That was when my body first seized up. It felt like I was suffocating. Like my organs were shutting down. I thought I was just sitting there suffering in silence, but it must have been pretty obvious, because all of a sudden, Dr. Stein grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to my feet.

“Breathe, Max,” he said. “Slowly. Blow the air out through your mouth. In through your nose. Stare at the nurse’s station. Put everything else out of your mind. You’re having an anxiety attack. It’ll subside in a few minutes. Keep breathing with me.”

Dr. Stein was right. After about ten minutes, I came out of it. It didn’t feel like the world was pressing down on me. I could move and breathe normally again. For the next few hours I was still a little shaky. The whole thing really messed with my head. Once something like that happens to you, you start to wonder if you’ll ever feel normal again. You wonder if you even are normal. Or if something is seriously wrong.

Dr. Stein had me talk to some woman psychiatrist for a few weeks. She was pretty useless. She asked me a million questions. Mostly I lied to her, told her everything was cool so we could end the sessions. She prescribed Xanax for me, but I threw them down the toilet. Mom was already taking way too much of that shit. We didn’t need two robots in the house.

For weeks afterward, I felt like I was always waiting for it to happen again. Where would I be? Somewhere embarrassing, like school? Or squash? Or wherever. Worrying about it drove me crazy. But then it didn’t happen. I forgot about it. Until six months ago, out of the blue. Lily and I were at the movies, some horror film. All of a sudden it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I got this weird sensation of being outside my body. The blood, the gore, the violence started getting to me. Which is weird because I usually love that stuff. I had to get up and leave the theater. I told Lily I’d be right back.

I went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, put my head between my knees, and stayed there for about fifteen minutes, until it all blew over. When I went back in, the credits were rolling. Lily was all worried. I lied and said something about food poisoning. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Lily the truth. I’m sure she would have been sympathetic and everything. It’s just, I wasn’t ready to tell her. I was kind of hoping I’d never have to tell her. Who wants a boyfriend who can’t keep his shit together? Besides, Lily can be such a drama queen. I didn’t need her freaking out about my freaking out. I figured I’d let it ride. Hopefully, it wouldn’t happen again. And if it did, I’d deal with it then.

It’s all been good. Until now. I’m wishing I had some of that Xanax on me.

I suddenly realize Kylie’s been rubbing my back. How long has she been doing that? I was so in my head I didn’t notice at first. Her touch feels nice, soothing. It’s bringing me down off the ledge. It’s weird. I barely know her, but somehow she’s able to calm me. My breathing slows down. My heart stops fluttering. I feel better.

And then the truck stops. I hear voices. The driver is having a conversation with someone outside, in English. We must be at the border, probably customs. We need to act fast. We could escape or be rescued. But I feel completely paralyzed. What do we do? I mean, it’s not like I’ve been in this kind of situation before.

“We’re at the border,” Kylie whispers.

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we say something?” I’m speaking incredibly fast now. The panic presses to get back in; I can feel it start to flood my brain again.

“Maybe we should scream or start pounding on the door,” Kylie suggests.

I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Fear is flaming through my system. I’m not in any condition to make rapid-fire decisions. I know this is our chance. Maybe our last chance. What do we do? What do we do?

Okay. I’m going to do this. I’m about to yell at the top of my lungs. The truck begins to move again. Fast. Are you kidding me?

We’re picking up speed. Moving away from customs. From the people who could have saved us! Shit. Shit. Shit. We’ve missed the moment. We’re as screwed as two people can be.

Kylie picks up her phone and punches into it.

KYLIE:

NOT GOOD

.

MAX:

YA THINK? CANT IMAGIN HOW IT CD GET WORSE

.

KYLIE:

THEY CD KILL US

.

MAX:

YEA. THAT WD B WORSE. THNX 4 THAT

.

At this point, things are so bad, I have to smile. Kylie smiles as well. Gallows humor, as they say. We’re out of options, for the time being.

KYLIE:

THEY’LL STOP AGAIN SOON. WE’LL JUMP OUT THEN

.

MAX:

IN TIJUANA? PERFECT. BEEN DYING TO GO THERE

.

KYLIE:

I HEAR IT’S NICE THIS TIME OF YEAR

.

I don’t know how we got into this head space, but I guess it’s better than the place I was a little while ago. Might as well suck the last bits of humor out of our lives.

Kylie texts me again, punching away at her phone. I look down at mine and realize I’m getting nothing. I look at her. She looks at me, confused, and tries again. Still nothing.

She leans in to me and whispers, “I think we lost service.”

I don’t respond. I mean, what can I say?

“You have to let your service provider know when you’re going to another country,” Kylie whispers, like she’s some kind of official Verizon rep or something. Is this somehow supposed to be helpful information? She looks at me expectantly like one of us might want to get in touch with our “service provider” right about now, request international service. Genius plan, babe.

We sit in silence. I’m no longer feeling the humor.

Soon we’ll be buried among the cacti, our bodies laying waste in the desert, dinner for coyotes. Fear gives way to anger. I am suddenly aware of how pissed I am at Kylie. Man, I cannot believe she got us into this. I’m dying to lose my mind on her. Tell her what I really think of her for making me do Murphy’s assignment, meeting her at Starbucks, following the biker, and then climbing into this stupid truck. For a smart chick, SHE IS A TOTAL IDIOT. But then again, I followed her into the truck, so, really, what is my problem? I do a silent scream in my head. It doesn’t help.

Kylie tugs at my sleeve. I shake her off. Let her sit in her own shit. I’m sitting in mine. Even if she’s the last person I get to see before I die, I’m not really interested in conversation.

“I heard them say they’re pulling over soon,” Kylie whispers.

I don’t feel the need to answer. There’s nothing I can possibly say that will be at all helpful. Besides, we shouldn’t be talking. If we’re quiet and they don’t notice us, maybe somehow, miraculously, we’ll make it out of here alive.

“We could make a run for it,” Kylie suggests, as though she’s had some kind of inspired breakthrough.

“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. Shit. That’s the best she’s got? Obviously, if there’s any opportunity, we’re going to make a run for it. I’m going to run like hell. I just don’t think it’s very likely that we’ll be able to run without the two dudes noticing us.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kylie asks. Her eyes bore into me, big and sad, like some kind of wounded animal. She thinks we’re a team and I’ve just let her down.

“Nothing,” I say. I’m not going to make this any easier for her by pretending we’re in this together. If we’re going down, it’s each man for himself. I’m not interested in making her feel better. Or being a hero. What Kylie does is up to her. I’m taking care of number one.

“I know this is my fault,” Kylie whispers, “but we have to work together if we’re going to survive. I can’t die. I can’t. If I die, my entire family falls to pieces.”

Yeah, tell me about it. “It’s not like my family will be thrilled,” I shoot back.