Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (31 page)

Ryan and Fred have found each other, but is there someone out
there for Ryan’s little sis,
Riley?
Perhaps...
Sam
Tracy?
Read on for an exclusive excerpt from Liz Fichera’s
next Harlequin TEEN novel,
PLAYED
Coming soon!

Riley

OH. MY. GOD.
Outrage stuck like gum inside my head as Sam shifted beside me.
What a jerk.
Drew was never going to believe this. I
pulled out my cell phone and began to text her.

I should have taken that seat way in the back of the bus after
all, despite the sea of juniors and seniors. I’d had no idea that Sam Tracy was
so in love with himself.
I know who you are?!
Seriously? I mean, get some manners.

I had seen him talking with Fred a couple of times in the
cafeteria, and he’d seemed nice enough on school territory, but what was the
deal with off-hours? Total loser.

My nose wrinkled.
Great!
And he
reeked, too. Eau de Charcoal Grill.

I wanted to scream,
Just because you’re a
junior doesn’t make you smarter than everyone else.
Because he was so
tall, I supposed he’d want to claim most of the legroom underneath the bench in
front of us, too. Not gonna happen.

Once I got my internal hyperventilation under control, I curled
my legs underneath me, finished a quick text that Drew wouldn’t see until at
least noon and then pressed the volume button on my
Friends
episode. I’d rather listen to Chandler and Joey any day and
sketch in my notebook. But no such luck.

Mr. Romero turned around. He looked at Sam and me over the tops
of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Could you pass these back?” he said, handing us a
stack of papers. “It’s the agenda for the weekend.”

I removed one earbud, one eye trained on my iPod screen as I
grabbed the papers with my right hand. And it was my favorite
Friends
episode, too, the one where Ross gets his
teeth whitened so pearly-white that they glow in a black light. Hilarious.
Enough to forget about Sam Tracy and his smug attitude. Almost.

Mr. Romero stood. “Can I have your attention?” His chin lifted
while his gaze swept over the rows. “Pause the texting for a moment, people. I
promise your brains won’t self-destruct.”

A few people chuckled anxiously, as if they didn’t quite
believe him, and the bus grew quiet.

Mr. Romero moved to the center of the aisle, still hanging on
to the back of the seat with his free hand as the bus headed down the freeway
toward the rising sun. “Since we’ve got two hours to kill till we reach the
campground, we might as well go over a few details. As many of you know, we’ve
reserved two large cabins—one for the girls, one for the boys.”

“Damn,” someone behind me said. People around him laughed.

Mr. Romero smirked. “Watch the language, Mr. Wolkiewski.”

“Sorry, Mr. Romero,” Peter said, but he didn’t sound the least
bit sorry.

Mr. Romero continued, “Anyway, we’ve got a busy weekend
planned, and you can read all about it on the agenda that’s being distributed as
I speak. There will be competitions and contests, and tonight we will have a
barbecue. Keeping up so far?”

No one spoke. Most of us were too busy looking over the agenda.
It seemed that at any given minute there was an activity—from rope climbing to
scavenger hunts to leadership tests that were supposed to reveal our leadership
styles. I had a style? It kind of looked as if it might have the potential for
fun, in a weird, dorky way. I always preferred variety.

“As soon as we arrive at the campsite, we’ll unpack the buses,
get you settled and then get started on a scavenger hunt so that you can become
familiar with the campground. Everyone has been organized into teams. They’re
listed on the back of the agenda.”

I flipped over the page and scanned for my name. There were six
groups of ten. I was on the Green Team. I only recognized one other person on my
team: Sam Tracy.

It was impossible not to groan.

I swallowed back a sigh and stole a sideways glance. Sam and I
locked eyes for a millisecond. He had these impossibly dark eyes, the intense
kind that looked as if they knew what you were thinking, even before you did.
And it happened so fast that I had to wonder if we’d eye-locked at all.

I guessed he was as excited about seeing our names together as
I was. I just wish I knew what I’d done for him to hate me so much. But I was
probably making something out of nothing. I did that a lot. It was a
sickness.

To stop stressing, I sneaked a glance in my periphery and began
to sketch his profile, starting with his long, flat forehead.

Sam

I FOLDED MR.
ROMERO’S FANCY AGENDA
and stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans.
Then I sank lower in the chair until my feet practically popped out from
underneath the bench in front of me. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes and
begged for sleep.

The next thing I knew, my head was bouncing off Riley’s pink
shoulder and onto the back of my seat. It was like pounding against a
two-by-four.

“You mind?” She glared at me, her blue-green eyes open wide
below the brim of her baseball cap as she held a thick pencil in midair. Jeez,
she looked exactly like her brother, that same know-it-all, confident face that
always stomped on my last nerve.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, sitting upright, facing forward, hoping
that drool hadn’t made an appearance.

