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“Oh, Quint! I didn’t know. Nothing is decided yet. We could postpone it until—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, really. My dad will get over it. We’re already planning some long weekends during the school year, and he’ll get me for pretty much all winter break.” His face softens and he looks almost uncomfortable as he adds, “I don’t want to go to San Francisco right now.”

The way he says it, there’s something else implied there.

Don’t overthink, Prudence.

He clears his throat and looks around. “We should probably go,” he says, and I realize we’re the last two people in the theater. We gather our things and stand up. “So, other than your distaste for my namesake,” he says as we slip between the rows of chairs, “you liked the movie?”

“Ha! Speaking of being traumatized!” I joke. “I’m glad you took me snorkeling already, because that’s probably the last time I will ever go into the water.”

“Give it a few weeks. The fear will pass.”

“Nope. Never. I do look like a seal, you know. From underwater? I’d be the first to go.”

His smile fades slightly as he peers at me. “We all look like seals from underwater. At least, to a shark we do.”

“And thank you for confirming why I am never swimming in the ocean ever again.”

“We’ll see about that. I can be pretty persuasive.”

I grunt, unconvinced, though a part of me can’t keep from imagining what he could do to lure me back into the waves. I shiver as a number of possibilities float unbidden through my mind.

“Speaking of snorkeling,” says Quint as we leave the auditorium. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and produces a glossy photograph. It’s a little warped from being in his pocket all day, and the printing quality isn’t the best, but my heart still leaps when I recognize the sea turtle.

Mysea turtle. The one I spotted when we went snorkeling. He captured it with its head raised, looking directly at the camera, waves of light flickering over the sand below. It’s beautiful.

“Sorry it got a little bent,” Quint says, uncreasing one of the corners. “I can print another copy if you want.”

“I will cherish it always,” I say, cradling the photo in my hands. I mean for it to sound like a joke, but I’m not sure that it is.

“I’m holding you to that. When you die, I want you to be buried with that picture.”

I laugh and tuck the photo into my notebook. “Thank you. Truly. I love it. And… okay,maybesomeday I’ll go snorkeling again. Maybe. We’ll see.”

His grin widens. “See? Persuasive.” He starts heading for the doors, but I stop him and make a beeline for the concessions stand instead.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m going to ask to speak to the manager. See about getting this place booked for the gala.”

“Now? We can’t do it tomorrow?”

“No time like the present!” I chirp.

But when I start to talk about event space rentals and community events, the boy behind the concessions stand gives me a perplexed look and tells me the manager isn’t in, and I should maybe try calling or something?

“Told you so,” says Quint as we head to the exit doors.

“Psh. It was a worth a try.”

Though it was daylight when we got here, the sun has set now and Main Street is glowing with twinkling lights that have been strung through the trees and along the roof lines of the iconic hundred-year-old buildings. A wind has kicked in, tossing the boughs of palm trees overhead. A thick cover of clouds obscures the stars. It feels like a storm is moving in, after all.

I cross my arms over my chest. It hadn’t occurred to me to bring a jacket.

Quint’s brow creases as he takes in the wind. “Did you ride your bike?”

“Yeah, it’s down this way.”