Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (7 page)

Chapter 10
Ryan

SETH AND I DROVE
TO THE
mall off the I-10 freeway. I’d picked him up at his house
after golf practice, and we’d gone to mine. But chilling at the mall was way
better than hanging around the house and listening to Mom nag about homework
that bored me and college entrance exams that I didn’t want to take. Seth felt
the same way. It was one of a million things we had in common.

I’d lied and told Mom that I already signed up for the SATs,
just so that I could get out of the house. Fortunately, she’d bought it. I
should feel guilty about lying to her all the time, but I didn’t. Not really
anyway. Maybe because the more I lied, the easier it got.

Seth only wanted to hang because he wanted to hear all about
Fred. I was going to have to lie to him, too. The truth would only crank
him.

“Movie?” Seth asked me as we passed through the food
court.

“Maybe.”

“What, then?” Seth stuffed his hands in his front
pockets.

My shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Let’s just walk
around.”

We started on the first floor and walked to the south end of
the mall.

“So Zack texted me after practice and said the Indian wasn’t
so bad.”

I cringed a little when he said
Indian
and kind of looked
around to see if anyone had overheard. Seth hated Native Americans, all of them,
mostly because a drunk one had killed his real dad when he was driving home from
work one night on the freeway. Hit him head-on. It had happened when Seth was a
baby. He knew his real dad only from pictures.

I didn’t answer him. But Seth wouldn’t let it go. “Well,
what do you think?” he said. “Is she as good as Coach thinks?”

I considered it as if I really hadn’t given Fred much
thought. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “She did okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” Seth stopped abruptly and faced me, toe to toe. I
had no choice but to stop. “She does
okay,
and she gets handed
my
spot on the team like I
don’t even matter?”

I searched his widened eyes but said nothing. I certainly
wasn’t going to rub it in that he was the worst player on our team apart from
Henry Graser. But Henry was Principal Graser’s son.

The problem with Seth was that he really didn’t even like
golf. He played to please his stepdad. Why, I would never understand. Seth’s
stepdad was the baddest guy I’d ever met.

“Coach Lannon told me to go out for wrestling,” he snarled.
“Said I was built for it.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to wrestle. I hate
wrestling. No one cool is on the team anyway. And I didn’t practice golf all
summer long to go out for wrestling.” Hands jammed in his front pockets, Seth
began walking again. “I still can’t believe it,” he muttered. “It reeks. It’s
not fair. And then there’s my stepdad...” His voice trailed off.

“Was he pretty mad?” I asked carefully.

“Way mad. The usual.” Seth shrugged as though it was no big
deal, but I knew better.

“What’d he say?”

Seth’s tone was flat. “He called me worthless and stupid.
Said I didn’t practice hard enough. Blah, blah, blah. You know, his usual crank.
And there’s no way I was going to tell him that I got kicked off because of a
girl. And a fucking Indian.”

I winced. “Sorry, Seth.”

“At least he didn’t whack me,” he added. Too casually. “He
hasn’t done that in a while.”

I shook my head. I really wished Seth didn’t have to live
with his stepdad. But as mean as he was, his stepdad was the only father Seth
had ever known. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Well, we’ve got to do something about Fred.” He spoke as if
the decision had been made.

That stopped me cold, and the shoppers behind us practically
slammed into our heels. “Like, what are you thinking?” I chuckled doubtfully.
And what could we do? Coach Lannon’s mind was made up. Fred was all that.

Seth continued walking, and I caught up with him as we
reached the golf store where we’d bought our golf bags last year. We stopped in
front of the display window. “I don’t know yet.” Seth sighed. “But this isn’t
over. I’ll think of something.”

“There’s really nothing you can do.” My eyes narrowed. I
didn’t want him to get madder than he already was. “Coach was pretty clear. He
likes her. I don’t think he’ll change his mind, not this time.”

“What if she chokes at the tournament?” Seth said. “What
then?”

My head tilted, considering this. “Maybe,” I said, but not
too confidently. I honestly didn’t expect Fred Oday to fail, not with her swing.
Unless both of her arms were amputated by Thursday, she would probably do better
than at least half the players on the team.

Seth’s nostrils flared. And just as I was going to open my
mouth to try to encourage Seth to go out for wrestling again, I glanced into the
golf-store display window. My teeth clamped shut. Then I mumbled, “I don’t
believe this...”

Inside the store, Fred Oday picked up a white golf shoe and
fingered its laces. A tiny smile brightened her face. Her smile faded into a
sort of frown, a sad frown, when she turned the shoe over in her hands.
Strangely, I wondered what crossed her mind. It was just a lame shoe—and a golf
shoe. No big thing. But then she replaced the white shoe on the display, stood
back to admire it with her hands clutched behind her back, only to pick it up a
moment later like she was seeing it for the first time. Her hair fell over her
bare shoulder as her head tilted sideways, covering half her face.

