Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (15 page)

Chapter 26
Ryan

JUST BEFORE I
DROVE AWAY FROM
the golf course, I texted Seth. I didn’t want to call
his cell because I knew what he would say, and I didn’t want to hear it. I’d
deal with it later.

Dude.
Cant make it 2night. Sry. 2hungover. TTYL.

It was probably the first time in two years that we wouldn’t
hang on a Saturday night. I knew Seth would be pissed, but I figured Gwyneth for
full-blown furious. Unfortunately I’d have to talk to her at some point, but I
didn’t expect her to understand either. I wimped out and texted her, too:

G.
Sry. Have 2 do somethng with the fam 2night. Later. TTY Mon.

Lame? Totally. But my head was buzzing. I couldn’t wait to
see Fred. There was something about her that pulled at me. I was done fighting
it.

Could another person make you feel so different? Better?

When I got home from the golf course, I was in such a good
mood that I wasn’t even upset that Dad was sitting in front of the television
watching a football game with a beer in his hand and wearing the faded
University of Arizona sweatshirt he loved so much. Usually when Mom was away for
a weekend, Dad prepared for a trial 24/7. Those were the best weekends ever.

“Hey, Ryan!” Dad called out in a playful voice that made me
wince. Dad’s arm draped across the couch. “Wildcats are playing the Sun Devils!
It’s the biggest game of the year!”

“I know, Dad.” I moved to the refrigerator for a soda. I
couldn’t match his enthusiasm for the game. It wasn’t that I didn’t like
football. It was just that Dad would start listing all the clubs and
fraternities he’d want me to join when I went—if I went—to the U of A.

“Come watch the game with me!” He raised his beer can like
we were frat brothers.

“Can’t,” I lied.

“Can’t watch your future alma mater with your old man?” Dad
looked stunned, as if we watched games together all the time. There’d been a
time when that was all I’d wanted—just a fraction of his attention.

“Sorry,” I said from behind the refrigerator door. “Got
plans. Got to get ready.”

Dad shot up from his leather lounge chair, the springs
creaking from his weight. He swaggered into the kitchen. “Well, I’m sorry, too.
Sorry I couldn’t make it for golf today.”

I guessed
sorry
was better than nothing. If only it
meant something.

“S’okay, Dad,” I said without looking at him. I really
wished he’d stop apologizing. Missed tee times had become the norm. And
everything was cool, as long as his secretary kept calling the clubhouse every
week to make my Saturday tee times on Dad’s behalf. I probably heard more from
her than Dad.

“So, did you play with Seth?” He grinned like he already
knew the answer.

I turned, considering his question. “Nope,” I said,
purposely evasive. It seemed wrong sharing anything with him about Fred. But it
sure was tempting.

Dad’s eyebrows lifted. “Henry?”

“Nope,” I said again, popping the cap to a Coke. I waited
for the fizz to stop and then slurped the foam, hoping he’d go away.

But Dad wouldn’t let it go. He chuckled. “Well, are you
going to tell me?” He leaned against the counter when his tone turned noticeably
sharper. “Or do we keep playing word games?”

“Fred Oday,” I said simply. It felt good to say her name. “I
played with Fred Oday.”

Dad made a face as if he’d heard me wrong. “The Indian
girl?”

I cringed. “Yeah.”

“Humph.” His brow furrowed. “You really think that’s a good
idea?”

“What do you mean?” I said, but then wished I hadn’t.

Dad shook his head like the answer was obvious. “You know,
playing with a girl and all.”

“You mean an Indian girl? Or just a girl?” Dad knew that I’d
played with Gwyneth once, and that had been perfectly fine with him. Dad, in
fact, had encouraged it, paying for her tee time and everything. I wondered what
would happen if I told him that he’d paid for Fred’s tee time today, too?
Gwyneth had been a golf-course nightmare and had never stopped complaining about
how hard it was to hold a club, how her arms ached, how hot the air felt. She’d
complained about everything. I hadn’t been able to wait for that afternoon to
end.

Dad’s lips pursed. “That’s not what I mean, not exactly.” He
braced himself against the counter. “I just mean it might be better if you play
with your friends on the team—Seth, Troy, Henry and the others. They’d probably
give you a better game. Better practice.”

