Hooked. Liz Fichera

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?”