Hemsworth. “And where’d you get it anyway?” she
added.

I turned to her and smiled sheepishly. Mom made a playful face,
too, despite her snippy tone. For once, her expression wasn’t pinched around the
eyes and mouth. She’d been a lot happier—a lot calmer—since Dad had improved.
“It’s Ryan’s. He lent it to me.”

Her eyebrow arched. “The white boy?”

I sighed. We’d been doing so well. “Please don’t call him that.
It sounds awful. And I hate it.”

Mom’s eyes dipped briefly. “Sorry, Freddy.”

I looked across the hospital bed at Dad. Still pumped up with
heavy medication, he lay motionless, wheezing loudly, a clear tube jammed up his
nose. Even so, I would swear that he heard every word we said. Whenever Mom and
I started to talk, his purple eyelids flickered.

“So, this Ryan—what’s his last name again?”

“Berenger,” I said, turning toward her. Then I lowered my
voice. “His mom is Dad’s surgeon. Remember?”

Mom nodded. “I know that, Freddy. I may be exhausted, but I’m
not a moron.” She swallowed back her sarcasm and then looked across the bed at
Dad. A wistful smile spread across her face. Still watching Dad, she said, “So,
is this Ryan Berenger someone...special to you?”

My hands began to fidget.
Special?
He could be.

Currently our relationship felt pleasantly mushy again, its
lines fuzzy and undefined. But then I remembered that he’d be leaving soon.
“He’s just a friend,” I said finally, palming the cell phone in my hand. “A good
friend.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Mom chuckled. “Okay,
Freddy. If you say so. But then, why do you stare at his phone all day?” Her
head tilted as though she already had her answer.

I bit down to suppress a nervous grin. “Well, for one thing,
he’s popular. He gets a ton of calls. I just want to keep track of who’s calling
him, you know, in case he wants to know. It’s the least I can do, after
everything he’s done for us.”

Mom rolled her eyes predictably, but at least part of my lame
explanation was true. I’d already had to tell him that Gwyneth had called him
six times and Seth once. Ryan had said not to worry about it and to let the
calls go to voice mail, not that I had any intention of taking phone messages
for either of them. Mostly, I just waited for Ryan to call.

“Well, he does sound kind of special,” Mom said. “Just like my
daughter.” She reached for my hand and put it between hers like a sandwich. Her
skin was so smooth and cool. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom had reached
for my hand, except to slap it.

When she looked at me, her eyes brimmed with shiny tears. It
was a wonder she had any left.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, swallowing back a lump in my throat.
“Everything is going to be okay.” I suddenly remembered an old Indian legend
that Dad once told me. He’d said that stars in the night sky were made from the
tears of Indian mothers.

Mom choked back a sob. “I know,” she whispered. “I know it
will.” She brought my hand to her face and brushed it against her cheek. “But
I’ve been such a lousy mother, a lousy wife. A lousy everything.” Her voice
cracked. It was difficult not to start crying with her. “Look what I’ve done to
your father.”

“You didn’t cause his heart attack, Mom,” I said quickly as my
throat thickened. “Dr. Berenger says the buildup in his arteries had been going
on for years.”

Mom chuckled. “Yes, but living with me didn’t help any.”

I said nothing. I knew that I should have said something
reassuring like
No, Mom, that’s not true,
but I’d
have been lying, not that there hadn’t been better times at home. I remembered
when I used to sit at Mom’s feet while she wove straw baskets with bright
patterns, telling endless stories about the Children of the Clouds and the Fox
Woman. Or how Dad used to compete at the all-Indian rodeo every year at
Mul-Chu-Tha, the place where they first fell in love. I’d begged her to tell
that story a zillion times, scolding her if she tried to gloss over the
slightest detail, like how her hair was braided or the color of Dad’s cowboy
hat.

But then one day, just like that, the stories had stopped. Like
they’d never happened at all.