“Dad, Fred Oday
is
the best player on the team. We could go to
the state championship because of her. Don’t you get it? You should see her
drive a ball,” I said, knowing full well that would never happen.

But Dad rolled his eyes like I was a little bit crazy. “Just
because she played well in one tournament does not a champion make,” he clipped
in his best know-it-all, professorial voice.

I bristled. “I’ve got to get up to my room.” I swallowed
back building anger.

“Sure, sure.” Dad lifted his palms. He must have seen the
aggravation in my eyes. “Whatever you need to do. I just thought we could spend
some time together. Talk. Catch up. That kind of stuff.”

I swallowed, hard. “Sorry, Dad. I already made plans. It is
Saturday night, you know.” I began to walk away.

“S’okay. Bad timing. My mistake.” Dad walked after me toward
the stairwell. “Well, what do you have going that’s so important?”

“I’m meeting Fred.”

Dad crunched the beer can in his hand.

I forgave myself for grinning just a little.

Chapter 27
Fred

“WHERE ARE YOU
going?” Trevor asked in the kitchen where he was watching a television
propped on a dictionary next to the refrigerator. The antenna had a wadded ball
of tinfoil wrapped around the tip.

“Shh!” I said, my eyes darting between Trevor and our parents’
bedroom. Their bedroom shared the wall with the kitchen, and the wall was as
thin as cotton. “You’ll wake Dad.” I was drying dishes from the sink.

Trevor chuckled. “Doubt that. He didn’t even eat dinner, he was
so tired.”

“I know. I put chili and fry bread in plastic wrap for
later.”

Trevor wiggled his fingers at me, fanlike. “So, Freddy. Come
on. Tell me where you’re going. What’s on your social calendar for this
evening?” Obviously he could tell from my clothes that I wasn’t going to be
spending the next three hours in my bedroom. He’d probably also noticed that I’d
used a little of Mom’s mascara and some lip gloss. Totally not my usual Saturday
night attire.

“I’m meeting some friends.”

“Who?”

I didn’t answer.

“Rez kids?”

“Yeah,” I lied. If I told him the truth, he’d freak and get all
annoyingly older-brotherly protective.

“Well, who?”

I sniffed, avoiding his gaze. “Yolanda, Kelly, Pete and
Sam.”

Trevor grinned. “Big Sam? I think he has a crush on you.”

I avoided his gaze. “You need to stop encouraging him. Sam and
I are just friends.” I needed to talk to Sam, too. I just needed to find the
right time, the right words. Why had I kissed him? Why did he have to be so
kind?

Trevor laughed. “I think every girl on the Rez over the age of
thirteen has a full-on crush on him. Why don’t you?”

“’Cause I’ve known him since kindergarten.”

“So?”

“So?”
My eyes blazed at him. “So I
was there when he spit up milk during class in the first grade. I remember when
he cried in the third grade after Yolanda pulled his pants down when he hung
from the monkey bars. That’s why. For starters.”

Trevor laughed, harder.

“He’ll never be anything more to me than a friend.” I paused.
“And that’s another thing. You can tell him to stop following me around at
school like some kind of bodyguard.”

Trevor’s lips sputtered. “I have no idea what you’re talking
about.”

“Sure you do.”

He shook his head. “Sure don’t.”

I exhaled loudly before reaching for my jacket on the kitchen
chair. I didn’t know whether to believe him, but I didn’t care. I was more
concerned with leaving the house on time.

“At least tell me where you’re going, in case Dad wakes up and
asks.”

My nose had to be growing a mile long. “By the Estrellas,” I
lied again, avoiding his gaze as I turned back toward the refrigerator and
pretended to look for something else to eat even though I was still full from
the cheeseburger at lunch.

“A bonfire?”

I pirouetted around and forced a smile. “Something like
that.”

“Want a ride on the bike?”

“Nope. I’m going to walk.” Fortunately it wasn’t a long walk to
the Estrellas or to the end of Pecos Road. A mile at most in the desert. Trevor
and I had done it so many times that we could do it with our eyes closed on a
moonless night if we had to. We knew our corner of the Rez better than anybody.
We knew which washes raged during the monsoons and all of the flat dirt paths
that snaked around the endless sage and saguaro. Besides, with the stars and a
half-moon to light the way, it’d be like walking underneath strings of Christmas
lights.

