Page 5 of The Americana Playbook

“Let’s go,” I tell her. “There’s probably a security guard making rounds.”

“Just go home before your mom notices you’re gone, chicken.” Parker bawks at me.

It’s not her words that hurt me—I’m notthatmuch of a baby. It’s the fact that she thinks they’re true, that my mom has tightened my leash, when really, Coach has, worried that Parker might drag me down the wrong path. But sneaking out and breaking into school grounds? This is child’s play. Last month, Parker stole a car.

I take one step back and charge. By the time I run and reach it, I’ve got little left to climb.

“Now who’s chicken?” I swing my leg over the top. I lose my balance and drop to the ground, hoping it looks more purposeful than accidental to Parker.

“I guess if this whole quarterback thing doesn’t work out, you could always try for a wide receiver,” she snarks.

“Toss me your backpack and come on.”

I wait for Parker to throw me her near-empty bag. It takes two tries for her to get over to the other side and onto the field, but she manages, landing far more gracefully than I did, needing to do nothing else than smooth down her torn jean shorts over her tan legs.

“Why did you want to come here anyway?”

Parker shrugs back into her backpack, pulling her wavy, dark hair stuck between one strap and her shoulder free. “I was bored.”

“Call me crazy, but breaking into a football field at night doesn’t exactly seem all that fun.”

She sighs. “Then why did you follow me, Fitzy?”

“Because you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Our eyes lock in the dim light. The truth is, she shouldn’t have been alone the last few months either. But I left her that way. I’m about to apologize when the gentle hum of an engine steals my attention.

I snatch Parker’s hand, tugging her as I run toward the opposite sideline. When we get to the stairs of the bleachers, I take six quick steps up and pull her in front of me. “Go.”

Parker drops into the space beneath the bleachers, and I follow. Even though we’re a distance away from the security lights and can’t really see anything, I hold a finger to my lips. There are muffled voices, but they’re not close.

Parker grips my hand tighter. I squeeze back. I want to call her out on being nervous after talking such a big game, but I don’t want her to stop holding my hand.

I tilt my head up toward the space we climbed through and listen, but it’s hard to hear anything because my heart is pounding in my ears. It takes another minute, but eventually the voices fade and a car door shuts, and the fading sound of the engine lets me know they’ve pulled away.

But what I haven’t done is pull away from Parker.

And I notice she hasn’t pulled away from me either.

“That was close,” she whispers.

I shift side to side as I squat. “Not like you’d have much to worry about.”

“No.” Parker finally drops my hand, opening the backpack. She produces a flashlight and turns it on. “You’re right. Thacher doesn’t want me anymore.”

I had a feeling this might happen, but I was holding out hope that Parker’s parents would pull some strings to keep her here. After all, her dad is running for president.

“I’d just hate for something to happen to you, Fitzy. You’re working so hard and have everything going for you.”

I cringe because that’s what Coach says.

With the light pointed up, Parker glows in the dark. My head nearly bumps the seat of the bleacher above me. My right leg is going numb. But I don’t want to look away. Not for a second.

This is it,I think to myself. It’s now or never.I either tell Parker I love her and want her to be my girlfriend, or I accept that I am absolute chicken shit.

She hands me the flashlight, and I keep it pointed up while she rummages around in her backpack again.

“Are you looking to pass your get-out-of-jail card to me? Does that work even if my mom isn’t running for president?”

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