INT. JONES FAMILY HOUSE - BATHROOM – MORNING NICK JONES stands in front of a mirror, his eyes closed, taking deep, deliberate breaths. He is 20, though he looks younger because of his lean body and messy auburn hair that needs to be cut. Now his hair is brushed, and he is wearing a blue collared shirt and slacks. He opens his eyes, nods to himself in the mirror. INT. JONES FAMILY HOUSE – NICK’S BEDROOM – MORNING Nick sits on his unmade bed, tapping his feet on the floor. A FIDDLE in a FIDDLE CASE sits beside him. A MAP of Canada hangs on the wall behind him. Nick leafs through a set of fiddle contest ranking sheets. He circles the name of someone who is ahead of him, then stops to check his watch. As Nick picks up the fiddle case and stands to leave, we zoom in on the map. We can see handwritten notes on parts of Nova Scotia. On the outermost edge of Cape Breton Island is a red circle, and the words: “Miller’s Bay?”. Nick’s CELL PHONE rings. NICK Hello? DEVON (O.S.) Well, well. You’re speaking to me at last. NICK Are you… um… what do you want? DEVON (O.S.) Fine. Fine. I’m great, thanks for asking. Where have you been? Oh, wait. Five blocks down the street. Sorry. I forgot. NICK Devon—I didn’t mean— DEVON (O.S.) Yeah, whatever. We should hang out, though. I’m serious. NICK Um… I… I have to go to a fiddle contest—I have to catch the bus to Boston-- DEVON (O.S.) I’ll give you a ride. NICK Are you sure you’re… um… you know… DEVON (O.S.) (laughs) I’m outside. Nick hesitates. Then he grabs the fiddle and exits. INT. DEVON’S CAR – MORNING Devon is at the wheel. He is Nick’s age, though his stubble and the burnt-out look in his dark eyes make him look older. He is wearing torn jeans and a sweatshirt with a bright red jacket. We can see the bay from the car windows. Boats of various kinds are docked along the waterfront. There is a narrow channel ahead, spanned by a bridge. NICK So where are we going? DEVON (expressionless) I have no idea. NICK Are you… you know… OK? DEVON It’s really too late to pull that concerned friend shit, you know. NICK I’m serious. Are you taking your meds? DEVON You can quit pretending. I know you don’t care. And I’m not. That’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve figured it out. NICK Devon— Devon takes both hands off the wheel and pushes up his sleeve, exposing a set of prominent scars on his lower arms. He shoves his arms into Nick’s face. Nick winces. NICK (panicked) Watch the goddamn road! Devon slams both hands onto the wheel. DEVON You ditched me. I was in the hospital, for fucks sake, and you wouldn’t even pick up your phone. You’re just like everyone else, you don’t care, you’re— NICK (Beginning to lose his cool) You were only there and not dead because I found— DEVON (continues to speak over Nick) --Just like everyone else. You just want to get rid of me, you hate me— NICK (Shouting over Devon) --I don’t hate you, I’m just sick of dealing with your shit. I thought you were dead for sure that time, I-- DEVON --Like my parents. They kicked me out last night, like you care. NICK (pause) That’s—I’m sorry— Devon pulls the car over under a no-parking sign a short way from the BRIDGE.