“Okay, but don’t forget the flashlight,” Trevor said in his
big-brother voice. “Just in case.”

“I won’t,” I said as my shoulders began to loosen.

Finally.

I’d survived the evening’s second hurdle. The first had been
learning that Trevor would be staying home till midnight and could entertain Mom
if necessary before he had to work his night shift at the gas station.
Fortunately, Mom would be too tired to notice me missing and too drunk within
thirty minutes of arriving home to care. And Trevor would keep her occupied
outside long enough so Dad could sleep.

My eyes darted to the clock on the green stove. The second hand
ticked so loudly that I heard it over the television. “I better get going,” I
told Trevor. “There are leftovers if you get hungry.”

“Thanks, Freddy,” he said before turning back to some old rerun
with motorcycle cops. “Say hi to Sam.” His eyebrows wiggled as he got up to slap
the television on its side when the screen turned fuzzy.

Relieved, I practically skipped to the front door, pushed open
the screen and bounced out the door into the cool desert.

I couldn’t be late.

I had no idea why I’d agreed to meet Ryan at eight o’clock. I
really should have my head examined.

Why would someone like Ryan Berenger want to spend time with
someone like me? Alone?

He should be spending Saturday nights with his girlfriend. Not
girls named Fred who lived on the other side of Pecos Road.

It was just that we’d had such a nice time on the golf course.
Ryan was so surprisingly funny and attentive. At least, he had been when I’d
been able to focus. Half the time, I’d barely heard a word he’d said, even when
he’d talked about golf and last year’s tournaments. I should have been
concentrating, especially when he’d told me about the other golf teams, the best
and worst players, the tricky courses on the tournament schedule, filing away
all information for future use. Instead, I’d been too busy pretending
not
to be studying the back of his head, his jaw, the
way his shoulders rippled when he swung his club, his perfect smile and his
eyes, the color of a morning sky.

Was there more to Ryan Berenger than I’d realized?

Once in a while I’d caught him studying me, too, but he’d
quickly lowered his chin and pretended to fiddle with the rubber grip on his
club or the silver button on his glove, biting back a nervous smile. It had been
kind of sweet. Those had been the silent moments when my knees had almost
buckled. Other than Sam Tracy, I’d never had a boy’s eyes sweep over me before.
Like he wanted me. Like I was special. The difference between Ryan and Sam was
that I wanted Ryan, even though there were a hundred perfectly logical and sane
reasons not to.

My feet barely touched the ground. I felt as if I could fly all
the way to the end of Pecos Road.

Chapter 28
Ryan

I RACED DOWN PECOS
ROAD WITH
the windows down. The radio was blaring, but the dry wind
whipping through the Jeep’s plastic flaps drowned out most of it.

My foot pressed harder on the accelerator the farther I got
from Phoenix, and I passed only a handful of cars traveling in the opposite
direction. The air even tasted lighter. I caught my smile in the rearview
mirror.

“You’re a complete idiot,” I said aloud, laughing to
myself.

When I reached the end of Pecos Road, the only thing that
separated my front bumper from the Gila River Indian Reservation was decades-old
rusted barbed wire. I shut off the engine, even the radio, and the world grew so
still that silence became its own sound.

I left the headlights on, though. They shone across the
desert over endless saguaro and paloverde, casting frozen shadows. If you didn’t
know you were staring straight into the desert, you might have thought you were
gazing over the heads of giant soldiers. On Mars.

I reached for the roof bar and pulled myself out of the
Jeep. My shoes slapped onto the pavement.

Then I walked toward the headlights, my footsteps filling
the air. I leaned against the hood, waiting, staring out into the desert. Just
as I pushed back, my breath hitched. Fred walked out of the darkness into the
headlights’ yellow path like she’d just beamed down from a cloud. I’d never even
heard her approach.

“I don’t believe it.” I lifted off the hood, mesmerized.

“I told you I’d be here,” Fred said, switching off her
flashlight, squinting against the headlights as she crossed from the desert onto
Pecos Road. The waist-high barbed-wire fence that separated us had been trampled
down in most places. She found a low spot to cross over.

I met her at the first opening in the wire and extended a
hand.

“I saw your headlights from the wash. Didn’t even need my
flashlight. Nice assist.” She took my hand, only for a moment, and then hopped
over the broken wire.

