Back The Americana Playbook
Chapters (63)
  1. THE AMERICANA PLAYBOOK
  2. Dear Reader
  3. The Troubled Teen Industry
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. New England Rebels
  7. Day 44
  8. Chapter 1
  9. Chapter 2
  10. Chapter 3
  11. Chapter 4
  12. Day 55
  13. Chapter 5
  14. TWO MONTHS LATER
  15. Chapter 6
  16. Chapter 7
  17. Chapter 8
  18. Day 68
  19. Chapter 9
  20. Chapter 10
  21. Chapter 11
  22. Chapter 12
  23. Day 78
  24. Chapter 13
  25. Chapter 14
  26. Chapter 15
  27. Chapter 16
  28. Chapter 17
  29. Day 84
  30. Chapter 18
  31. Chapter 19
  32. Chapter 20
  33. Day 91
  34. Chapter 21
  35. Chapter 22
  36. Day 100
  37. Chapter 23
  38. Chapter 24
  39. Chapter 25
  40. Chapter 26
  41. Day 113
  42. Chapter 27
  43. Chapter 28
  44. Chapter 29
  45. Chapter 30
  46. Day 128
  47. Chapter 31
  48. Chapter 32
  49. Chapter 33
  50. Day 147
  51. Chapter 34
  52. Chapter 35
  53. Chapter 36
  54. Chapter 37
  55. Chapter 38
  56. Chapter 39
  57. Chapter 40
  58. Epilogue
  59. ONE MONTH LATER
  60. FIVE YEARS LATER
  61. Acknowledgments
  62. Also by Cathryn Carter
  63. About the Author

Parker sits up, leaning forward. Her strap slips down again, leaving her scar more exposed, just inches from my face. “Where they sent me? That”—she pauses, and I hear the frustrated breath fight its way out—“school? I’d rather be dead than ever go back to a place like that. Or even close to it.”

Goosebumps invade my skin with full force. She means it. I know she means it.

I push up on my elbow as my stomach twists. “Is that what’s out in the Berkshires?” When Parker nods, I gently press my hand against her spine, just to the right of the scar. I can feel her heart racing. “Is that where you got this?”

“No. That happened when they took me.”

My hand falls and it takes all my strength to overcome the tautness of my muscles and use them to sit up and scoot closer. “What do you mean took you?”

I almost don’t recognize the venom in my voice.

Parker stares straight ahead. “That night after we climbed the fence at school. It was late. Maybe three in the morning. I didn’t hear them. Not in the hallway, because there was a rug. That’s why I didn’t take the upstairs room in the apartment. There’s carpeting on the stairs and outside it. It makes it too hard to hear someone coming. I guess I kind of lied about the break-in.”

As much as Parker kind of lied, she kind of told the truth.

“And I didn’t hear them when they came in, because the door was so old it never closed right.”

My eyes flick to her extra lock. I feel sick.

“I thought it was a nightmare, you know? But I could feel things.” Parker drops her head. “Like their hands on my wrists. The pillow against my mouth…”

The sickness in my stomach flees. Rage takes its place.

“I stopped fighting, you know? Because I thought… I thought someone broke in and maybe they were going to rape me, and if I didn’t fight so hard”—her voice cracks—“maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

My body lurches, fueled by a need to touch Parker, to hold her. But I don’t. I grit my fucking teeth and remember I asked for this. But god, I almost wish I hadn’t.

Parker continues, “When I felt them lifting me off the bed, I started to fight. I hit one of them with a trophy. I tried to bite and scream, but one guy had his hand so tight on my mouth…Nothing worked. I knew we were going downstairs, and then I started to really panic. Like if they got me out of the house, they’d kill me.”

Parker goes silent for a moment, her shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. I almost intervene, and let her know she can stop.