I gulped.

“Oh, no,” Seth moaned. He drew back a breath through his
teeth. “You saw her, too?”

I blinked and then turned to Seth. I nodded but then wished
I hadn’t. Now was not a good time to confront Fred Oday in the middle of the
mall. She was the last person Seth needed to see.

“I didn’t think you saw her,” Seth said. “I saw them when we
walked past the food court. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see us.”

My eyes narrowed. “Who are you talking about?”

“Your dad.” Seth lowered his voice along with his chin, not
that it was necessary. The mall noise muffled everything. “And that girl.”

“
My
dad? Where?”

Seth’s head tilted sideways toward the west end of the food
court.

I followed the arc of Seth’s head till my gaze landed on a
round table next to the fountain. Through a fake potted fern, I watched as Dad
chatted up a girl with spiky red hair. He was still wearing his shirt and purple
tie from this morning except that his tie was loosened at the neck. The girl
tossed her head back and laughed at something he said. She didn’t look much
older than my cousin Lauren. Except the girl seated across from Dad didn’t look
like she went to college. She wore a black smock with a white name tag,
accentuating the paleness of her face. Her lips were bright red.

“I think that’s the lady who cuts my dad’s hair,” I
muttered. “She cuts mine, too. Sometimes.”

Seth turned to me. “She’s pretty hot.”

“Shut up, Seth,” I said.

“Well, she is,” he replied, just as Dad placed his hand over
hers in the middle of their tiny table.

My stomach did a somersault before my cheeks flushed hot.
Dad looked as if he
liked
her. I found myself clenching my fists. “Let’s get out of
here.”

“Sure. Where?” he said, but I’d already turned.

“Anywhere but here.”

Seth jogged after me. “You gonna tell your mom about
it?”

I snorted. “Don’t have to.”

“She already knows?”

“Why do you think she’s always working?” Seth had to jog to
keep up with me.

By the time we reached the parking lot, I was breathing so
hard that my ribs hurt. I tried to stop thinking about Dad and his new
girlfriend by thinking about Fred and her smile. But it didn’t really work. I
kept seeing my angry reflection staring back at me in store windows.

Seth knew me better than to ask what was wrong. “Why don’t
we head to the arcade and scare up some freshmen?”

“Nah.” I shook my head.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for the door handle to his
pickup truck. “It’ll be fun.”

I climbed inside the truck, silent. I wasn’t in the mood to
terrorize the newest unsuspecting freshmen at Lone Butte High School who were
dumbass enough to spend time at the arcade. Last time we did, Seth had had one
redheaded dude practically in tears when he kept challenging him to a game of
air hockey in front of his friends. The frosh had finally relented and bombed,
although not after Seth had smacked the back of his head with his hand and told
him to stop being such a tool.

“It’ll be a good time,” Seth said, not letting it go. “You
know you want to.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

I sighed. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.” It was better than going
home. Anything was better than going home.

“Good answer,” Seth said as the tires squealed across the
parking lot toward the exit.

Chapter 11
Fred

THE NEXT FEW
days proceeded almost exactly as the first.

Each morning before work, Dad dropped me off in front of the
high school along with my backpack and sometimes my plaid golf bag, depending on
whether I decided to take it home or leave it in the coach’s office. I could
leave my bag in his office every night if I wanted, but I preferred to bring my
clubs home and practice my swing after I did my homework. Sometimes Sam and Pete
would ride with Dad and me. On those days, I relented and let Sam drag my golf
bag out of the van, if I had it. It was like Sam to be nice.

Then I tried to ignore all the stares and practically nailed my
chin to my chest as I trudged through layers of high school kids to reach Coach
Lannon’s office. At least I had some new clothes to wear. I’ll admit that it was
better when Sam walked beside me, but it nagged me that he looked like some kind
of an escort. It was stupid. And I had my suspicions that somehow my brother had
put Sam up to Bodyguard Duty.

I attended all my classes and study halls but kept mostly to
myself. At golf practice, I was mostly ignored, although Zack Fisher did ask me
once which country club my parents belonged to. I almost choked on my
answer.

After a sleepless Wednesday night, I walked straight to the No
Admittance metal door in the back of the gymnasium with my golf bag over my
shoulder without stopping. I passed Ryan Berenger and his circle of friends in
the courtyard. As I passed, their conversation stopped. Ryan pretended not to
notice me and turned to his blonde girlfriend to hide his face. I figured he was
probably rolling his eyes by the grin on his girlfriend’s face. Her perfect pale
cheeks filled with air like she was trying to swallow a laugh.

Nice.

I reached the rear door quickly, considering all of the weight
hanging on my shoulder.

I knocked twice. Ten seconds later, Coach Lannon opened the
heavy door and stood aside. “Morning, Fred,” he said, yawning as he propped the
door open with his back.

