"Mom is being so unfair," I tell my dad the next day.

"She's pretty upset with you too," he does what he does best-- playing the middle ground.

"All I did was say that all of the goals that I have in life are hers. That's the truth, it's not my fault that she doesn't want to hear it," I defend myself. "She has never asked me what I want in life, she just assumed that I'd want the same things as her."

"We both think that it's a good idea for you to come home," he breaks the news to me. "No matter who's right or wrong, this is a conversation that needs to happen in person."

"No," I stay firm. It makes my knees go weak to tell my father no in such a straightforward fashion with no room for negotiation. "I like it here, it's helping me think clearly."

"It sounds like it's distancing you from us," he accuses me. "You shouldn't talk to your mother like you did, and you know that."

"You weren't there, Dad," I groan at him. "She's being absolutely unreasonable. How can she not admit that she has been making all of my decisions for me? How can you not accept that? I'm not saying that I don't agree with those decisions, but my opinion was never taken into consideration."

"I don't think that's true. We listen to what you want all of the time. We got you your paint studio, your trip to France," my dad stops talking when he runs out of things to use as an example, because these are the only two things they've ever given me because I expressed my desire for it.

"She decided that I'd go to Brown, what my major is, and she decided that I'll start at Henlock after graduation. She decided it before I was even conceived. How could I have had any part of making a decision that was made before I was even born?"

"We just want what's best for you, Maisie," he assures me in his soft, understanding voice. That's how he gets you, with that gentle voice that makes anybody feel safe and heard. I do feel heard, even though I know that my mom will steamroll any progress I might make with him.

"I know that," I say honestly. "But it doesn't make anything that I've said wrong."

"Just come home," he returns to that topic. "There is a flight tomorrow at five, do you think that you could make that one?"

"No," I say again. "I'm not coming home, I already said that. I'm here using my own money, I'm eighteen years old, you can't make me come home. I deserve this time by myself to make decisions on my own. After my entire life of being told what to do every second of every day, I think that I deserve one single summer to be my own person."

"I just feel like you being gone is going to widen this divide that's growing between you and your mom," he expresses his concern to me.

"I need this, Dad," I insist. "Maybe it's not good for Mom, but it's good for me. Now that I've been gone, I'm starting to realize that I barely even know who I am anymore because I've been trying so hard to be the person that you both want me to be. But I deserve to be my own person."

"I know that you're your own person," he assures me. "It's just that we put so much time and effort into helping you get to where you are right now. If this isn't what you wanted, you should have told us sooner."

"I don't know if this is what I want or not. I've never let myself think about it before," I tell him. "And I'm really grateful for everything that both of you have done for me."

"I'm glad that you're having a good time over there. We miss you over here. I will try to talk to your mother," it seems like he's starting to see my side, or maybe he's realizing that I really won't back down. For once in my life, I'm going to out-stubborn my parents.

"You shouldn't have to be the middleman between me and Mom. But maybe just easing her mind a little bit would be nice."

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do," he promises me.

"Well, it was nice talking to you. Tell Trevor I said hi. I do miss you guys a lot too. I'm going to get off now though, I'm heading to the pool," I start to end the conversation, because I'm feeling too stressed out about this argument with my mom and I want to stop thinking about it. I'm already dressed for the pool, so I'm eager to get out there.

"Okay, I'll let you go," he says. "I love you, Maisie."

"I love you too, Dad," I say to him before the call ends. I do feel better about the situation after talking to my dad. He really does have a soothing quality about him, although I don't think that anything will truly feel resolved until I talk to my mom. Hopefully my dad will at least be able to influence her a little bit.

Down at the pool, I relax on one of the empty daybeds. My only clean bathing suit right now is my bikini that hugs my boobs close to my chest, but lets my butt hang out. The hotel has a laundry room, but I haven't been doing a very good job at keeping up with it. Luckily, I'm the only one at the pool, so I decide to lay out on my stomach to tan my back as I put my wireless earbuds in to listen to my audiobook.

A few chapters into the book, I feel like I'm drifting off to sleep when I feel a hand against my shoulder. I jump up and spin around to see Silas standing over me.

I take out one of my earbuds. "Hey," I mutter a breathless greeting.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he says quickly. "I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay."

"I'm okay," I assure him as I sit up. "Once my heart beat comes back down, at least."

"You seemed kind of upset yesterday," he sits down on the day bed beside mine. "Do you want to talk about it or anything?"

"No, it wasn't really a big deal," I tell him with a shrug.

"Look, Maisie," he surprises me by reaching across to me and grabbing my hand in his. "I know that we decided not to put a label on what we have, but whatever it is that we have, it involves me caring about you, okay? And that I'll be here for you if you need anything."

His eyes are boring into me like lasers. "Thanks, Silas."

"And you don't have to tell me what's going on if you don't want to," he adds. "But I'm here, if you do."

"It was just a small disagreement with my mom," I find myself opening up to him. I don't know what it is about the way he's looking at me, or the warm embrace of his hand around mine, that makes my words spill out of my mouth. "Really not that big of a deal."

"I thought you didn't have disagreements with your mom," he reminds me.

"I don't. Maybe that's why it got me so bummed out," I mumble. "Anyway, thank you for coming to check on me. I really do appreciate it."

"Did you guys make up?"

