Playing for Keeps by Joan Lowery Nixon Read Free Book Online Page B

would have liked this trip,
I thought.
I
wish Glory had invited Mom, too
.
    I sighed. No matter how angry I’d been at Mom, I couldn’t help missing her. Maybe if I hadn’t become so angry that I said what I shouldn’t have, I could have finally explained to Mom that—
    Someone slid in next to me, sitting so close that the wide brim of his hat grazed my head and I could feel the trembling in his thighs. He rested his right arm along the back of the bench behind me, as if we were together.
    Startled, I turned, saying, “Neil, I—”
    It wasn’t Neil sitting beside me.
    I looked into the face of a boy who seemed not much older than I. With his light golden skin, deep brown eyes, and dark hair, he was one of the best-looking guys I’d ever seen. Topping his swimming shorts was a navy blue T-shirt with the ship’s crest in gleaming white, and he wore a broad-brimmed straw hat exactly like Neil’s. He didn’t smile.
    “We have not met,” he said, a Hispanic accent softening his words, “but please, may I sit with you?”
    I nodded. He’d already made that decision.
    “We have not been introduced. I do not know your name.”
    As if I’d been hypnotized, I answered, “I’m Rose Ann Marstead.”
    I expected him to tell me his name, but instead, he smiled and murmured, “Rose. A beautiful name.”
    I wished he’d say my name again. It was like a soft sigh, like a breeze rustling leaves. But instead, his next words jolted me like an electric shock.
    “Rose, my name is Ricky Diago,” he said.
    I gave a start. This was definitely not the Ricky Diago I had met before the ship sailed. How likely would it be that there were
two
Ricky Diagos on the same ship? Cautiously, I said, “We met a Mr. José Diago on the ship. Is he your uncle?”
    Ricky hesitated only a moment. “
Sí
. . . yes,” he answered.
    Now I was really confused. Ricky’s gaze was steady, as if he were telling the truth, but I knew better. I’d had a close look at the Ricky Diago who had boarded with his uncle. He had grabbed me to keep me from falling when we’d collided on the gangway, and I had looked into his eyes. I had no trouble remembering him. This boy who called himself Ricky Diago was not the same person.
    As Neil plopped down on the bench with Julieta behind him, Ricky twisted in his seat, and I felt something jostle my ankle. I looked down to see a green sports bag. It was the same color as the one Mr. Diago had been carrying. It even bore the same logo. Was it the same bag?
    I wondered if Neil would remember the other Ricky. “Julieta . . . Neil,” I said, “this is Ricky Diago. We’ve met his uncle—José Diago.”
    Julieta dimpled and said something to Ricky about hanging out together on the ship. Neil smiled and looked at Ricky with interest.
    He doesn’t realize it’s not the same Ricky,
I thought. I glanced at Julieta, who hadn’t taken her eyes off Ricky. Now was not the time to try to tell Neil what I knew.
    “Your uncle looks a lot like Martín Urbino, who used to play with the Cincinnati Reds,” Neil said.
    “Martín Urbino? I never heard of him,” Ricky said quietly, but I could feel the muscles in his thigh jump, then tighten, and I saw that he was squeezing his fists so tightly that his knuckles were white.
    The tender’s motors started up with a low roar, and the boat moved away from the pier. Under cover of the noise, I leaned close to Ricky. Using all the courage I had, I whispered, “I met Ricky Diago when we boarded. I remember his face. You are
not
Ricky Diago. Who are you
really
?”
    Ricky didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead, as if he hadn’t heard, but a vein in his temple throbbed.
    As the tender reached the ship, Ricky turned to me.
“Por favor,”
he whispered. Desperately he gripped my arm and began again. “Please give me a chance. It means my life. Accept me as Ricky Diago. When it is possible I will explain to you.”
    The tender nudged the mooring station, and the few people who