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“Because…” My mouth stays open, but nothing else comes out. “Because… because people think they’re cute?”

He rolls his eyes. “People. But not you?”

“I don’t know. They’re not bad.”

“Have you ever seen a baby sea otter?”

I roll my eyes. “No, but I’m sure they’re great. I’m just saying. They’re sea animals. They’re not puppies.”

“Ah. So you’re a dog person.”

I make a face. “Ick. No.”

Quint laughs, tipping back in his chair and balancing on the back legs. I’m tempted to kick it out from under him. His teeth, I notice for the first time, are weirdly perfect. Like, toothpaste-model teeth.

“Oh, stop it,” I hiss. “I’m not a monster. I can see that puppies are adorable, and I’m sure baby sea otters are, too. But… I like people. I like kids.”

He looks surprised at this. “You do?”

“Well, sure. I mean, when they’re not related to me. I used to tutor kindergartners in reading and they were the best.”

He stares. “Huh.”

“Don’thuhme,” I say, pointing a finger at his face. “I do more than study, you know.”

He cocks his head to the side, and I can see that this is new information to him. But I can also see him struggling not to say that. “You said you like kids when they’re not related to you. Jude isn’t your only sibling?”

“I wish. We have three younger sisters. Lucy is thirteen, Penny is nine, and Ellie is four.”

“Ellie,” he says, curious. “Short for Eleanor?”

I nod.

“Wow. Your parents were really committed to the Beatles thing, weren’t they?”

My eyes widen. He picked up on thatreallyfast. “You know Beatles music?”

“Of course. They were pretty much all my dad listened to when I was growing up.”

His dad?This is the first I’ve heard of Quint’s dad. I don’t recall seeing a wedding ring on Rosa, but then, I wasn’t looking for one, either. And with her line of work, it’s possible she would take it off anyway.

Then I catch the subtext of Quint’s words. That’s all his dad listened towhen he was growing up.

But not now?

Did he pass away?

Curiosity floods through me, but I know I shouldn’t ask. Instead, I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Yeah, well, I’m just glad my parents kept having girls, because there aren’t a lot of guy-friendly names in Beatles songs. I mean, there’s Maxwell, who murders people with a hammer. Or Rocky, who gets shot in a saloon… It’s really slim pickings.”

Quint chuckles again, but at least this time he doesn’t seem to be laughingatme, which is a nice change. “I love it. I always wanted a little brother or sister.”

“Everyone says that, because they have no idea what a pain they are.”

He shrugs. “I think I’d be a pretty kickass big brother.”

I want to argue, to shoot a hole or two in that theory, but… maybe he’s right. I mean, Jude is a great big brother. He’s way more patient with our sisters than I am and more willing to play with them or help with homework or babysit. Not that it’s a competition, but we both know who the better older sibling is.

“Do you have any older siblings?” I ask.