Page 15 of The Americana Playbook

“I want to make sure you get home okay.”

“You don’t have to do that, Fitz,” Parker whispers, and it crushes me a little bit.

I know I don’t but I curse under my breath anyway. Parker will never understand how hard it is toneedto do something while pretending it’s just something you want instead.

She begins kicking at something invisible at her feet. She’s always done that when she doesn’t want to talk. The painful difference is she never used to do it with me.

“I hope you don’t think I found you because I needed to ask for something. It’s just been a long time.” Parker looks up, and her eyes glisten with tears. “I really did just want to say congratulations.”

The talking in circles makes me angry, but part of me falls victim to the soft spot I’ll always hold for her. This doesn’t feel right. In my bones, I know it isn’t. “I don’t know if you’re okay.”

“Maybe you just don’t know me anymore, Fitz.”

It’s a cheap shot to slap me with my own words, but maybe she’s right. I’m holding onto the fact that Parker still loves a good hiding spot, even if that means climbing something she shouldn’t. Maybe her eyes still disappear when she loses control to a laugh. Maybe she’s still the only person in the world who likes yellow Starburst. The truth is, she could be none of those things—none of the parts I love about her—anymore.

All I do know is I’d do anything to find out.

“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow, but I can push it. Can I take you to lunch? Dinner? You know, so we can catch up without having to worry about how we getdownafter?” I try to laugh, but I’m met with no smile or happiness back.

She just looks so sad.

“Parker,” I whisper when she doesn’t say anything. “You’ve hadyears.I’m only asking for a day.”

I should take it as a poor sign she needs to thinkthismuch.

“I have work tomorrow, I’m sorry. I can’t really afford to miss it.”

I don’t know what it’s like to have my livelihood depend on one day of work. I should be understanding. I shouldn’t be angry. But I am.

And I’m heartbroken.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet, because all I can give is what Parker can take with her. And I know she won’t take me.

She holds the stack of bills between us, eyeing them. I’m not sure how much I have. Maybe two hundred bucks or less.

But even if it was more, it clearly means nothing to Parker, who backs away from me. Our eyes are locked as she reaches the edge with the money she’s now crumpled in her hand and lets go.

“Get down safely, Fitzy,” she tells me before disappearing down the ladder.

Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 55 days.

I wish I could write every day. The truth is, it’s not easy, but nothing is really easy here, even if you play along. I do it. I take the medication even though I don’t know what it’s for. I go to “class” which is some sort of bullshit group therapy session where the “teacher” just tells you you’re wrong. But trust me when I tell you if I don’t do those things, life will only be harder for me here.

Here. I bet you’re wondering where I am and where I’ve been. Do you know it wasn’t until day 4 that I found out for myself? The first three days I fought. I cried. I begged. Do you know where that got me? They call it “stable,” which should be ironic enough to be funny because I’d love to be at a different kind of stable. But this isn’t it. It’s a small room I was in alone, only allowed out once a day, and that was just to walk around the room the door opened to. There was a sliver of a window high up but, no sunshine. I lost my voice from screaming, my energy from not eating. I couldn’t even ask “Where am I?” I think that’s why they let me out. I couldn’t fight anymore. They had me right where they wanted me.

Welcome to Horizons School is what they said.

This isn’t a school. This is a prison. And according to everyone who works here, this is where I deserve to be.

But I know I don’t. And neither does Sarah. She’s my roommate. She took care of my torn up back, cleaning it with a cloth and putting Aquaphor on it from a tube she keeps on her at all times. Sarah did all that in the beginning for me, even though I hardly spoke to her for days.

Now, she’s the only person I really talk to.

“Fuck this place,” I say to her every night.

“And fuck the people who put us here,” she always replies.

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