Page 76 of The Last Thing You Said

I don’t respond.

I stand up, brush the sand off my shorts, and cut through the woods on the path that leads to the back parking lot of the Gas-n-Go. I’m inside the convenience store reaching for a bottle of water in the cooler when I hear my name. I turn to see Daniel.

Of course.

“Whatcha doing here, Lucy?” he asks me. “Aren’t you grounded?”

I hold up the water. “It’s a long walk home. Would you rather I succumb to dehydration and heat exhaustion?”

“Shouldn’t you already be at home?”

“Daniel, come on. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed fresh air. Exercise.”

“I’ll give you a ride home. I’m on my way to Brainerd anyway.”

He fills me in on the day’s progress at the Full Loon. “It’s going to be better than ever. We’re coming back strong, Luce.”

When I don’t respond, he says, “I haven’t seen you much since you got back from South Dakota. Everything okay?”

“Well, no. I got grounded, remember? For life?”

“Never been grounded before, huh?”

I shake my head. “No, and they threw the book at me, didn’t they?”

Daniel laughs. “Everybody was pretty worried about you, Lucy. I can’t blame them for being so upset.”

“The worst is that I can’t see Hannah. Guthrie is throwing her a birthday party, and Mom and Dad won’t let me go.”

“Well, the way I see it, and shit if I’m not going to sound just like my dad, and probably yours, you have to accept the consequences of your actions. And if that means not seeing Hannah and missing her birthday, there it is.”

I swipe at a tear in the corner of my eye. “It’s not fair. Clayton can get away with murder. I make one mistake—one—and I’m punished for weeks! I need to see Hannah.”

Suddenly I get an idea. Daniel can help me get to that party.

“Daniel,” I say, leaning toward him. “You’ve got to convince Mom to let me go to the party.”

“Oh, no,” he says. “No way. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Please, I’m begging you. This summer has been awful. Please.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. Don’t fuck this up, okay?”

“Okay, yes, thank you.” The words rush out of me.

“Seriously, don’t mess this up.”

As if this summer could get any more messed up.

By the time Mom gets home, I’ve showered again and made tacos for dinner. She comes out to the deck, where I’m sitting with my laptop, pinning quotes to my online bulletin board.

I don’t regret the things I’ve done. I only regret the things I didn’t do when I had the chance.

I can picture that quote in our notebook, one of Trixie’s favorites, written in dark teal cursive.

Don’t count the laps—make the laps count. Trixie’s favorite swim team quote.

I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light. One of the many Helen Keller quotes I wrote in the book.