Page 13 of The Americana Playbook

“Some things never change.”

She doesn’t have to tell me that. Standing behind Parker as she attempts to climb something—a tree, theroof, a fence—is an instinct I didn’t know I still carried. “You broke your elbow climbing up the porch column to get the ball we kicked onto the roof.”

With her arms raised, Parker scowls down at me. “That wasonetime. And we were eight.”

“Seven,” I correct her.

Parker shimmies. Whatever she reaches for unlatches and she hops back, right into me. My hands slide down her body, the jersey bunching beneath my fingers. The pad of my thumb brushes soft, smooth skin.

“Sorry,” Parker mumbles, turning in my hold, straightening the strap of the bag she wears across her body.

“Can you grab that?” Parker points at the fire escape ladder above us. “Chicken,” she teases when I hesitate, giving me a gentle push to the shoulder.

As quickly as it happens, it’s over. But what Parker doesn’t realize is I stillfeelit, a phantom touch like the way I’ve carried the memory of her the entire time she’s been gone.

“I’ve been drinking. I don’t know if it’s a great idea to be on a roof.”

“You’ll hardly feel it when you fall then,” Parker jokes darkly. “Come on, Fitzy. For old times’ sake.”

Parker doesn’t really have to beg. I’d follow her anywhere now, even up this old, rusty ladder she hoists herself onto after I pull it down. I fold my lips together, eying her bare legs that meet the shredded bottoms of tiny shorts the front of my jersey is tucked into before Parker disappears out of sight, only to reappear when I blink. Parker beams an encouraging smile down at me from the edge of the roof.

Suddenly, I’m a kid who was once afraid of heights. I don’t think I ever told her that. She doesn’t know how brave she made me, brave enough to not care about how high a tree was.

“Only for you,” I mutter as I climb.

I now realize this must be the building next to the club. I pass a dark window of the top floor before I make it up to the roof, trying to hide how I was holding my breath.

Parker is already standing away from the edge, thankfully, well in the middle.

“We shouldn’t be up here, should we?” I move toward her.

“Has that ever stopped us?”

When Parker smirks, I swear, I magically see stars for a minute in the line between her lips. It’s like I took a sack that drives me farther from the line of scrimmage. It knocks me back to over a decade ago because I swear, I’m seventeen with sweaty palms, trying to get the balls to confess,I don’t want to be friends anymore. I want you to be my girlfriend.

And I’m twelve, finding my cheeks burned when Parker smiled at me. I must’ve looked as though I had permanent sunburn for most of middle school.

I’m nine, when I realized I didn’t care if girls had cooties and I was at risk of catching them. I always wanted to be with Parker.

But really, I’m old enough to know better. Because even though those memories of our childhood ring true in my mind, their noise level is second to her absence.

Parker looks off at downtown Atlanta’s skyline, appearing calm and cool while I’m struggling to stand as I mentally trip over all the questions in my head.I don’t know where to start and that stings. There used to be a time when I didn’t know where Parker ended and I began.

“What have you been up to?” I blurt out.

Parker faces me completely now. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She gives the gentlest shake of her head, as if she knows whatever answer she’s about to produce won’t be good enough.

“Not doing anything as exciting as winning Super Bowls.”

I’m not sure there ever will be an explanation that doesn’t make me not feel like shit. And then I feel worse, because I think of all the times I dreamed of seeing her again where I promised myself it didn’t matter where she went. It mattered she came back.

Parker fiddles with the strap of her purse. “Congratulations. I know you worked so hard?—”

“You don’t really know anything about how hard I worked.” Her words strike a nerve. After all this time, that’s it? “You don’t evenknowme.”

My harshness rebounds off Parker and punches me in the gut when she flinches.

“I know you’re mad at me. I deserve it. I just wanted to see you for a second,” she whispers, the way her voice trails off sadly tears at my heart. “I’m really proud of you. I’ve been really proud of you.”

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