“No, you are not driving to East Hampton.”
That's what Max said at ten PM in the evening the day after my French Class Convention. He had a grumpy look on his face, his feet drumming against the wooden oak floor of our suite as I picked on my eggs Kate had made.
“It's just two hours from here. And besides, my grandparents would love to see me.” I retort, picking up the egg and shoving it into my mouth, savoring the taste of its saltiness and chewiness. I gulped it down and grabbed my cup.
Sometimes Max acted like an older brother. Sometimes he acted like a father. And sometimes, like right now, he acted like a pissy mother who wouldn't let her daughter go on a trip. Alone. At night.
Kate, Max and I agreed on letting me stay there for the night. We'd already called my grandparents, and