“You’re welcome,” I said as her hair and eyes blended
against the darkness. “Fred?” I swallowed.

“Yes?” She looked up at me, and my knees wobbled.

“You are officially the coolest girl I know. I don’t know a
single girl who’d walk across the desert in the dark. By herself.”

Fred chuckled. “I’ve done it lots of times.” Her tone was
far from boastful. I was learning to like that about her. A lot.

“Really?” I said.

“With my brother,” she added quickly. “Usually.”

“You know, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to come pick you
up at your house.”

She shook her head and placed her flashlight on the hood of
the Jeep. “No.” She rubbed her hands together as if she was cold. “This is way
better.”

“What’s wrong with coming to your house?” It tugged at my
gut that maybe I embarrassed her or something. Did her parents hate white
guys?

Another shoulder shrug, and she looked behind her into the
desert. “This is just easier.”

“But what about animals?”

She surprised me again. “The coyotes are skittish. And the
jackrabbits don’t bother anybody.”

“Rattlesnakes?”

“If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Bobcats, then. You hear about attacks on the news.
Sometimes.”

“That’s rare. Besides, they stick to the high rocks.” She
nodded over her shoulders at the Estrellas, but it was too dark to see their
jagged peaks.

I chuckled, still watching her. “Well, that’s good to know.
Are you cold?” I said as her hands crossed over her chest. She wore a bright
white T-shirt underneath a blue windbreaker.

But Fred shook her head.

“Thirsty, then?”

“Yeah,” she said carefully, “a little.”

I reached into the backseat of the Jeep and pulled out a
cooler big enough for a six-pack.

Fred peered over my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. It’s just root beer. You liked it today,
remember?”

Fred’s smirk turned into a tiny smile. She nudged me with
her shoulder. “Yeah.”

I took out one can from the cooler and popped the top.
“Here. Drink this.”

“Thanks.” As Fred took the can, a green glow shimmered into
the sky about a block down the road. It looked like the glow from a dashboard or
maybe a dome light in the front seat of someone’s car. “Who’s that?” she
whispered.

I looked over my shoulder. The truck must have just pulled
off the road. “Don’t know. But people come here to park all the time.”

“Park?”

I paused, reading her face. She really didn’t know. “You
know, Fred.” My mouth pulled back, embarrassed.
“Park.”

“You mean, like car trouble?”

I cough-chuckled and then snapped open another can of root
beer. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean I think they just want to be alone.”
This time I tilted my head, waiting for her to catch on. Seriously, was she that
naive? It was curiously refreshing.

After a few more seconds, Fred’s lips pulled back, and I had
the sudden, incredibly impulsive urge to kiss them.

“Oh,” she exhaled. “Right. I get it.”

I laughed with her and tried to blink away the thought of
kissing her. But it was never too far from the center of my brain.

“Come on.” I pulled on her elbow. “Let’s sit in the car. I
brought a few CDs. Thought maybe you might want to listen to some music.”

“Sure. Music would be good.”

But when we sat in the Jeep, I forgot all about putting in a
CD. I was too busy thinking that my thigh was an inch from hers. My shoulder was
brushing up against hers.

“Fred, mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She turned toward me, and her knee pointed at my
thigh, making breathing a little difficult.

I blinked and tried to erase all thoughts of placing my hand
on her leg and pulling her closer. “I know this sounds lame, but I think we’ve
met before.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “We had freshman English
together.”

I smiled. “No. Not that. I’m talking a long time ago.”

“How long?”

“Fourth grade.”

“But I went to school on the Rez—”

“I know. But don’t you remember when a busload of white kids
from Kyrene Elementary invaded your school?”

In the glow of the dashboard, Fred smiled. She nodded,
once.

“And we all sat around in a big circle while this old dude
with braids—”

“George Trueblood,” she corrected me.

“Yeah, well, he told us stories for what seemed like a
million hours. My legs almost fell off from sitting so long.”

“You didn’t like the stories?”

I paused. “I liked the stories. But I think I was too busy
trying to get your attention to care.”

Fred’s chin pulled back. “Me? How’d you know it was me?”

“Did you wear ponytails back then?”

“Yeah, but so did just about every girl in my school.
Yolanda, Kelly, Wil—”

I lifted my hand to her mouth. “But did you have a space
between your teeth?”