Mom wiped away a line of tears streaming down her cheek with
the back of her hand. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect.” She sat straighter, her
nostrils flaring. “But I can promise that I will be better.”

I smiled, my chest filling with love for her, for my parents,
my heart bursting with hope. Then I squeezed her hand. “It’s a start, Mom.
That’s really all anybody can ask.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Dad’s eyelids
flickered again.

And I’d have sworn I saw him smile, too.

Chapter 56
Ryan

AFTER GOLF
PRACTICE ON WEDNESDAY, I
raced home to call Fred.

She had told me yesterday that there was a chance her dad
would be released from the hospital today. Even Mom was pleased with Mr. Oday’s
progress, and Fred’s voice had sounded so happy and light that it had lifted my
spirits, too. That’s why I figured tonight would be the best night to talk.

I sat on the edge of my bed with the cordless phone in one
hand. I was alone in the house, but I closed the bedroom door anyway. I drew in
several steadying breaths before I dialed the phone. This was turning out to be
harder than I’d thought. My stomach kept churning and making noises like I
hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Hi, Ryan,” Fred answered on the second ring, surprising me.
Then I remembered my cell phone had caller ID.

“Hey, F-Fred,” I said, trying so hard to sound casual that I
started to stutter. Unfortunately, Fred’s voice had a way of making me do that.
Around her, I always talked a little faster than normal. It usually took a few
sentences before I found my rhythm. I couldn’t be any less cool around her.
“How’s your dad?”

“Better. We brought him home this afternoon. He’s
sleeping.”

“I’m glad. Your mom must be pretty happy.”

“She is.”

“So you’re home now?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” No wonder we had such a clear phone connection. The
cell-phone reception from the hospital was either bad or terrible, depending on
where Fred was when I called.

“How was practice?” A door closed in the background. A
screen squeaked.

“Good,” I said again, “but the coach is working us like
we’re at boot camp or something. You’ve gotta get back to practice. Soon, Fred.
Or he’s going to kill us, for sure.” And it was true. Coach Lannon had extended
practice by thirty minutes and required everybody to blow through an extra
bucket of practice balls, probably to make up for the huge void left by Fred.
“Um, when do you think you’ll be back?” I tried for casual again.

“Tomorrow, maybe. Or Friday.”

“Will you be at the tournament tomorrow? It’s at Ahwatukee
again.”

“Maybe. I mean, I hope so. But I won’t if my mom has to be
back at work. Someone has to be here to watch my dad.” She paused. “Will you be
there?”

My chest tightened. “Not sure.”

“Why?”

“I really should start packing. I’m supposed to leave for my
uncle’s house this weekend.”

“Oh,” Fred said, her voice sounding smaller. “So, you’re
really going through with it?” It came out more like a question.

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good.”

“For you?” Her tone was doubtful. “What about your
parents?”

“I don’t think they’re crazy about it. My sister is kind of
bummed. But it’s not forever.”

“How long?”

“Six months. Eight at the most.”

The line turned quiet.

“Fred?” I said. “Are you still there?”

“Why’d you really call me tonight, Ryan?” One of the dogs
barked in the distance, and I figured she must be sitting outside.

“Where are you, exactly?” I stalled.

“Outside. Putting.”

“You’re practicing?”

“Have to. I haven’t touched a club in a week.”

The line went quiet again. I moved the phone away from my
mouth so I could take a breath and gather up some nerve. Finally, I said, “There
is something I wanted to tell you...”

“Yeah?” she prodded.

I heard a golf ball drop into a cup.

“Oh, no...” Fred said.

“Oh, no, what?”

“The phone is starting to beep in my ear. What do two beeps
mean?”

“Ugh,” I muttered. “It means the phone is going dead.”
Freakin’ phone
battery!

“Humph.”

The phone started to beep again. This time I heard it on my
end.

“I think the phone is about to die.” Fred’s voice faded in
and out between beeps. “We’ll have to talk about this lat—” She didn’t
finish.

The line bugged out.