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This seems to give him pause. He pulls back slightly, his mouth open. It takes a couple of seconds before he says, “I didn’t think of that.”

I huff righteously and cross my arms over my chest.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Sure, whatever. I just hope you were having a good time, beating your high score on… on Pac-Man, or whatever it is you were doing.”

His eyes narrow, a cross between amused and irritated. “Pac-Man?”

I wave my hand at him. “Ari has an old… never mind.”

He shakes his head. “Well, yeah. I totally destroyed my Pac-Man record. You know, right after I helped our rescue crew untangle a sea otter from a fishing net. Are you done with these?” He doesn’t wait for a response before gobbling down two more tostones.

Which is good, because I’m actually speechless.

I want to believe he’s making that up, but… I don’t think he is.

The waiter returns and Quint orders a root beer.

“She’s going to be fine,” Quint says once our server has gone again. “The otter. In case you’re wondering.”

I clear my throat, refusing to feel sheepish. “For the record, there was absolutely no way for me to know about that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Quint shrugs. “But just once, it’d be nice if you didn’t assume I’m an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole. I just think you’re…”

He smiles expectantly. “Go on. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Irresponsible,” I say.

He hums thoughtfully and polishes off the last of the tostones. “Is that all?”

It feels almost like he’s mocking me, but… comeon.I’m the one who had to put up with his immature antics all year.

“It’s enough,” I say. “A person can only be late to class so many times before their priorities become pretty obvious.”

He takes his time licking salt from his fingers. Our server delivers the root beer and Quint orders a plate of nachos topped with pernil asado.

As soon as we’re alone again, Quint gives me a smile that seems almost like… like he feels bad for me. “For the record,” he says, and again I can hear the mocking in his tone, repeating my words from earlier, “I work most mornings at the center. Even during the school year. That’s why I’m late so much, especially in the spring, because that’s when a lot of the animals separate from their moms and have to survive on their own, which just doesn’t go too well for everyone, so we get a slew of new patients all at once. It’ll be slower in the fall. Not that you care.”

I stare at him.

“Mr. Chavez knows this,” says Quint. “He understands that I haveresponsibilities”—drawing out the word like it’s the first time he’s ever said it—“and so he gives me a pass for when I’m late. In return, every two weeks my mom signs a form stating what I did at the center that justifies my absence at school, and Mr. Chavez gives me credit for it. It’s a—what was that fancy word you used yesterday? Ah—asymbioticrelationship.” Helowers his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m probably the suckerfish.”

I raise my hand. “Hold on. You’re telling me that all this time you just let me believe you were sleeping in and… slacking off at the arcade or something, when you’ve actually been scrubbing pools and making fish puree?”

“Don’t forget the rescuing of baby sea otters,” he says.

I shake my head. “You did not say it was a baby.”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t. This time.”

I throw my hands up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to.”

“When?”