The Truth Against the World by Sarah Jamila Stevenson

walked past. From the kitchen, he called out, “If you’re having trouble sleeping I can make you some herbal tea.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I said. “I’m almost done.” I typed the last lines of my email to Gareth as quickly as I could and hit Send .
    â€œWhat’s got you up so late, anyway? More Welsh?” Dad came back in, holding a glass of water, and hovered uncertainly.
    â€œNo, just writing to my friend.” It had been a few days since I’d last opened the Welsh language software and I felt a slight stab of guilt.
    â€œ Something on your mind, baby?” He looked a bit down himself; a double frown-line creased the space between his eyebrows, and as he sat down, he sighed heavily.
    â€œYou look tired, Dad,” I said, avoiding the question. “Are you okay?”
    â€œSure,” he said with a wry smile. “The vacation cottages are going to charge us an outrageous fee for carting in a hospital bed, and your mom is having kittens about only having three days to pack, and I have a kid who’s got a computer growing out of her lap. Everything’s peachy.”
    â€œSorry.” I shut my laptop and set it on the coffee table.
    â€œWhat about you, though?” he persisted. “I want to make sure you’re handling everything okay. What’s the scoop these days?”
    â€œNothing much.” But a smile crept onto my face. “I kind of … met a guy,” I confessed, not looking at him. “Not really ‘met,’ I guess. He’s been reading my blog. We started writing to each other because he thought he recognized my name. He’s got Welsh family, too, and here’s the thing.” I finally met my dad’s eyes, unable to disguise my excitement. “His family’s from Cwm Tawel, too! He lives in London now, but anyway, I can’t believe it. Maybe I’ll get to meet him.”
    â€œHmm,” my dad said. He wasn’t smiling. “What did you say his name was? I’d like to do a little background checking to make sure he is who he says he is.”
    â€œ What? Dad, come on.” I stared at him. “I’m not an idiot. I checked around. Plus, we talked on Skype. I’ve seen his face.”
    Dad scowled at me. “I’m sure you were thorough, but Mom has access to all kinds of databases at the law office. I’d feel a lot better if we found more out about this person before you decide to meet him. Which I’m still not sure is a good idea.”
    â€œOkay, okay.” I relented, but I was still seething at his implication that I could actually be duped by some middle-aged Internet predator. “His name is Gareth Lewis. But I promise you, he’s a teenage boy. And not a psycho.”
    â€œI’d like you to forward one of his emails to me so I can look at the header data,” Dad continued. “And maybe during one of your chats, I can say hello to him.”
    I let out a wordless noise of frustration. “Fine. I wish you would trust me, though.”
    Dad’s face softened and he shifted toward me, hugging me with one arm. “I do trust you. But you’re fifteen years old. I still want to protect you.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I can’t help it. I’m a dad, and we’re about to spend the summer in a place I haven’t visited since I was your age. Cut me some slack, man.”
    I rolled my eyes, but I leaned into him.
    â€œI’m sure Gareth is a perfectly normal kid. Just humor me, and we’ll see what happens when we get to Wales.”
    I sighed. That was probably the best I could hope for. It still wasn’t a sure thing, but I was starting to feel a tiny bit excited about seeing Gareth. We would work it out somehow, I was certain. Maybe this was a good sign.

    I stood in front of the antique mirror on my dresser, pulling out folded piles of underwear and socks. In the spotted glass, I could see