Hooked

“Well, Coach Lannon had us warm up on the school’s driving range. Then we practiced our short game and putting.” I shrugged my shoulders like practice was no big deal. “I did fine. I think.”

Sam grunted behind me like he thought I was being too modest.

I’d done better than fine, even after my embarrassing first practice shot. I’d attacked the ball at every opportunity, because I didn’t have a choice. The boys had expected me to fail—wanted me to fail. I’d sensed it. And I wasn’t about to give any of them an ounce of satisfaction.

“And what about your teammates? What are they like?”

My lips sputtered while I crossed my arms over my chest. I really didn’t want to say too much in front of Sam. It felt kind of weird. And embarrassing. “They’re just...” I paused, looking ahead for Ryan’s Jeep. “They’re just a bunch of guys. You know...” My voice trailed off.

The light changed to green, and the cars began to cross the intersection. Dad stayed in the left lane to take the freeway home; Ryan turned right toward the Ahwatukee Golf Club and the sea of pink-tiled roofs.

And breathing became easier again. I rose a notch in my seat.

“How’d they feel about having you on the team?” Dad asked quietly.

My shoulders shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Coach Lannon didn’t give them much of a choice. How could they feel?”

Dad didn’t say anything. And neither did Sam.

Still, I could see both of their brains churning, even if they didn’t utter a single word.

Chapter 8

Ryan

ZACK FISHER WOULDN’T STOP TALKING ABOUT Fred Oday. I cranked up the car stereo another notch.

Zack sat in my passenger seat. He’d needed a ride home, but I regretted my offer to drive him.

“Man, I hate to say it, but she’s badass,” Zack yelled over the music, reaching for his seat belt as I pressed my foot against the accelerator, hard. The Jeep lurched forward.

My hands gripped the steering wheel till all my knuckles turned white. First Henry Graser, and now I had to listen to Zack Fisher all the way home. All anyone could talk about was Fred Oday.

“Did you see her sand shot?” Zack shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it.

Yeah, I saw it. My jaw clenched.

“I don’t think she missed a single putt either.” He whistled annoyingly through his teeth. “And I used to think you were the best putter on the team,” he said even louder. “Not anymore, dude. Sorry.” He chuckled darkly, slapping his hand against the door frame.

I raced to the stoplight just past the school exit. The light turned red, and my foot pressed the brake when it really wanted to stomp on the accelerator and fly down Pecos Road.

“You think with her on the team we might actually take State this year?” Zack turned to me.

My expression stayed frozen till my gaze traveled to the rearview mirror. Then I shook my head and sighed.

“What?” Zack asked.

“Nothing.” I frowned. I wasn’t about to tell bigmouthed Zack that I was starting to see Fred Oday everywhere—at restaurants, in class, even in my rearview mirror. And she was in the passenger seat of a rusted-out van—at least, it looked like her. Dark hair, coppery skin, hair pulled back, forehead lowered. Always lowered. And for some reason, that ape of a guy Sam Tracy was in the van, seated behind her. It was kind of hard to miss him. His neck was as wide as a tree trunk.

“So, what do you think?” Zack prodded again.

“About what?” I mumbled as the light turned green. My fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

“About the team? About winning?”

I exhaled loudly. “I don’t know what to think, so just shut up. I’m trying to drive. Do you want a ride or not?”

Zack’s neck pulled back, and his eyes widened. “Sure. That’s cool.” His eye roll told me he would have preferred walking home. “You wanna hang at my house for a while?”

“No, I’ve gotta get home,” I lied.

I’d promised to stop by Seth’s house after practice. I didn’t know which would be worse: avoiding Seth’s questions about golf practice or listening to Zack’s nonstop babble.

When the light finally changed, I made my turn and checked the rearview mirror. Fred was gone, and I could think clearly again.

