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Oh.There it is. The f-word. The note of surprise. The implication—Wow! Prudence Barnett knows how to havefun? Who knew?

“Right. Because all I know how to do is work hard and get good grades and study.”

He glares at me, and just like that, we’re all bristled up again. “Honestly? I’ve wondered.”

It’s terrible, the way this comment burns. There’s no way for Quint to know how he’s just jabbed a stick straight into one of my weakest places. I know I can be a bit of a control nut. I know I take things too seriously sometimes. I know I’m not a jokester or the life of the party or one of those breezy “cool girls” that are portrayed in the films like the fantasy of every red-blooded boy out there.

I know the words someone like Quint uses to describe someone like me.

Buzzkill. Uptight.Prude.

But he’s wrong.

“I can have fun,” I say. “Idohave fun. And for your information, I have friends who like hanging out with me. People who legitimately enjoy my company. Maybe I don’t go surfing or… or do kegstands or whatever—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Quint. “That’s not what I—just never mind, okay? Let’s just forget I said anything.”

I inhale sharply through my nostrils. My pulse is running hot, but I force my anger back down from whence it came. I admit to myself that maybe, just maybe, that was a slight overreaction. Though I’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Fine,” I mutter. “It’s forgotten.”

“Great.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

Aaaaand… suddenly, things are weird. Uncomfortable. Like there’s beensomething left unsaid but neither of us is quite willing to say it, and—to be honest—I have no idea what that thing is. But it’s looming over our heads, daring us to take notice.

“Okay!” I say again, so loud and sudden that Quint jumps a little. “So. Let’s talk fundraising strategies, shall we? I have so many ideas. I’m bursting with ideas. Here. I made a list, organized in order from lowest to highest start cost, but then on this side I’ve noted what I think the potential income could be.” I flip around the top piece of paper and hold it toward Quint. He scans it as he eats a few more nachos. I take my pen and tap the top item—bake sale. “Obviously, a bake sale would be incredibly cheap and easy, but how much money can we really expect to make selling brownies?”

“I don’t know. People really like brownies.”

“True. And I also have this page of supplementary ideas, and under bake sale I did think we could make themed goods? Like, cookies shaped like dolphins, that sort of thing. But, anyway, I think we can do better than a bake sale.” I tap a few more items on the list. “Other cost-effective options are creating a mailing list and working on our educational outreach with local schools, and we definitely need to step things up on social media. The only cost there is our time. On the other end of the spectrum, down here, we have things like—”

“Gifts with donations?” says Quint.

“Yes! Like in our project. Remember? Reusable tote bags and water bottles, all branded with the center’s logo. Just a little incentive, based on various donation amounts. But we would have to pay to produce those items, and it’s better to order that stuff in bulk so that the price-per-item goes way down.”

“Field trips?”

“Right! I thought, if we can get kids excited about the center, then they’ll go home and tell their parents. We can invite classes to come and see the animals, watch us feed them, maybe do a fun craft project, like I found these sea turtle suncatchers on Pinterest that are made out of tissue paper and super cute, and then—”

“Prudence. Pause.”

My words halt.

“Before we can do any of this, we need to figure out our message. Ourmission. I mean, I know why my mom started the center, and why so many of the volunteers donate their time there, but we need to be able to convey it to people who’ve never heard of us. Who maybe have no idea that these animals are in danger. Because no one is going to give us money if they don’t know why it’s important.”

“Of course it’s important,” I say, more than a little confused.

Quint laughs. “Youdon’t think it is.”

“That’s not true. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re here because you want a better grade on that project.”

My hackles rise and I’m about to argue, when Quint lifts both hands. “Just stick with me here. We rescue and rehabilitate sea animals. Why?”