Hooked (Harlequin Teen) (24 page)

Chapter 44
Ryan

I SQUINTED INTO
THE DARKNESS UNTIL
Fred’s footsteps disappeared. I called after her
anyway, my hands cupped around my mouth. “Fred!”

No answer.

Then I dragged both hands through my hair, gripping the
sides of my head, as I waited for my heartbeat to slow. When I turned back to
Seth, my rage returned. I stormed toward his truck, breathing so hard that I
sucked in dirt that still floated in the air.

Seth grinned back at me, like everyone was out for a ripper.
He’d played some dumb, crazy pranks before, even majorly stupid stuff, but
nothing compared to this. I couldn’t even put the right word on it, but it made
my insides burn.

“Why’d you do that, Seth? What is wrong with you? Are you
insane?”

Seth laughed.

I reached inside his window and grabbed his collar, wrapping
it around my fist. “I could kill you!”

Riley jumped out of the Jeep. “Stop it! Ryan, stop!”

I didn’t hear her until she wrapped her arms around my waist
and pulled at my belt loops. I stepped back reluctantly, with Riley’s arms
twisting and pulling my body.

“What’s your problem? Why are you going after
me?
” Seth
yelled back. “I was only trying to help
you.
”

I shrugged off Riley’s hands because I was seriously
thinking about punching Seth again. My fists clenched. “
Help
me?” I stepped closer to
the window, screaming. “I don’t need your help. I never once asked for it. And
this isn’t even about me, Seth. You know it. It’s all about you. It’s always all
about you.”

“Me?” Seth glared at me. “Are you crazy? You were seriously
going to take the hit for Pocahontas?” He paused. “You weren’t supposed to get
disqualified at the tournament.
She
was!”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I hear every word,” Seth says.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And don’t tell me you were going to let Sam and his
homeboys off the hook! If I hadn’t come looking for you Saturday night, that
Indian would have busted your head wide open. This is about revenge. Man up,
Ryan.”

“Shut up, Seth.”

“You can thank me after you get me out of this ditch,” Seth
said, all bright smiles again, the innocent kind that I’d tolerated for too
long.

“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Sure I do,” Seth said.

“What? So you were going to run her over?” I kicked Seth’s
door, frustrated. “Was that your brilliant plan?”

“Chill out, dude. I was just playing her.”

I shook my head. “Playing? You’re sick, Seth. You need
help.”

His face darkened again. “And you’re a tool if you’re hot
for that Indian. Let them stick with their own.”

I pulled back my right arm to punch him.

Riley shrieked. She dived for my arm and pulled it down like
someone three times her size. This time she clung to me.

I backed away from Seth, my feet sinking into the soft
dirt.

Seth spat.

“Come on, Ryan,” Riley said, still pulling at me, but it was
like I was walking in slow motion. I couldn’t unlock my eyes from Seth, and I
tasted bitterness and dirt. “Let’s go home,” she urged. “It’s over. Fred’s
probably home by now. You can call her when we get home.”

I stumbled backward. “I thought I knew you, Seth. I thought
you were my best friend.” Riley and I started back for the Jeep, me walking
backward and Riley tugging my arm, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from
Seth.

“Hey, I got your back! I always have,” Seth yelled, frantic
this time. “How come you don’t have mine?” Seth pushed open his driver’s door.
Wedged against the ditch, it barely opened more than a few inches. “Wait a
minute, Ryan. I’m stuck in here. You’re going to help me out, aren’t you?” He
chuckled anxiously.

I finally turned around. “You’re on your own. Get yourself
out.”

“Wait!” he shouted, but Riley and I were already inside the
Jeep. I revved the engine to drown him out.

“Wait!” His voice strained over the engine.

But I put the Jeep in Reverse just as Seth crawled headfirst
out the window. His body somersaulted into the dirt, but he was back on his feet
in a heartbeat. Then he started to run after us, but we were already pointed
toward Pecos Road.

In my rearview mirror, I watched Seth running in the dim
glow of the Jeep’s rear lights, waving his arms. “Wait!” he screamed, and for
the first time in my life—at least since I could remember—I saw Seth scared.

