Hooked. Liz Fichera

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      Chapter 7

      Fred

      I SAT ON the curb next to the gym after practice, pretending to be engrossed in The Great Gatsby perched on my knees as I waited for Dad. Too bad F. Scott Fitzgerald never knew what it was like to be the lone girl on an all-boys’ golf team.

      My backpack was propped against the front of my bare legs. The sun began to set over the Estrella Mountains, painting orange-yellow streaks across the sky. The campus was almost peaceful.

      Almost.

      All of my new teammates raced out of the school parking lot like it was the last day before summer vacation. They peeled across the pavement in SUVs, convertibles, sedans, a pickup—one even drove a Hummer—each one newer and shinier than the next.

      No one offered me a ride, not that I expected one, especially when they’d behaved like I had some kind of incurable skin disease. No matter. I’d be mortified if any of them drove me all the way home. Better to let them believe I lived in a tepee with no running water or television. That was probably what they thought. That was probably what they’d all like to think.

      Ryan Berenger was the last one to leave. He made a show of racing through the parking lot in a shiny silver Jeep Cherokee. His tires never stopped screeching.

      Someone sat in his passenger seat, but I couldn’t see who it was. I kept my head lowered toward my book and watched Ryan through the safety of my eyelashes. The radio blared through his open windows, and yet he scowled through the windshield.

      What a waste. Why would someone with his own car need to scowl? And why was he always staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking? He’d kept glancing over at me during practice. It was...unsettling.

      After Ryan drove away, I exhaled and closed my book.

      “Hey, Fred.”

      I turned, startled. It was Sam. “What are you doing here?”

      Sam walked toward me, his backpack threaded over his shoulder. “Stayed late to work in the lab on a project. Mind if I catch a ride home with you?”

      I smiled at him. “’Course not.”

      And that’s when Dad drove through the front entrance. I heard the familiar chug of the van’s engine a block away. Perfect timing.

      I looked at him through his open window and smiled tiredly. Gratefully. It was so nice to see Dad’s face.

      “How’s my daughter?” he said as he pulled the van alongside the curb.

      “Fine, Dad,” I said with a tinge of forced brightness.

      “Hey, Sam.”

      “Hey, Mr. Oday.” Sam grabbed my backpack from the sidewalk. This time he didn’t ask, and I was too tired to protest.

      Sam followed me as I opened the rear door. With one hand, he tossed my pack into the back of the van. I placed a purple Lone Butte High School golf shirt from Coach Lannon on top of it. It was a men’s large, but it had been the only shirt left. I was supposed to wear it to all the tournaments. I’d have to hem the sleeves a couple inches before Thursday’s tournament. Otherwise the shirt would hang past my elbows.

      Dad’s brow continued to furrow as he watched me over the front seat. “Really?” he said. His tone was doubtful. “Everything’s really fine?”

      I slammed the door, because that was the only way it closed. Then I climbed into the passenger seat, anxious for once to get home. Sam slipped into the seat behind mine. “Really,” I said, still a bit forced.

      “How was practice?”

      “Fine.”

      He chortled. “That’s it? That’s all you got for me? Fine?”

      I nodded and looked out the passenger window as he pressed the accelerator and proceeded to the exit.

      “How’d you do?”

      “I did okay.”

      “Just okay?” His eyes widened. “Look, are you going to tell me how practice went or not? I’ve been worried all day.”

      I dragged my tongue across my lips, then turned to him and smirked. “It was about what I expected.”

      “And what did you expect?”

      I sank lower in my seat as we approached the stoplight, hiding the bottom half of my face below the dashboard. Ryan Berenger’s silver Jeep sat at the red light only two cars ahead of us.

      Dang it!

      I swallowed again, not taking my gaze off the back of his vehicle. There was a gold Ahwatukee Golf Club Member sticker on his rear window.

      “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.