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“Prudence,” says Rosa, stepping between us, maybe afraid that I’m about to start throwing things. “You should go.”

My breath catches. That’s it. I’m being fired. I don’t even get paid, and somehow, I’m being fired.

Jaw tight, I reach into my bag and pull out the notebooks and folders I’d been keeping for the gala. I throw them on Rosa’s desk and turn on my heels.

I leave, practically running down the stairs and through the small lobby.

I crash into a woman on the doorstep. Shauna startles and catches me. “Whoa, calm down there, sweetie pie. Are you all right?”

I swipe the tears from my eyes. I can’t look at her. I just want to get away.

Then my attention catches on her necklace, a sparkling pendant worn against her chest.

My breath snags.

It’s Maya’s earring.

Shauna cranes her head, worry etched across her elderly face. “Prudence?”

Shaking my head, I back away from her. Stumble off the stoop and grab my bike. I swing my leg over the seat and pedal away as fast as I can, trying to drown out the memory of Quint’s harsh words.

I’m a good person.

Selfish. Critical.

I am a good person.

Judgmental. Self-absorbed.

I. Am. A. Good. Person.

A liar. A hypocrite. A mistake.

My vision is blurred. I can’t keep going. I pull over onto the sidewalk and drop my bike against a palm tree before collapsing beside it. The sobs overtake me.

“I’m a good person,” I cry to myself, to no one. Maybe to the universe, if it’s listening.

But a question digs at me. Quint’s words, barbed and hateful. His accusations. My own insecurities.

I believe I’m a good person.

But what if I’m not?

FORTY-THREE

“You’re donating a basket,” I say, my jaw unhinged. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

My dad gives me a sympathetic look, even as he’s tucking a gift certificate for Ventures Vinyl into an envelope. “I understand that things didn’t end well between you and the animal rescue, but that’s hardly the animals’ fault.”

“They accused me of stealing!”

He tucks the card into the basket, along with a John Lennon bobblehead doll and a guitar-shaped Christmas ornament, among the other musical tchotchkes. “Okay. You tell me. In all honesty. Are they doing good work there? Are they deserving of people’s donations or not?”

I press my lips together. It feels like a betrayal. My own parents—who can barely support themselves—opting to donate a gift basket to the gala’s auction? It’s bad enough they put one of the posters in the store window. That they have flyers promoting the gala next to the cash register. Whose side are they on, anyway?

But I can’t tell him that the center doesn’t need the money or that they won’t do something worthwhile with their donations. I think of Lennon,mysea lion, that I haven’t seen for almost three weeks, and that I hope with my whole heart is doing well, and I know Dad is right. Just because Rosa and Quint accused me of stealing money doesn’t mean the animals should be punished. They’ve suffered enough.

I groan. “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”