Hooked. Liz Fichera

a huge surprise.

      Riley, meanwhile, tried to stifle nervous laughter by biting down on her linen napkin.

      All in all, epic! Why hadn’t I stayed home? Pretended to have the flu or something?

      “Can we get some towels over here?” Dad called to the waitress on the other side of the room, the one who seemed to be in charge of our table. He waved his hand over his head. The woman darted over to us.

      “Certainly, sir.” She began pointing to other bussers for water, napkins and possibly even another mesquite-honey mousse cake. “My apologies,” she added. “We’ll take care of it.”

      I would have told her not to bother, but I was too preoccupied with the wet stain on my pants and the girl who’d caused it. She kept trying to blotch it with a napkin.

      My breathing was still pretty heavy. “Just...just leave it alone,” I stammered, sitting back down in the chair, which someone had picked up for me. “You’ve done enough already,” I said as she took a step back, the stained napkin still clutched in one hand, poised and ready.

      “Fred?” the waitress called from behind the girl. “We need you in the kitchen. Now.”

      I looked around, blinking, waiting for a quarterback with a wide neck to appear with an armful of heavy trays. Instead, I watched as the girl darted for the kitchen, her chin buried in her neck. I blinked again, my gaze finally clearing. The last thing I saw was her braid, swinging across her back like a windshield wiper. It almost reached the teal-blue sash wrapped twice around her waist.

      Brighter than the sky, it was the only color I remembered all day.

      “I’m disappointed in your behavior, son,” Dad whispered behind his hand.

      I swallowed, pulling my eyes away from the blue sash. “It wasn’t my fault.”

      Mom’s nostrils flared. “I’m going to make another appointment for you with Dr. Wagner.” But she directed it to Dad, like I wasn’t even there. Done deal.

      My head dropped back, and I sighed. “I don’t need to see Dr. Wagner.” My temples began to pound louder. I’d vowed last time that I wasn’t going back to our quack family therapist. It was a complete waste of time. All he did was talk in circles.

      “I’ll be the judge of that, Ryan,” Mom said. Mom thought everything could be cured by doctor visits and enough medication.

      “Are we done yet?” I snapped. My feet fidgeted like I was readying to run a marathon.

      “Yes, we are.” Dad’s lips pressed together again. “And thank you for ruining your mother’s birthday. I hope you’re satisfied.”

      I stared back at him, speechless. My life totally sucked.

      Chapter 3

      Fred

      “I TALKED TO a falcon sitting on top of a paloverde tree this morning.”

      “Where?” I asked while Dad tinkered underneath the van. I sat on a towel in the dirt beside him, handing him tools. It was Sunday, but that didn’t mean Dad got a day off. The van leaked again, bluish-black oil as gooey as tree sap. That couldn’t be good.

      “The one out by the road. The same one you and Trevor used to climb when you were kids. Remember?” He paused to bang something against the van’s metal frame. “Hand me the silver wrench, will you?”

      “Yeah, I remember,” I said, handing him a tool that held more rust than silver. I squinted against the morning sun toward the tree, which stood not far from the road that ran alongside our trailer. Trevor had carved our initials into one thick green branch, but the tree had grown so high that I could barely see the letters anymore. “How’d you know it was a falcon? Maybe it was just a crow,” I said as if that would make the sighting less significant.

      Dad chuckled. “I think I know a falcon when I see one, Fred. Aren’t many out here, you know.”

      I lowered my chin to my knees, considering this. A falcon could mean something. A falcon could be another sign. My life was full of them lately. It was one thing to see a falcon; it was quite another to understand its meaning. “What’d it look like?” I asked, still a little doubtful. The Rez was covered with birds—mourning doves, quail, crows as chubby as cats, even hawks and the occasional horned owl. But falcons? I hadn’t spotted too many, at least not around the trailer.

      Dad yanked on the frame as he spoke, and it sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth. “Pretty thing. White breast, notched beak, gold-and-brown feathers that look like a checkerboard.” He stopped to suck back a breath before giving the van another whack. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

      “How’d you know it was a she?”

      He chuckled again. “Thought I heard some of her chicks chirping nearby.”

      “Well, what’d she tell you? Did she happen to mention when I’m going to get a new pair of golf shoes?” I said glumly. After last night’s restaurant fiasco, I figured that I was permanently banned from any kitchen within a hundred miles. I wouldn’t be asked back, not unless the chef got desperate. And that meant an end to my source of cash. The Rez wasn’t exactly brimming with teen job opportunities.

      It was just that I was nervous about Monday’s practice, my very first with the team, especially after what Trevor had said about needing to watch my back. I’d never had that worry before. Usually it was the complete opposite. Was life easier when nobody noticed you?

      Like an idiot, I’d dropped things all night—silverware, napkins, bread, rolls—and then finally the dessert right into the boy’s lap. That had been the last straw, though it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. I’d recognized Ryan Berenger from English class at school, although I’d bet my parents’ trailer that he hadn’t recognized me, not that he would. Boys like Ryan and girls like me moved in different circles—well, I was pretty sure he had a circle; I simply moved.

      I couldn’t understand why he’d sat and glared at everybody all night, even his own family. He’d acted as though he would have preferred to jump through one of the restaurant windows than enjoy a dinner with them. And his parents seemed so lovely, so perfect. They’d looked like the perfect family, out enjoying a perfect dinner on a perfectly good Saturday night. How nice would it be to have your parents treat you to a fancy restaurant with a special birthday cake and everything? Where’s the misery in that? Clearly Ryan Berenger was deranged.

      Dad slid out from underneath the van on a piece of dusty cardboard. “No, the falcon didn’t say anything about shoes.” He sat up and brushed his hands together as if he was trying to wipe away my sarcasm. His hands were coated with dirt and grease that never seemed to wash away, no matter how much he scrubbed. “The falcon told me about something better than a pair of new golf shoes.”

      I could manage only a half grin. “Better?” Dad always told me old stories and Indian legends when he thought I needed a bit of cheering up. After last night, he’d be right.

      But I needed more than cheering up—I needed a decent pair of leather golf shoes, with real cleats, that didn’t pinch my toes when I walked. Was that asking the ancestors for too much?

      “The falcon is a clear sign of new beginnings and adventure, but you already know that, don’t you?”

      I nodded, the smirk disappearing from my face.

      “With a flutter from her wings on the tree’s tallest branch, she asked me to remind you that yours is just getting started,” he said without a trace of humor in his voice. “The falcon said, ‘Tell the child born to the mother of Akimel O’odham and father of the Pee-Posh that her adventure has just begun. She should not fear the journey.’” He stood, dusted off the front of his overalls with a few pats and then walked to the driver’s door of the van.

      I watched him, saying nothing, because what could I say? I would never