Chapter 9

Fred

AFTER THE USUAL quickie dinner of hot dogs and canned corn, I begged Mom to drive with me back to Phoenix to shop for a new pair of shorts for school. That was the only way Dad would let me go, and, surprisingly, Mom agreed. I’d had my license for almost a year, but Dad had a thing about me driving long distances at night. And when you lived in the middle of nowhere, everything was long-distance.

Being September, it was still too warm for jeans, and my two pairs of shorts had become embarrassingly faded and frayed around the edges. My khaki pair I’d worn since the eighth grade.

I was certain my fashion faux pas hadn’t gone unnoticed at school where most of the girls, especially the popular ones, rotated fashion as often as their boyfriends. I simply had to have something new to wear, at least an updated pair of shorts, maybe even a new tank, before the first golf tournament.

The closest mall to the Rez sat next to the freeway. It was halfway between our trailer and Lone Butte High School. The mall was completely enclosed and so enormous that it should have had its own zip code. There were three floors of continuous stores wrapped around a central courtyard with a fountain. A strong scent of melted cheese and warm pretzels permeated the air. Even though it was a Monday, the stores buzzed with people and chatter like it was the last day of Christmas shopping.

I loved the mall. I could window-shop every day. Mom? Not so much.

“Just a couple of stores tonight, Freddy,” Mom said, pulling closer to me as the other shoppers jostled around us with their elbows and strollers. “Let’s not make it a marathon. The air in here always dries my eyes.” Her nose wrinkled when someone’s shopping bag brushed her arm.

“’Kay, Mom,” I said. Mom had never been a fan of crowds, especially in places outside the Rez. She always said the mall made her nervous, but I suspected it was the people, especially the ones with designer purses and overflowing department-store bags from Nordstrom and Macy’s. They probably reminded her too much of the people she had to serve at work.

Still, I always secretly wished that she was the type of mom who liked to shop and do all the fun things I imagined that normal girls did with their mothers, maybe even stop at a restaurant in the food court afterward to critique our purchases over a cheeseburger and soda. Wouldn’t that be so cool? Except we never did stuff like that.

“Where to first?” Mom said.

I nodded to a Gap store next to my favorite golf-goods store. I’d been in the golf store a few times with Dad but never to buy anything, only to look. And dream.

Mom’s eyes followed mine. She let out a long exhale. “You didn’t drag me all the way out to this godforsaken place to look at golf clubs, did you? When I could be home with my feet propped up enjoying a cold beer?”

I cringed at her loud tone. “Already got clubs,” I said softly. Nonchalantly, my eyes trailed across the display window. A silver ladder with women’s golf shoes perched on each step filled the corner, and my eyes beaded on a white leather pair with soft pink piping around the laces. I sucked back a breath through my lips. Those shoes matched my golf glove. I just had to take a closer look.

“Freddy...” Mom’s voice ratcheted up another notch. “A pair of shorts is why we’re here, remember?”

“Yep, I know. But I just need to look at something for a second. Please? I’ll be back outside before you know it. Promise.”

Mom’s lips sputtered. “Okay, okay. But only a minute. I’ll be in here.” She nodded toward the Gap. “I’ll start looking for the clothes on sale, but if you’re not inside this store in five minutes, we’re leaving. Anyway, I think I’m getting a migraine.” Her eyebrows pulled together.

I nodded. “I’ll only be gone a minute.” I glanced again at the golf shoes, half expecting giant hands to swoop them off the display before my very eyes.

“How much money you got?”

“Probably enough for two pairs of shorts,” I said. “That’s all I need.”

“Good, because I sure as hell didn’t bring any.” Mom’s shoulders shrugged, and then she turned for the other store. “At least it’s less crowded in here,” she muttered as she walked away. “And there’s a chair!”

I spun on the balls of my feet and darted inside the golf store while Mom trotted off to nab the chair. I rushed to the shoe section to find the white pair with the pink piping. My eyes landed on the price tag: $110.

I sighed.

It might as well have said one million.

My fingers brushed the soft laces. I’d need a few more weekends at the Wild Horse Restaurant to afford them, if the chef allowed me back at all.

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.