I barely heard his voice over the engine.

He tried to catch up, running down the middle of a wake of
dust, his arms waving, but I only pressed the accelerator.

I couldn’t get away from my old life fast enough.

Chapter 45
Fred

WHEN MY EYES
opened the next morning, sunlight was slanting through the sheer yellow
curtain.

I pulled the sheet tighter around my neck and wished for the
thousandth time that last night was a dream.

I brushed my fingers over my eyes, still raw from crying, my
pillow damp from tears. Seems crying was all I did well lately. I squeezed my
eyes shut against the morning sun in a futile attempt to erase the image of Seth
Winter chasing me in his monster truck.

Finally, I pried open my eyes and lifted my head, listening for
noises inside the house. But the trailer was silent.

Restless, I pulled on jeans and a gray sweatshirt and tied my
hair back into a loose ponytail. I tiptoed to the bathroom and splashed water on
my face. The water stung my bloodshot eyes.

I slipped on a pair of shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen for a
glass of juice and biscuits for the dogs. Mom’s empty wine bottle sat on the
kitchen counter. My nose wrinkled from the sour smell. I tossed the bottle into
the garbage. Quietly, I slipped a blanket over my shoulder and walked through
the front door.

The morning air was still sharp enough to burn the inside of my
nose. I inhaled greedy gulps of it anyway and forced a smile at the sun. It hung
over the eastern horizon like an orange slice.

With my juice glass in one hand and dog treats in the other, I
sat on a plastic chair near the front door and listened to the desert,
considering what I should do. I had to tell somebody what had happened last
night, but whom? Coach Lannon? Sam? Trevor? I shuddered when I thought about
what Sam and Trevor would do. No, I had to think this through. People could get
hurt—or worse.

Oddly, I noticed that Dad’s van was still in the carport. He
usually worked Saturdays and should have left by now.

A soft breeze blew through my hair, cooling my scalp.

As I sat with my eyes closed, concentrating on the cooing
sounds from the mourning doves in the paloverde trees, I heard another noise in
the distance. It was an engine, deep and grinding. Familiar.

It grew louder.

I pointed my chin toward the end of our driveway and waited for
Trevor to coast down on his motorcycle. Without any prodding, the Labs charged
down the driveway to welcome him home.

But when my eyes opened, my body froze. My stomach tightened
with fear that had become too familiar. “This isn’t happening,” I murmured. “Not
here.” I closed my eyes, squeezing them, praying it was a dream, and then looked
again.

He seriously wouldn’t try it again. Would he?

I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own
eyes.

Chapter 46
Ryan

I DIDN’T SLEEP AT
ALL.

I spent most of the night pacing back and forth in my
bedroom or staring at the ceiling, begging for the darkness to end.

I had no idea of the street where Fred lived. Did the
reservation even have street names? I didn’t know.

I didn’t have an address either, but I did have her phone
number, not that it mattered. When I dialed the number, the operator said that
it was disconnected.

As soon as a sliver of morning sun crept through the bay
windows in my bedroom, I leaped out of bed, operating on pure adrenaline. Still
dressed in the same jeans and jacket, I stuffed my keys in my front pocket so
they wouldn’t jingle. Careful not to creak the stairs, I took them two at a time
and then glided through the kitchen.

I didn’t expect to see Dad.

“You mind telling me where you’re going at this hour?” Dad
sat at the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in one hand, the newspaper in the
other. Although he was in his bathrobe, he looked like he hadn’t slept all
night. Or in several nights. I wondered, too late, if I was the cause.

“I need to go out,” I said. It wasn’t a request.

“Where?”

I swallowed. He wasn’t making this easy. “Out.”

“Let me take you.”

My head spun. I wasn’t expecting that. I shook my head
no.

“Please, son. Tell me what’s going on. What is so important
to get you out of bed this early on a Saturday?”

I met his gaze. “I need to see Fred.”

“Why?”

“Something crazy stupid happened last night.”

Dad put down his cup. “Oh, no.” He pinched the bridge of his
nose. “Is she all right?”

