Scene 1

My hand trembles as I reach for the envelope even though I know what’s inside. I knew from the second I applied that I would get in.
I’m not nervous about what the papers inside say; I’m nervous about what they mean. I’m not anxious about the decision that the admissions committee made; I’m anxious about the decision that I will have to make. If I say yes, it means that I will be going to the college of my dreams. I will also be abandoning the person who needs me most.
I take a deep breath, dropping the thick envelope back onto the table. The air in the kitchen is sticky and suffocating. I need to get out. Sighing, I slip through the door before I can convince myself not to. Inhaling the warm, not-quite-summer breeze, I set off down the sidewalk and will myself not to glance one last time at the house.
Juilliard! one part of my brain whoops and hollers. Lily, you got into Juilliard! You’ve wanted this ever since you were twelve years old! I wait patiently for the other half of my mind to respond. It doesn’t take long. How could you even think about leaving? it scolds. You know you’re the only person in the world who understands Emily! If you go off to Juilliard, your little sister won’t have anyone.
I know this is true, but the only word that reverberates in my mind is Juilliard, and it never fades out. I keep walking, and my mind relentlessly debates with itself. Juilliard is one of the most amazing opportunities I will ever receive, but if I leave Emily, who will comfort her when the other third graders make fun of her? Who will tell her that everything will be okay? Our mother most certainly won’t, and I’m not sure if she could ever learn to.
My legs have carried me all the way to Anderson Park. Despite the fact that the sun is radiating and the flowers are blooming, the peaceful expanse of trees and grass is deserted. My eyes search each empty bench as if I’ll find the answer sitting on it. I don’t.
I collapse onto the grass and lie on my back, gazing up at the sky. I wait for an answer to fall from the clouds. Nothing happens.

Scene 2

Something must be wrong with me. I didn’t think that imaginations had off-switches, but that’s the only logical explanation for what’s going on. My brain has stopped spouting out thoughts and stories and ideas. What perfect timing. Thanks, imagination. You always have my back.

Usually I’m exploding with all sorts of random words and unlikely metaphors and things like that. But not today. The deadline for the poem is tomorrow. I should be bursting with important opinions and passionate rants. I am anything but bursting. I slam my pencil down and listen, motionless, as it spirals off the desk and hits the floor with a hollow thud.
Usually, the kind of thing I write poems about is the kind of thing that I would want to read. But to win this scholarship, I have to write a poem about an “interesting person.” What a fantastic, specific prompt! One would think that a poetry contest for a college scholarship would have a more exciting basis. If this were any other poetry competition, I would say, Forget it. I’ll win the next one. But this is important. This scholarship is my one way out of this boring, dreary, imagination-draining town.
I trudge out of my room and clunk down the stairs into the kitchen, finding a sticky note on the refrigerator. “Cassie-- we’re out of milk. Can you run to store, thanks” is all it says. Okay. It’ll be a good distraction, and maybe I’ll find something vaguely inspiring outside. It’s unlikely, though-- most of the people here are too busy doing nothing to have poetry flowing through them.
I take my time striding through the door and up the street. The late afternoon sun slashes through the wind, and I decide to cut through Anderson Park in search of a poem. I’m halfway through the park when I realize it’s hopeless. Sure, there are trees and flowers, but the park is deserted of poems.
Suddenly, there’s a rustling behind me. I whip around. Maybe it’s not entirely deserted…

Scene 3 

I might have made the worst decision I have ever made in my entire life. I don’t mean ‘worst’ like ‘pretty bad,’ I mean ‘worst’ like ‘worst worst worst.’ I mean, yesterday I was a guy with an actual place to live, food to eat, and legal guardians watching over me. Now I’m a guy with a ratty backpack and, like, twenty bucks. To top it off, I have no idea about where I am. My phone’s dead, too.

Running away, for some reason, seemed like such a fantastic idea at the time. At home, it was like the only thing that anyone ever did was yell. Yelling about who would clean the kitchen, yelling about whose fault it was that my brother was in jail, yelling about my blurry future. I couldn’t take the yelling anymore, so, at three in the morning, I left. Eleven hours and five bus rides later, here I am. Where, exactly, ‘here’ is, I don’t know.
It’s a pretty gloomy town. Even in the calm, unfiltered June sunshine everything is gray. I readjust my backpack on my shoulders and start off down the sidewalk, alone with optimistic thoughts like, I’m almost out of money, I have no place to stay, and I have no idea what I’m doing.
If I go home, the yelling will just get louder. I wonder if my parents are worrying about me right now. No, probably just yelling some more.
Finally, an oasis of green appears in the gritty concrete desert of sad-looking storefronts and rundown houses. I have nothing better to do, so I dash across the scuffed-up street. Backpack awkwardly bumping on my shoulders, I jog up to a faded-out sign that quietly announces, “Welcome to Anderson Park.” I step onto the grass, sighing. I’m defeated. I have no game plan, no secret weapon. A voice cuts through the silence. “Are you okay?” I look up. There’s a girl standing halfway across the park, but she’s not talking to me. It’s funny-- for a second I was genuinely hopeful that someone was coming to my rescue.

Scene 4

“Are you okay?” The voice jolts me out of my tired haze. The sky has faded from blue to gray. I sit up slowly. The girl standing over me has thoughtful eyes and a concerned look on her face. She drops down next to me. “I know this is super weird because I don’t know you, but it seems like something is wrong.” From the way she is looking at me, it seems like she is inspecting me, taking mental notes like she’s going to write an essay about me.

“Actually, I’m not okay,” I admit. I’m desperate for an answer and I’m desperate to pour my problem out to someone. Even a stranger. “I was just accepted into my dream college, but I don’t want to go if it means abandoning my… family.” The girl raises her eyebrows and tilts her head.
“You have the chance to get out of this dump of a town and you’re even considering staying?” she almost shouts. Then she lowers her voice. “Sorry, that was a little aggressive. But seriously, I would give anything to get out of here, go to college and follow my dreams! If you have the chance, you should take it.”
“But what about my si-- family?” I ask timidly. She considers for a moment. I can see an answer formulating in her eyes.
“There’s going to be a time where you won’t be there for your family, whether you go to college or not,” she says softly. “They’re going to have to learn to live without you, inevitably. So why not now? Going away doesn’t mean you’ll never see them again. But if you don’t go away, you might never get the chance again.”
“Thank you,” I say, using her words to deflect the voice in my mind that’s screaming stay. It’s almost working, almost.
“No, thank you!” she says. “Thank you for being an interesting, poem-worthy person!” Before I can inquire what she means, she’s gone-- running until she’s hidden by  a wall of trees. My mind races to process what just happened.
When I finally do, my brain stops fighting itself. I’m like a completed puzzle, the last piece fit snugly in its place. I spring up and fly halfway across the park before smacking into something. Someone. “Sorry,” I say quickly. I take one step, prepared to embark on my journey home, but then I catch a glimpse of the expression on this boy’s face. It’s so forlorn, so utterly lost, that I don’t even hesitate before I say, “Are you okay?”
Thoughts did flash through my mind in the split second before I asked him. But instead of thinking, “Why? Why should I help him?” what I was thinking was, “Why not?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” the boy says to me, biting his lip. “I mean, you don’t even know me…”
“No, it’s fine,” I say with a grin. “I’ll listen.”