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“I think so, yeah.”

“Cool. That was a weird week. Hey—that reminds me. The petition I was working on that night? You know, to shut down that so-called farm? Sounds like we might be making progress. The USDA says they’re going to investigate it.”

“Nice,” says Quint. “Congratulations?”

“Nothing’s changed yet, but yeah, thanks. Anyway. I guess I’m on chart duty until I get this thing taken off. Still, it’s good to be back. I missed all those little guys down there.”

“They missed you, too.”

More clomping as she and her crutches head back toward the stairs. I listen until Quint leaves, too, before finally releasing my breath, and just as quickly sucking in a new one.Gah, that was the longest two minutes of my life.

I turn my attention back to the stacks of money I’ve laid out. There’s still plenty of change in the jar, but I ignore it. The beachcomber did not give us twelve hundred dollars in quarters.

But this doesn’t look like enough.

I count through it, starting with the solitary fifty-dollar bill, then working my way through the twenties. The tens. The fives.

I know long before I start in on the ones that something is wrong.

This isn’t going to add up to anything even close to twelve hundred dollars.

I pick up the tall stack of ones, but I don’t bother. It’s fifty dollars at most.

What the heck? Did that woman lie to me? Did she just say that she gave the money to the center so I wouldn’t pester her about taking it back to the pawnshop?

But she seemed so sweet. So genuine.

It doesn’t make sense.

And honestly, even without the twelve-hundred-dollar windfall I believed was in here, shouldn’t there still be more thanthis? There had to be hundreds of people who put money into this jar.

But maybe I miscalculated. Or maybe I’d naively thought that most people would be handing over fives and tens, even the occasional twenty, when in reality, it was just the loose change at the bottom of their pockets.

Someone knocks at the door.

I gasp and look up as the door swings open—agonizingly slow.

Quint stands there, his hand still raised.

He blinks at me and looks from my face, which is already reddening, to the stack of dollar bills in my hands, to the near-empty donation jar.

THIRTY-TWO

“Prudence?” he says, brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry!” I spout, even though I haven’t done anything. Haven’t taken anything. Even though I have absolutelynothingto be sorry for.

I start shoving the money back into the jar.

“I was just dying to know what we made!” I laugh, and I know how nervous it sounds, how incriminating. My hands are shaking. “The suspense was killing me.”

He chuckles, a little uncertainly. “Yeah, right. I asked Shauna earlier and she said she hasn’t even gotten to it yet. That she’ll let us know tomorrow.”

“Gah, tomorrow! That’s, like, ages away!” I’m laying it on too thick. I try to calm myself down as I twist the lid back onto the jar.

“I know. So?”

I stare at him. “So?”