Just then, the bus exited the freeway. My ears began to pop.
I was beyond pleased to see that we had already reached the top of the Mogollon
Rim. A brown sign with white letters welcomed us to the Woods Canyon Lake
campsite. The bus shook from side to side as it made its way deeper into the
campground on a stretch of narrow two-lane road that alternated between pavement
and dirt. Exactly as I remembered.

I hadn’t been to Woods Canyon since I was a kid. One August
weekend, my parents and Martin’s parents had lugged all the kids, including his
older brother and sister and my older sister, Cecilia, to the campground. Martin
and I had probably been around twelve years old. We’d thought it was killer to
be camping in tents and fishing for trout. Our parents had been thrilled to
escape the desert heat and probably a weekend of night shifts at the casino. Who
knew then that I’d be back five years later with two busloads of students that I
barely knew?

Mr. Romero stood, stretched his arms overhead and then
turned to face us. He had a look on his face that demanded our attention. “Look,
I know you’re all probably pretty anxious to get off this bus and have some fun.
I am, too. So that’s why I’m going to ask you to dump your stuff quickly once we
reach the cabins. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to it.” He rubbed his hands
together. His eyes squinted. “And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your
cell phones probably won’t work way out here.” He air-chuckled darkly.

A few people gasped, and I rolled my eyes.

I was probably the only person on the whole bus without
one—not like I didn’t
want
one. But it was the kind of luxury that I
couldn’t really afford. Maybe when I started college. That had to be a given,
especially since I’d be able to work full-time during the summer before the
first semester. Vernon Parker was the only one of our friends back on the Rez
who had one, although I wasn’t sure why. Who was he calling, if not us?

“I want you to find someone within your group and pair up.”
Mr. Romero looked at Riley and me and smiled.

I sank lower.

“If it happens to be the person sitting right next to you,
all the better,” he said. “If not, start to get to know those around you. You’re
some of the smartest kids—the leaders—from your respective schools. I’m sure you
can figure out how to meet those around you and find a partner without bursting
a blood vessel.”

Students began calling out. “Who’s on Blue Team?”

“I’m on Red Team. Anyone else on Red?”

“What about Yellow?” said another.

Through the moans, laughter and general commotion, Mr.
Romero said, “Let’s get started!”

And with that, the bus pulled up in front of two cabins that
looked as if they’d been built with red LEGO. I didn’t remember them from five
years ago. Each one was as big as a two-car garage. Like one huge room. I would
have preferred to sleep outside under the stars like Martin, Peter and I did a
lot during the weekends on the Rez.

A flash of pink stung the corner of my eye. “So I guess we
get to do this first activity together?” It was the third time Riley had spoken
the entire trip.

“Yeah. Guess so,” I said, matching the disinterested tone in
her voice. I turned to the others at the back of the bus, wondering if it would
be too terrible to partner with someone else. Maybe Riley would prefer to be
with a girl, maybe even a sophomore.

“Looks like we have to find stuff around the forest.” Her
nose wrinkled, and I guessed she wasn’t much for nature hikes. “Pinecones, bark,
berries and...stuff.”

“Yeah,” I said again, although I hadn’t really read through
the pages that were attached to the weekend agenda. I mean, how hard would it be
to find stuff that littered every foot of the forest?

“Even petroglyphs,” Riley added.

I looked at her.
Okay.
That could be a challenge.

“How do we take a petroglyph from a rock?” She paused from
reading her agenda, which, I noted, was already highlighted in places with a
pink highlighter, along with some pretty intricate curlicue doodling and fancy
arrows around the margins.

My shoulders shrugged. “I suppose we have to figure that
out. You got a camera?” I nodded at the killer stash of electronics on her
lap—an iPod, a cell phone and no doubt she’d brought an iPad somewhere in the
pink blob that peeked out from below our seat.

She nodded.

“Then we’ll take a picture. Problem solved.” I reached for
my backpack, but I couldn’t help noticing that Riley looked mildly impressed,
even if she tugged her cap lower on her forehead.

The bus came to a stop. Riley and I were the first to get
off after Steve and Mr. Romero, thank god. My legs ached from being in the same
position for two hours.

When I got up, all the bones in my neck and shoulders
cracked. I stood behind our chair and waited for Riley to go first as my arms
stretched overhead. “Let’s get this over with.” I yawned.

Riley hitched a pink bag over her shoulder, not bothering to
hide the eye roll from beneath her matching hat. “Absolutely. The sooner, the
better.”

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ISBN: 9781460303443

Copyright © 2013 by Liz Fichera

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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