“Yes.” I paused. But then my chest caved forward with a
sigh. “And no.”

Dad rose from his chair, and his eyes widened. “Which is
it?”

“I’ve been a jerk. I need to apologize. For a lot of
stuff.”

“Apologizing is good.” Dad nodded.

I half laughed, half snorted. “Every time I try, I screw it
up. I’m not very good at it.”

His eyes narrowed at me. “You really like this girl, don’t
you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He drew back a deep inhale. “Do you know where you’re going?
The reservation is a big place.”

“Sort of.”

Dad didn’t look convinced, but after a few seconds that felt
like centuries, he said, “Well, then, you better get going.”

I spun around for the door. “Bye, Dad.” But then I stopped
and turned. “And thanks.”

I turned back toward the door. This time, nothing could stop
me.

“At least call me when you get there,” Dad said, but I
didn’t answer.

When the garage door opened, I was seated behind the wheel
of my Jeep, buckled and backing out. Before the door closed, I was already
driving east to the freeway along a deserted Pecos Road. The only vehicle I
passed was a newspaper delivery van.

The sun peeked over the Superstition Mountains and not even
the visor could stop the glare from burning my bloodshot eyes. I turned slightly
to the right, scanning miles of uninterrupted desert and saguaro. A mist hovered
inches from the ground like silver moss. I opened the windows, letting the cool
air fill the Jeep.

Before the engine got warm, I reached the freeway exit and
traveled south along the four-lane highway with only a handful of other cars and
trucks. I took the first exit after Chandler Boulevard and headed west onto the
Gila River Indian Reservation with the sunrise in my rearview mirror.

Silence replaced the rush from the freeway as soon as I
drove onto the main road. It was the only one I knew on the reservation. Along
each side of the two-lane road, modest stucco houses and trailers dotted the
open desert, not in crowded cookie-cutter lines but haphazard-like, as if each
house was an afterthought. Most were hidden by overgrown mesquite and paloverde
trees, along with the occasional rusted car on blocks. A few stray dogs
sauntered between the houses and across the deserted road.

I slowed as I passed each house, looking for something
familiar, peering through overgrown foliage. I felt like a trespasser, and I
supposed I was.

No one was outside. I squinted through leafy tree branches,
carefully scanning each house for any sign of the Odays’ van. If I could find
the van, I’d find the house.

Anxious, I pressed the accelerator and drove deeper into the
reservation. The two-lane road narrowed into one paved lane. I assumed that the
single lane reached all the way to the foot of the Estrella Mountains. But, from
a distance, the lonely road looked like a vein that wrapped around the mountain
and stretched forever. Finding Fred’s house somewhere along this endless loop
seemed impossible.

My foot lifted from the accelerator when I spotted the
outline of someone walking alongside the road in the mountain’s shadow. Curious,
I sped up for a better look, afraid that the shape would disappear like an
optical illusion, water in the middle of a scorching desert that wasn’t really
water at all. It was the only human being I’d seen on the reservation all
morning.

I approached from behind, careful but not slowing too
much.

It was a man, tall and slender. A braid curved down the
middle of his back. When I got about a half-dozen car lengths from him, I slowed
and veered left, but the man didn’t turn. He kept walking, his chin held
high.

As the front of my Jeep passed him, the man finally turned,
nodded his chin and lifted his left hand in greeting. The brown fringe from his
jacket flapped in the breeze.

I blinked in disbelief.

It was the man from the golf tournament, the one who’d given
the blessing, the same man who’d told stories to my fourth-grade class. I was
sure of it.

George Trueblood.

I slowed the Jeep to the side of the road. He was my only
chance.

I watched my rearview and waited for him to approach. When
he finally got closer, I leaned out my window, drumming my fingers against the
steering wheel.

“Hi,” I said when he stopped at my passenger window. “You’re
Mr. Trueblood, aren’t you?”

Silent, he bent over, as if he had all the time in the
world, and peered inside my Jeep. Then his arms straddled the passenger window.
He nodded back at me, once. And waited.