"Not really. I talked to my dad today, maybe I'll talk to my mom tomorrow," I say with a shrug. "She can be very stubborn, so I really don't think that we'll get anywhere. I just have to remember not to back down."

"I believe in you," he says with a smile. "I'm going to a house party tonight with some friends in Nice, if you want to go with me. Most of them speak decent English, so you won't be out of the loop."

"There is nothing that would cheer me up more right now than to see you drunk again," I laugh. "But I don't want to impose or anything."

"You're not imposing, I'm inviting you," Silas tells me. "They're excited to meet you."

"What? Like you've told your friends about me?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Are you saying that you haven't told your friends about me?" he questions me. "I'm offended."

I would rather drown in that pool than remind Silas that I don't have any friends. "What have you told them about me?"

"Not very much. Just that you're here, we talk, we kiss. I told them you're American, and that you paint," he tells me. "Oh, and also that you're the most beautiful girl that's ever existed."

I smile at him with a blush. "Shut up, you didn't say that."

"It was something along those lines," he shrugs at me, laughing. "So what do you think? Would you want to come with me?"

"Okay," I decide. It makes me nervous to meet his friends because I've never been that good at socializing in groups of people in casual settings. They'll probably think I'm awkward or weird, maybe they'll just blame it on me being American. But I do want to meet his friends, just to get to know more about him. And it'll help cheer me up from my crappy mood these past two days. "Sure, I'll come. What should I wear?"

"It's casual, you can wear whatever you want," he assures me. "I'm just going to wear this."

Silas motions down to the outfit he's wearing, just jeans and a t-shirt-- his usual type of outfit. But he's so beautiful that he looks good in anything, and nothing really looks casual on him. It's intimidating.

"What are your friends like?" I ask him, feeling very aware now after analyzing his clothes, that I'm still just in my bikini. It feels awkward now, with such an imbalance in our clothing, so I grab my swim cover and throw it over my head so that I'm more covered up.

"They're great," Silas is quick to answer me. "I think you'll really like them. We're kind of a mixed bunch, we all went to school together and went down different paths. They're laid back."

"I'm excited to meet them," I tell him honestly, but I don't tell him about how nervous I am as well. I'll just have to fake it until I make it on this one.

A few hours pass between Silas joining me at the pool and the time that I need to be ready to go to the city with him. The nerves, surprisingly, seem to fade as those hours pass. The more I think about it, the less I'm worried because I'm sure that the company that Silas keeps is good company. He's a really good guy, and I'm sure that he surrounds himself with really good people.

I'm still a little nervous, as I'm sure most people are when meeting an entire group of people for the first time, but I'm more excited than anything.

It's difficult for me not to stress about what to wear, but I try to just grab something quickly. I go for a comfortable outfit because I'm not sure what we'll be doing. Silas said it's a house party, but does that mean just sitting around talking, maybe playing video games? Or dancing, playing sports together? Even though I feel hesitant about my outfit, I don't let myself change my mind and put on a pair of mom jean shorts and a black and white striped cropped tank top.

Trying to make it look effortless, I save enough time to apply a small amount of mascara and concealer before I meet Silas at his car. Before he starts driving to his friend's house, I insist that we stop at the store so that I can buy a pack of beer to bring. He assures me that he already has some drinks in the backseat, but I want to feel like I'm contributing, so he makes the pit stop and I purchase a pack of the beer that he had brought to the pool the other day.

The car ride is filled with light conversation between the two of us and time seems to go by rather quickly. Silas parks his car on the street in front of a six story rusty orange building with iron gates around the windows.

It looks like a nice building, but what's not nice about it is that I have to lug the beer that I insisted on buying, and another pack of beer that Silas had already had, up four flight of stairs to get to the fifth floor.

By the time we got to the right floor, I am almost hyperventilating and I have to wipe a light layer of sweat off of my forehead. The door that Silas stops in front of an old brown door with a golden 5H screwed onto the front. He knocks a few times and my arms are quaking from the weight of the beers.

Thankfully, the door is quickly answered by a tall girl with a blonde pixie cut and a wide, white smile. "Salut, Silas!" she greets him before glancing over at me and then saying, "Sorry, we're speaking English now. I'll remember. You must be Maisie." Her French accent is thick, similar to Audrine's.

"She knows what 'salut' means," Silas laughs as he starts walking into the apartment and I follow. "This is Melanie."

"Hi," I offer meekly. "Thank you for inviting me."

The rustic interior of the apartment feels cozy, with dark furniture and crown molding. Other than Melanie, there are six other people in the living room, squeezing themselves onto the couches and chairs all angled toward one large TV mounted on the wall.

When the group of people notice that Silas has arrived-- more importantly, the beer has arrived-- cheers start erupting.

"You can put the drinks in the kitchen," one of the men on the couch instructs us. The living room that we're standing in is closed off from the rest of the apartment, all I see is doors leading to other rooms. Silas seems to know which one of these doors to go through, so I just follow his strides as he walks into the kitchen and the enthusiastic chatter ensues in the living room.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Silas asks me as he empties all of the containers of beer into the small fridge in the corner of the cramped kitchen.

"Sure, I'll take one of these," I take one of the light beers that I'd bought because I liked drinking it when we were at the pool.

He takes a bottle from a different one of the packs and before we return to the living room, he presses his lips against my forehead. And then it's show time.