Hooked. Liz Fichera

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