“Hi, Coach,” I said as I walked through the opened door. It was
familiar to me now and still barely wide enough for the both of us and my golf
bag.

Coach Lannon smiled down at me as I passed. “Ready for the
tournament today?”

“I think so,” I said, too late, as we walked to his office.

I didn’t have to look at his eyes to know they widened.

“I mean, yes,” I clarified.

“Good.” He was all toothy smile again. “’Cause I think we got a
real chance at beating Hamilton this year.” He rubbed his hands. “Glad to see
you’re wearing your golf shirt. Hope it wasn’t too big on you.”

For real? It’s as big as a
hogan.
1

“It’ll do,” I said.

“The boys treating you okay?”

“Fine,” I lied.

“Good,” he said. “’Cause I expect you to tell me if they don’t.
Okay?”

I nodded without looking at him.

When we reached his office, I scooted around the coach and
dropped my bag in its usual spot while he plopped into the seat behind his desk.
I stood back and frowned at it. My bag stood out like a laser light among all
the stylish navy blue, black and gray bags with their trendy logos and shiny
clubs that barely looked used. I tried to stuff my bag into the corner, but
there was only so much you could do to make a thirty-year-old plaid golf bag
look inconspicuous.

“Listen, Fred,” Coach Lannon said as he opened a yellow folder
on his desk. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about.
Privately.
You want to have a seat for a minute?”

My stomach dropped.

He pointed to the chair in front of his desk. I sat down.

Had I done something wrong? Had he seen me muff the two short
shots yesterday on the putting green? Was he angry already with my performance?
Was he kicking me off the team?

My breathing quickened exponentially.

“I notice you wear tennis shoes instead of golf shoes.” He made
a tent with his fingers.

I sat higher in my chair. I wasn’t expecting that. “Yes,” I
said with an equally careful tone. It was like tiptoeing around Mom.

“Well, I just wondered if your play wouldn’t benefit from a
pair of decent golf shoes—”

I interrupted him, surprising myself. “I haven’t had a chance
yet to buy a pair.” I paused as my cheeks began to burn. “With school and
practice and all. Maybe I’ll get to the mall this weekend.” Not a huge lie. It
could happen.

Coach Lannon sat back in his chair. His eyes narrowed a
fraction. “I see.”

I inhaled once, deeply, through my nose. The office walls began
to shrink.

His palms lifted. “If it’s a question of money, let me
help—”

“I don’t need any help with the shoes, Coach, really, I don’t.
I just need time to get to the mall,” I said quickly.

The coach lowered his voice. “Okay,” he said, leaning forward
again. “Didn’t mean to upset you. But if you should change your mind—”

“Maybe this weekend,” I said again, mentally calculating the
tip money I’d already saved minus the money I’d just paid for two new pairs of
shorts. And Mom had even promised to talk to the chef at the restaurant again.
I’ll ask him when he’s desperate for extra
hands,
she’d promised the night before.
Then
he’ll have to take you back. Besides,
Mom had said,
you’ll need the job when you graduate.
Her words had
ingrained themselves in my brain like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

Coach Lannon lowered his chin. His tone was kind, and I felt a
tiny lump grow in my throat. “You know, Fred, there’s no harm in asking for
help. When you need it.”

I pulled away from his desk, swallowing back the lump. Then I
popped up out of my chair like there was a spring in the cushion. Dad would be
mortified if I ever accepted charity. “Thank you, Coach. I appreciate it, but I
don’t need any help.”

“Would it help if I talked to your parents?”

I felt my face go ashen.
That would be a
thousand times worse.
“No. Please, don’t,” I said. “They’re busy
enough as it is.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Please, don’t. Please, don’t do anything.” I wanted
to tell him to just leave me alone and let me play golf. I’d never needed golf
shoes before. I could survive without them for a little while longer.

The crease in the middle of the coach’s forehead softened. I
think he finally understood, but just as he was about to say something else, the
first warning bell rang.

“I better get to class,” I said, eager to be anywhere but
trapped with Coach Lannon and more questions.

The coach sighed and followed me reluctantly to the door. He
leaned against it. “One other thing, Oday,” he said in his coach voice as I
stepped into the hallway.

I was still breathing heavily through my nostrils, anxious to
sprint. I turned.

“I’m pairing you with Berenger at the tournament today.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah.” He squinted at me like he was surprised that I wouldn’t
know. “You two are our best players. You’re in the top spot, and he’s in the
second.”

“Oh.” My voice squeaked. “Right.” More unexpected news.

“Anyway, don’t forget the bus leaves here at two sharp.”

I nodded and then finally turned and charged down the long
hallway. When I got to the end, I nearly knocked over Ryan and his stocky blond
friend, another white boy at Lone Butte High School with a permanent snarl that
contradicted his angelic face.