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“How many volunteers are there?” I ask. “As opposed to staff.”

“There are only three people on staff. Mom, Shauna, and Opal—Dr. Jindal. Then we have…” He pauses, and I can tell he’s counting in his head. “Sixteen volunteers, including me and Morgan. My mom would love to hire more people, but money is…” He trails off. “I mean, we’re pretty reliant on government grants, which barely makes enough to keep the animals fed, much less pay a bunch of employees. But the volunteers are great. It’s kind of like a family, and everyone really cares about what we’re doing.” He pauses and looks at me, and I can see the hint of accusation there again: thewhat areyoudoing here?But it passes quickly. “I mean, look at those eyes. You can’t help but fall in love, right?”

I startle. My heart skips, and it takes me a second to realize he’s gesturing at Luna. Except, when I glance down, her eyes are closed. I think she might be sleeping.

“All right,” says Quint. “I need to get to work. I’m setting you free.”

“My, how generous,” I say, but I’m frowning. “But why not let me help you?”

He shakes his head. “I can do it faster on my own. We’ll continue your training tomorrow.” He gives me a sideways look as we start walking back toward the lobby. “That is, if you’re still planning on coming back. Because if this isn’t for you…”

“I’ll be here,” I say. Firmly. “And by the end of summer, we will submit one killer report to Mr. Chavez. That’s the deal, right?”

Quint’s jaw seems to tighten, but then he holds out his hand.

I swallow, but my hesitation is brief. I take his hand and we share a determined shake.

SIXTEEN

“It’s so gross!” I say, flopping onto the sofa in Ari’s den. “It’s literally fish puree. Plus, I had to chop off fish heads! Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about it. Andthen,you can’t just feed it to the animals, right? Oh no. You have to give it to them through a tube.” I shudder.

Ari makes a sound like she’s trying to care about my complaints, but I know she’s mostly ignoring me. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her guitar in her lap, leaning forward to study something on her phone.

I sigh and stare at the ceiling.

“But I have to go back,” I say, as much to myself as to Ari. “If I want to redo that project, I have to go back. For four whole weeks.”

Ari plucks a few strings, then frowns and shakes her head. She finally looks up at me. “Why can’t you just settle for the C?”

I give her a withering look.

She shrugs. “Just saying. It’s what almost anyone else would do.”

“Well, it’s not what I would do. AC.It will haunt me the rest of my life if I don’t get it fixed.”

“Will it, though?” says Ari sweetly. “It’s not like you’re going to need science credits when you apply to business school. Literally no one but you cares about this project or the grade you got.”

“Exactly.I care,which is the most important thing.”

She considers this. “I suppose that’s true. So you’re officially volunteeringat an animal rescue center for the next month. How very selfless of you, dear Prudence.”

“Hey, I can be selfless,” I say, noting the dryness in her tone.

She laughs. “I know you can, but don’t you see the irony? You’re only doing this for the grade.”

“So?” I sit up, suddenly defensive. “Actions make a person good, not motives.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that,” she says wistfully. “But it’d make a good theme for a song. Good or bad, right or wrong… do the means justify the ends and vice versa…” She goes into her dazed songwriting look, but it passes quickly. She bends over the phone again, long wisps of dark brown hair falling over her face like a curtain. She pulls them back with one hand, twisting her hair once at the nape of her neck, before letting it drape across her shoulder. The wisps will return in a few minutes, and I consider offering her my hairband, but she never uses them so I don’t bother.

Ari’s brow furrows and she plucks the same strings over again. She harrumphs, frustrated. “Other than fish smoothies, how was it working with Quint?”

I snarl. “It feels like I’m being punished for something.” My brow crinkles upon further consideration. “Although I guess it wasn’t as terrible as it could have been.”

Her eyebrow lifts, and I grab a pillow to throw at her. She hunkers forward, protecting the guitar. “Stop it. I am not interested in him. I’m just saying, evidently, he can be a halfway-decent human being when he’s doing something he cares about.” Because I could tell he does care about the center, a lot. “That still does not excuse all the stress he put me through this year. And I guarantee that when it comes time for us to finish this project,again,it’s going to require just as much prodding and tooth-pulling as it did the first time. Ideal scenario: I do it myself and we just use Quint’s email address to submit it, so our teacher thinks he was involved.”

“I thought you said part of the reason you got a bad grade was lack of teamwork?”

I sneer. “Again—not my fault.Youtry working with him.”