Page 56 of The Last Thing You Said

“Yes.”

“With her parents?”

“No, sir,” Hannah pipes in. “With Dustin and Simon.”

The boys were more than on board when Hannah mentioned a road trip.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Exactly what I was expecting.

“Dad, listen—”

“No, Lucy. You are sixteen years old. You’re not old enough to go away for the weekend without an adult.”

“Dustin’s eighteen,” Hannah offers, but my dad turns to glare at her, and she mumbles something about waiting outside before she disappears. So much for moral support.

“Dad, it’s not like that.”

“It’s not like what?”

“I don’t know, like that. Whatever you think. You automatically assume we’re going to get in trouble or get pregnant or something. We’re just going to go camping and see the rodeo, that’s all. Two tents. Girls and boys. I swear.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this all planned out.”

“It was Simon’s idea,” I say. The lie slips out without a thought, and for a minute, I think it might work. Since that fishing trip on Father’s Day when they bonded over Bond, my dad thinks Simon can do no wrong.

“The answer is no, Lucy.”

“Dad, please,” I can’t keep the pleading out of my voice. “I don’t ask for much. I want to get away for a weekend.”

He interrupts me. “You just spent a weekend in Duluth. How much more time away do you need?”

If he only knew. “I was working. Isn’t this what you wanted, for me to spend more time with friends? I promise, nothing will happen. And it’s Simon. Don’t you trust him?”

“I don’t trust him enough for you to go away for the weekend with him. We don’t know him.”

“I know him,” I say, and bite my lip.

He looks at me with a tilt of his head and his eyes narrow.

“How well do you know him, Lucy? You two have been seeing a lot of each other lately, haven’t you?”

I nod. “Yes. We’re dating, Dad. It’s not a crime.”

“No,” he says again. “You’re not going to South Dakota with a boy we hardly know.”

“You know him! He’s been living next door all summer!”

“Lucy—”

“You would let Clayton go.”

“That’s different.”

Of course it’s different. It’s different to him but not to me. Clayton at sixteen? He would have loved to raise hell at a rodeo.

“Nice double standard, Dad.” My words are sharp, bitter.