Page 55 of The Americana Playbook

I see us sprinting off the dock and into the water even though we were told to come in for dinner, our hold not breaking below the surface.

I see us hours before I was taken, when Fitz grabbed my hand, leading me to the bleachers.

And then, I seewhocame after him when we were separated.

Fitz senses my unease. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes focus so hard that my head takes on a dull throb.

Fitz goes to loosen his hold on me and create space between us, but I dig my fingers into his shoulder. He grows tense, almost as much as I do, but he finally outpowers me, stepping back and brushing my arms. “You’ve got goosebumps.”

I can’t be bothered thinking about goosebumps. I’ve got all my attention directed across the room on an auburn-red mane fastened back into a perfect braid.

ADutchbraid. My eyes home in on the back of her head—Sarah’s head. I have to remember to breathe. But that isn’t easy when it feels like my heart is lodged in the middle of my throat.

“Parker?”

I don’t answer Fitz, and instead watch as someone approaches the server who is passing champagne and she turns, giving me her profile.

A breath rushes out of me with the speed of a train. I keep staring, just in case. My mind is telling me it’s not Sarah. But maybe it is. After all, when we knew each other, we were only bits and pieces barely strung together. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize me either.

But this woman’s nose, her polite smile, it’s different. Too different to be her.

“Hey.”

Fitz tilts my face softly back to him, and it’s wild that I find relief that he’s still here, still the same. His stare is curious, his tone no longer playful, but maybe that’s because I broke character and threw him off.

Regardless, he doesn’t question me or my odd behavior. I press myself against him, wrapping an arm around the top of his shoulders. He finds my other hand with his and brings it to his chest. And I know it looks the same to the room, but his hold as he welcomes me back into the place my role demands of me—in his arms—feels different.

Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 78 days.

I cried a lot today. But do you know what I did at the end of the day? I smiled. I think it’s the first time in a long time.

But let’s start with the crying. That happened because I was robbed. I never thought I cared so much about my hair until it was taken away. But I guess I could say the same thing about my freedom too.

We have five minutes to shower every day. Now, that’s not a lot, but that’s not the problem. The problem is, we don’t get shampoo. We get a bar of soap that we’re supposed to use from head to toe. My hair is like straw. It’s tangled all the time. My scalp is dry and flaky and aches. I won’t say that today is the day I had enough. Today, I was just an idiot and felt brave.

When we run out of toiletries, we take the empty container to the canteen and are given a full one. Today, I ran out of toothpaste. But when I went, I asked for conditioner. I showed the matting in my hair and told her it was so bad, I was worried I’d have to cut it off. I told her I’ve been doing everything right, and I have. I take the medication. I go to every class. I shower in four minutes and forty-three seconds.

The woman didn’t give me conditioner. But she did say she would help.

She cut it off for me. Not just the matted locks but a lot more. Before I even realized what was happening, the floor I stood on was littered with my dark hair.

I cried the whole day.

But do you know when I smiled? When Sarah, my roommate, brushed out the strands as carefully as she could, distracting me from the pain by telling me all about where she came from—a horse farm in Hampshire County. She told me all about Midnight, her beautiful stallion. That’s what I focused on—horses, all the ones I’ve ridden and all the ones I dream to ride when I’m free one day.

When Sarah was done, I lifted my hand, finding the strands of what’s left of my now uneven hair folded under, forming what she calls a Dutch braid, not like the French one Honey used to do.

I felt taken care of for a second. I felt like a human. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget Sarah. And she won’t forget me either. Because we’re going to lead the rebellion wearing Dutch braids. We’re going to get out one day.

I hope I make you proud.

Rebels Only.

Parker

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