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“Shirley Temples,” says Ari.

Quint looks confused. “That’s an actress, right?”

Ari perks up. “Have you never had one? I mean, yes, she was an actress, a kid star. But the drink… You should try one. Think joy in a glass.”

“Think diabetes and a severe lack of dignity,” mutters Morgan, still engrossed in her texting rant.

Quint casts her a look that’s almost amused, tinged with something like pity. It annoys me that I recognize this look. That it’s been directed at me almost every day since the start of the school year.

“I just realized how much you and Prudence would probably get along,” he says.

Morgan glances up, confused, and I know she’s wondering whoPrudenceis, but instead of asking, she says, “Why did that sound like an insult?”

Quint shakes his head. “Long story.” He nods at Carlos. “We’ll take two Shirley Temples.”

“No. Pass,” says Morgan. “I’ll have an iced coffee with coconut milk.”

“Sure thing,” says Carlos. “You’ll be joining my regulars here?”

Quint eyes our booth. It’s a big booth—could probably fit up to eight people if they wanted to feel cozy. We could definitely fit two more.

But his gaze lands on me and the icy glare I’m sending his way and he miraculously gets the hint. “Naw, we’re actually going to…” He turns. The restaurant is filling fast, but there’s a two-top table right by the stage that’s justbeen abandoned, half a basket of tortilla chips and some crumpled napkins left behind. “Is that table free?”

“Sure is. I’ll get it bused for you.” Carlos gestures at the songbook. “Don’t be shy, kids. We need more singers. Get those songs put up, all right? I’m looking at you, Pru.”

Quint makes a sound in his throat, something between disbelief and amusement. It makes my skin prickle. “Funny,” he says as Carlos heads toward the bar.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“The idea of you singing karaoke.”

“I can sing,” I say defensively, before feeling compelled to add, “Sort of.”

“I’m sure you can,” Quint says, smiling—because when is he not smiling? “It’s just hard to imagine you loosening up enough to do it.”

Loosening up.

He doesn’t know it—or maybe he does—but Quint has just dug his thumb into a very sore spot. Maybe it comes with being a perfectionist. Maybe it’s because I’m a rule follower, an overachiever, the sort of person who would rather host a study group than go to a kegger. Maybe it’s because my parents gave me the unfortunate name ofPrudence.

I do not like being told to loosen up.

I can relax. I can have fun. Quint Erickson doesn’t know me.

Jude, though, knows me all too well. He’s watching me, his expression dark with concern. Then he turns to Quint and says, maybe too loudly, “Actually, Pru and I used to do karaoke all the time when we were kids. She used to do a brilliant rendition of ‘Yellow Submarine.’”

“Really?” says Quint, surprised. He’s looking at Jude, but then his gaze slides to me, and I can tell he has no idea how much my blood is boiling right now. “I’d pay money to see that.”

“How much?” I spit.

He pauses, like he’s not sure whether I’m joking or not.

A waitress appears and gestures to the small table, now cleared of old dishes, sporting two glasses of ice water. “Your table is ready.”

“Thanks,” says Quint. He seems relieved to have an escape from thisconversation. I’m ecstatic. “Good to see you, Jude. Nice to meet you… Ari, right?” His focus returns to me. “Guess I’ll see you in class.”

“Don’t forget.” I thump the textbook. “Two hundred and fifty words on your preferred aquatic adaptation.”

“Right. Thanks for the reminder. See? Was that so hard?”