Swallowing, I try to catch a sideways glance at Logan as I say, “Just hanging out with a new friend.”

I catch the way he turns his head, peeking over at us without directly looking. He can easily hear our conversation.

My mom and dad share a quick, furtive glance at each other just before they lift their menus to cover their faces. “Not locals, I hope,” my dad says, loud enough for at least half of the restaurant to hear.

“Dad,” I whisper-shout at him.

“Your dad is just worried about you getting caught up with the trouble around here. These small communities can be so easily plagued with drugs and crime, Sierra.” My mom has the sense to be a little quieter about it, but I still grow hot, knowing that Logan can hear everything. Quickly, I glance at him. He’s turned back to face his breakfast, but I spot the clenching of his jaw.

I want to argue with them, but I don’t know what to say.

“Stick with our friends and your regular group of friends here, darling,” my dad adds.

“Oh, you mean Natalie Reed?” I ask with a laugh. If only they knew the people Natalie associated with and her spring break behavior. How I was nearly attacked because I chose to hang out with her.

“Keep your voice down,” my dad chides me.

“You keep your voice down,” I mimic. He doesn’t mind insulting the locals, but the minute I bring up his law partner’s delinquent daughter, he gets upset.

“You’re ruining breakfast,” my mother says coldly, hiding behind her menu.

When the waitress returns, we grow quiet along with the rest of the diner. I quickly order a veggie omelet as I try to watch Logan who seems to be done with his breakfast.

Please don’t leave. I hate to think about the space without him in it. Without him to look at. That feeling I get when he’s not around, although so new, I already hate it.

“Sierra, tell us more about your friend,” my dad commands, not out of curiosity, but out of obligation.

Sitting up and taking a deep breath, I tell him. “I met him at the big bonfire on the first night. He’s…a gentleman, and we’re having a great week. Probably my favorite trip to Wickett so far.”

“He sounds nice,” my mother says with an easy smile on her face.

“Do we know his parents?” my dad adds, and I freeze up.

Logan is waiting for me to answer the question, to tell him that he’s a local, not a trust fund kid with a timeshare. But if I come out with the truth now, it will compromise all of our time together for our remaining few days, and more importantly, it will ruin all of my plans to find a way to stay. I want to tell Logan all of that, but I know he’s just waiting to hear me come clean.

“No…” I mumble. “You don’t know his parents.”