Hooked. Liz Fichera

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СКАЧАТЬ it look authentic. The homemade putting green wasn’t exactly regulation, but it was better than nothing, and he had been so excited to surprise me with it for my birthday last year. The moon, along with the kitchen light over the sink from inside the house, provided just enough of a glow over six of the twelve holes.

      “Hey, Freddy,” Trevor said after parking his bike next to the van. The Labs trailed on either side of him, panting excitedly.

      “Hey, yourself,” I said after sinking another putt, this time into a hole near the edge that I couldn’t see. I liked the hollow sound the ball made every time it found the edges of the cup. It was strangely comforting. And predictable. The ball swirled against the plastic like it was trapped before resting at the bottom with a satisfied clunk. “How was work?”

      “Oh, you know, same shit, different day.” Trevor’s usual reply.

      I smirked at his answer. I should be used to it by now, but a small part of me wished that once, just once, he’d surprise me with something different. Something better. Something that could take my breath away.

      Trevor worked at a gas station in Casa Grande off the Interstate doing minor car repairs like fixing tires and replacing batteries when he wasn’t making change for the never-ending cigarette and liquor purchases. His long fingers ran through the sides of his thick black hair as he waited for me to pull back my club for the next putt. His hair hung past his shoulders, all knotty and wild from his ride. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d have to say that he looked like one scary Indian.

      “When are you going to quit that job?” I looked up at him.

      “And do what?” He chuckled but not in a sarcastic way.

      “I don’t know,” I said, purposely casual. I struck the ball and looked at him. “Go back to school, maybe?” I walked over to the cup and reached inside for the ball. “You always said you wanted to open up a repair shop one day.”

      “Don’t need school for that, Fred.” He sat on the edge of the carpet, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

      “Wouldn’t hurt.”

      “Yeah, well, when I win the lottery, I’ll let you know.” He looked up at the kitchen window and lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.”

      I swallowed. I worked hard not to picture the future at all. I couldn’t imagine working at the gas station, the restaurant or even the Indian casino for the rest of my life. Whenever I did, it felt like someone pressing on my chest with both hands.

      “Mom?” Trevor said.

      “Asleep. Finally.” I laid down my putter and sat next to him, pulling my bare knees into my chest. “So’s Dad. I think.”

      “Bad night?”

      My shoulders shrugged. “Same shit, different day,” I said, regretting it instantly. I hated swearing. My chin dropped to my knees.

      “You don’t mean that, Fred.” Trevor placed his arm across my shoulder and pulled me closer. “You really don’t want to let yourself get angry. Because once you start, it’s hard to stop.” His voice turned softer. “Look what it’s done to Mom.”

      My eyes closed as I sank deeper into the corner of his arm. His shirt smelled like grease and cigarette smoke, but I didn’t care.

      “And just remember,” Trevor said, “it hasn’t always been like this.”

      “It’s getting harder to remember when it wasn’t.”

      He pulled me closer, and together we stared up at the stars. There were so many filling the sky that there didn’t seem to be enough room for the moon.

      “Are you staying home tonight?” I lowered my chin to my knees again. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, and both Labs lifted their snouts from their paws long enough to grumble.

      “Nope.” He stroked the smooth coat of the black Lab next to him. “Just gonna go inside for a quick shower and change.”

      “Where to tonight?”

      “Not sure. There’s a party in the Estrellas—”

      “Take me?” I interrupted, sucking in a breath.

      “No way. You’re too young.” His stock answer. In Trevor’s mind, I was perpetually ten years old.

      “Am not.” I frowned. “I’m sixteen.”

      “Forget it, Fred. You can’t come. This crowd isn’t for you.”

      “What crowd is?”

      “Not this one.”

      “Killjoy.” I lightly punched my fist against his chest. I never went to parties. I never got invited to any either. It was depressing, really. “Will you come home after that?” My tone remained hopeful.

      “I’ll probably head over to Ruth’s. Haven’t seen her in a couple of days.” Ruth was Trevor’s girlfriend. They’d been dating for almost a year, but Ruth lived on the other side of the Rez near Coolidge. Between Trevor’s job and Ruth’s night shifts at the Walmart, they didn’t see each other very often.

      “How about tomorrow?” My eyebrows pulled together as I felt the weekend sinking away. I was probably the only teenager in all of Phoenix who counted down the hours till Monday mornings.

      Trevor’s eyes squinted into the darkness. “Not sure.”

      “Oh.” I swallowed back more disappointment. Home was always way more fun when Trevor was around. The air inside the trailer felt lighter. Mom didn’t snap at everyone as much, probably because Trevor was always making her laugh, knowing exactly when to lift her spirits right before they threatened to nosedive.

      “Don’t worry, Freddy. I’ll be back Sunday. Monday at the latest.”

      With a heavy sigh, I lifted off his shoulder and padded across the carpet to where I’d left my putter and golf ball. I placed the ball about six feet away from the nearest cup. I could barely see the hole, but I gripped the club handle, right hand over left, and pulled back the club just enough before hearing the satisfying plunk inside the cup. I smiled when it hit bottom.

      “Good shot,” Trevor said, standing. “Hey. How’d it go today with Lannon?” Trevor was the first person I’d told about the coach’s offer to join the team, even before Dad. But I hadn’t told Trevor the whole story.

      “He asked me to be on the team,” I said with mock disinterest. “And I accepted.”

      “No kidding?” His teeth glistened in the moonlight. “That’s great. Congrats.”

      “There’s just one catch,” I said as I sank another putt.

      “What?” He laughed. “He didn’t dig your groovilicious golf bag or something?”

      I ignored his jab. “I’m on the team.” I paused, making him wait. “It’s just that I’m officially on the boys’ varsity team.”

      Silence.

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