Fred laughed, and I felt her breath against my palm. “Yeah.
I used to, but my teeth grew together, thank god. But are you so sure it was
me?”

“I think so.” My hand fell to her leg. “It had to be. You
smiled right back at me. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember the bus. I remember a bunch of kids. But we got
a busload every year. I think it was to try to show the kids on the other side
of Pecos Road how the Indian kids lived.” Her nose wrinkled, and I wanted to
lean over, badly, and kiss the tip of it. “We really didn’t like those field
trips very much.”

I pulled back. “Why?”

“It felt like being an animal in a zoo or something. I mean,
we had school, ate, dressed, lived, just like everybody else, except we lived on
a reservation. We never really understood the attraction. Did you all think we
lived in tepees or something?”

“Sort of.”

“Figures.” Fred chuckled.

“How come you never visited our school?”

“Field trips cost money.”

“Well, if the reservation is no big deal, how come you won’t
let me come pick you up at your house?”

Fred pulled her long leg down and slowly swiveled forward,
her gaze fixed on the dashboard. “It’s kind of complicated at my house at the
moment.”

I put my arm along the top of the seat, wanting desperately
to reach for a strand of her hair. And wanting her to turn and face me again.
“Join the club.”

“You, too?”

“Totally.”

“Your mom?”

“My dad,” I said, feeling a heaviness return to my
shoulders, despite the nearness to Fred. I almost wished I hadn’t said anything.
But then I heard myself say, “It’s like my dad and I don’t know how to talk to
each other anymore. And when we do, it’s total crap.”

“But your family seemed so perfect at the restaurant—”
Fred’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oops.”

I bit back my grin. “So busted.”

“I am?” She cringed behind her hands.

“Totally.”

“How long have you known?”

“I remembered you from the fourth grade. I think I could
remember you after you dropped a piece of cake in my lap.”

Her clasped hands fell to her lap. She turned again in her
seat, her kneecap touching my thigh, and my heart began to beat faster again. My
fingertips brushed her silky hair. “Sorry about the pants,” she said.

My grin spread, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Finally, Fred. I was wondering when you were going to tell me. I can’t believe
you waited this long. I’m impressed!”

Fred smirked.

“The cake in my lap was the highlight of the dinner. Did you
do it on purpose?”

“No!” She laughed.

“Sure you didn’t,” I teased.

“When did you realize it was me? I really thought you didn’t
recognize me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I realized it the next time I saw
you in English.”

“Why were you in such a bad mood that night? You were
practically breathing fire. I should have spilled water on you. Was the food
that bad?”

My smile faded. “You don’t know my parents.”

Fred leaned closer, placing her hand on my thigh, and my
body temperature began to explode. “My dad always says there’s nothing that
can’t be fixed.”

I inhaled, trying very hard to slow my heartbeat. “He’s
never met my family.”

“If it makes you feel any better, mine’s a piece of work,
too.”

“Not perfect?”

“Hardly.”

“Then I guess we do have something in common.” In a weird
way, I got the feeling she was happy to hear that, even if we were comparing
family dysfunction.

The Jeep grew silent. I was pretty sure Fred had stopped
breathing. I knew I had.

Carefully, I edged closer, just an inch at first and then
another, till finally my arm was completely wrapped around her, and her head was
nestled against my shoulder. It felt so good, the closeness. I had wanted to
reach for her, to touch her, all day.

Her breath warmed my neck. Slowly, I lowered my chin so that
it brushed the top of her head. My eyes closed as I listened to our breathing,
her heartbeat and all the corny things that scrolled through my head. I wanted
to say something lame, like how her hair smelled as sweet as the desert, because
that was how she made me feel—alive and special. Even when I didn’t deserve
it.

I’d never said anything like that to a girl before. “Fred.”
My voice cracked from too much silence.

But Fred didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her face upward
to meet mine. The tips of our noses brushed against each other. Hers was warm
and soft. Like her hair. Like everything about her.

I took a chance and lowered my mouth toward hers till we
were a breath apart.

She didn’t pull away.

Then I very gently pressed my lips against hers. Soft and
curious at first. Then I pressed harder.

When Fred kissed me back, my universe cracked open.

The other parked car screeched in reverse across the
pavement, its headlights flashing across ours, before racing in the opposite
direction.

We barely noticed as our kiss grew deeper.