Free From What I Remember by Stacy Kramer Page A

it out. He’s texting me.
MAX:

WTF WER U THINKING?
KYLIE:
IDK. GUESS I WASNT
.
MAX:
YEA
.
KYLIE:
IM REALLY SORRY. REALLY. REALLY
.
MAX:
SAVE IT. NOT GOOD ENUF WEN IM DED
.
KYLIE: I KNOW. I MESSED UP
.
MAX:
BIG TIME
.
KYLIE:
I GET IT. YOU HATE ME. IM AN IDIOT
.
MAX:
OK
.
KYLIE:
U DONT HAVE TO B SUCH A DICK
.
MAX:
IM GONNA DIE CUZ OF U. HOW SHD I B?
KYLIE:
NICER?
MAX:
R U SUICIDAL??
KYLIE:
NO!! JUST WANTED MY COMPUTER. IT WAS STUPID
.
MAX:
WHTEVR
.
KYLIE:
U CLIMBD IN BEHIND ME
.
MAX:
N BY THAT U MEAN THANX?
KYLIE:
IT WAS UR CHOICE
.
MAX:
I WAS TRYING TO HELP. WONT DO THAT AGAN
.
KYLIE:
SORRY. REALLY, REALLY SORRY. I AM
.
MAX:
WATS UR PLAN NOW?
KYLIE:
DUNNO. U HAVE ANY IDEAS?
MAX:
THIS IS UR PLAN, UR FAULT. U COM UP W SUMTHING
.
KYLIE:
WISH I CD. BUT HOW? WHAT?
MAX:
GUESS U SHD HAV THOT OF THAT B4
.
    I shoot Max an exasperated look. How is that helpful? He’s acting like a petulant child, and refusing to be part of the solution. Max won’t meet my gaze. He’s too angry at me. I can’t blame him. I deserve it. He’d be at school, basking in the limelight, celebrating the last day of classes, comfortably intertwined with Lily in an ostentatious show of public affection, if it wasn’t for me. Still, if we’re going to spend our final hours on earth together, it might be helpful if we could get along. Or at the very least, work together.
KYLIE:
I GET THAT I MESSED UP BUT UR GONNA HAV TO HELP ME OUT HERE
.
MAX:
HOW???? ID B OUT OF HERE IF I CD. DOORS R LOCKD. NO WAY OUT. WERE SCREWD
.
KYLIE:
SHD WE CALL 911
?
MAX:
NO! 2 RISKY. IF THEY C COPS, THELL FREAK. MAYB SHOOT US.
KYLIE:
THEN WHAT?
MAX:
WE WAIT. MAYB THELL STOP AGEN. N WE RUN
.
    The truck makes a sharp left turn. I fall on top of Max as both of us are thrown against the wall by the centrifugal force. The television falls to the ground. The edge of it nails my knee, which throbs in pain.
    Something seems to shift in Max, and his anxiety shoots through the roof. He is gulping air like he’s struggling for breath. His eyes are glassy. His jaw is tensed. I look down to see his hand gripping his pant leg. He reminds me of Jake when he’s seen a snake. Too frightened to move or speak. I text him.
    MAX R U OK
?
    Max doesn’t text back.
    “Max? What’s wrong?” I whisper in his ear.
    He doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and stares at the floor. I don’t know what to do. I want to reach out to him. I’m just not sure how. I barely know the guy. Amid this nightmare, and despite all my better instincts, my heart swells a little for him. I can’t help it. He looks so vulnerable. It’s a whole different side to a guy who I thought was made of stone.

or the past ten minutes we’ve been moving at a pretty fast clip. I’m deep breathing to keep the anxiety at bay. Kylie keeps looking at me, but I want nothing to do with her. Seriously, what do we have to say to each other at this point? I’m having a hard time just maintaining. I hear one of the guys in front yelling into his cell in Spanish. I don’t understand anything except the word “Tijuana.” Tijuana? Jesus. I know Kylie understands Spanish. I text into my cell.
MAX:
R THEY GOIN TO TIJUANA?
KYLIE:
YES
MAX:
WHAT ELS DID THEY SAY?
KYLIE:
JUST SOME ADDRESS. I THINK THEY’RE DROPPING STUFF THERE. NOT SUR
.
    Mexico?!
    I read the papers. I know what’s going on in those border towns. People are being slaughtered, entire police forces are quitting, journalists are murdered just for showing up to work.
    I feel dizzy. My vision starts to pulse in and out. There’s no more keeping anything at bay. The dam breaks and an enormous wave of fear spreads through my body. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. I’m having a panic attack. It’s not the first time. I’ve been here before. My chest cramps up. My heart whirs out of control. Red-hot anxiety courses through my veins. I just need to breathe. Count to ten. Slowly. Focus on something. I can will myself off the ledge. I’ve done