His expression wasn’t really a smile or a frown. It wasn’t
curious or suspicious either. It was probably the calmest face I had ever
seen.

“I was hoping you could help me,” I said, dragging my tongue
across my dry lips.

George Trueblood’s dark brown eyes narrowed and crinkled in
both corners. His face was as weathered as a saddle, soft in some parts and worn
in others. A turquoise earring dangled at the end of a silver chain from one ear
and almost reached his shoulder. He said nothing, and my thumbs, nervous, began
to thump against the steering wheel, the only noise in the whole car, the whole
desert. He waited for me to speak, prodding conversation with his eyes.

I cleared my throat. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine
from school. Her name is Fred Oday. I think you know her?” I said it like a
question and felt stupid, especially since I already knew his answer.

He nodded again, once, with his granitelike face.

“Could you tell me where she lives?”

He turned his head sideways and buried his chin in his
shoulder. For a moment, I believed that he was going to push away from the Jeep
and continue walking. I wouldn’t have blamed him.

But I persisted. “It’s kind of important that I see her,” I
added. “It’s important that I talk to her.” I paused to inhale. “Please,” I
said, not hiding my desperation. I was ready to beg if I had to.

He turned back to me. “I know Fred Oday, Daughter of the
River People.”

My chest lifted with encouragement.

He leaned closer in the window. “I’ve known her all her
life. Are you sure you know her?”

I nodded, but his eyes narrowed even more, and I feared he
was assessing me as some kind of serial killer. At least he didn’t back away
from the Jeep.

I took a chance. “Will you tell me where she lives?”

His hand dragged across his chin, revealing silver bands on
each of his thick fingers.

“Please?” I begged again.

“Only if you answer three questions.”

“Anything.”

George Trueblood leaned back from the door, and his wide,
weathered hands curled over the door frame. His chin lifted as he took a deep
breath and stared sideways at the sun with closed eyes. The sunlight reddened
the tips of his eyelashes. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at me straight
on, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Anything.” My reflection froze in his shiny marble
eyes.

“How do you know the Daughter of the River People?”

I opened my mouth to answer but then shut it quickly,
considering the question. Was it a trick? And who were the River People? Fred
had never mentioned them, and I felt like a tool for never asking, even lamer
for not knowing.

“I met Fred for the first time when we were in the fourth
grade. I visited her school on the reservation. You were there, too. You told us
stories.”

His eyelids flickered.

“But I never talked to her till this year.”

He nodded.

“Now we’re on the golf team together.” I paused. “I want to
know her better. I want to be a better friend. If she’ll let me.” But that
wasn’t the whole truth.

His chin lifted a fraction, and I continued to watch him
anxiously, wondering if I’d said too much. Or not enough.

“Why do you need to find her today?”

“I need to apologize.” My hand gripped the steering wheel
tighter. “I said some really stupid things, some things I shouldn’t have.” I
paused to steady myself. “And didn’t say things I should.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, the closest thing he
probably got to a smile. “And who might you be?”

“I’m the biggest idiot in the world.” My voice cracked with
relief. “But most people call me Ryan. Ryan Berenger.”

George Trueblood nodded, and my breath hitched, waiting for
what I needed most of all. Without directions to the Odays’, I could drive for
days across the reservation. It stretched for miles in a hundred different
desolate directions.

“Turn around and go back down this road,” he said slowly.
“Take your first left. Then take that road all the way to the end and look for a
paloverde tree filled with mourning doves. Two black dogs will guide you the
rest of the way.”

For real?
I blinked at the unusual directions. I couldn’t exactly
plug them into the GPS. But then I repeated them to myself, slowly. “I take the
first left and take it to the end. Dogs guide me the rest of the way. Got it.”
His directions would have to do. I had to find her. “Thanks.”

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he patted the window frame
and backed away from the Jeep.

I called out before turning the Jeep around. “Do you need a
ride somewhere?”

George Trueblood smiled, another small grin where his
cheekbones barely moved. He shook his head. “I’ve already got everything I
need.”

Without another word, he turned down the road and walked
toward the base of the mountains like it was the last thing he’d ever do.