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I cover my eyes with my hands and give my head a vicious shake. But it doesn’t last long. I have to open my fingers. I have to peek.

Oh heavens. That fuzzy face, the twitching nose, the sweet little paws curled together over his tummy as he rolls around on the floor…

I groan, and feel myself caving. “Fine. Quint. You were”—I grimace, biting back the word for as long as I can—“right.”

He makes a victorious fist, pumping his elbow.

“Sea otters are flippingadorable.But you cheated! You said it wasn’t a baby.”

“It’s not a baby. He’s, like… I dunno, our age, probably. But in otter years. Their babies aren’tsupersmall, but they’re smaller than that.” He leans toward me conspiratorially. “A couple years ago we were caring for a pregnant sea otter when she gave birth. The pup was like the size of a basketball. A fuzzy, ridiculously cute basketball.”

“Stop it.”

“I got to bottle-feed it a couple times.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

I cut a look at him. He’s watching the sea otter, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

I swallow and look away. I study the little otter as he flops onto his tummy and curls up on top of a blue towel that’s been left in the corner for him. His wounds are almost unnoticeable—a few lacerations along his back and side, one cut on his back paw. I never would have seen them if Quint hadn’t pointed them out. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh yeah, he’ll be out in the yard in no time, and then back out to sea.”

We finally move away from the newest patient. We have the second shift today, and the time it took to prepare the feedings went a lot faster than before. Quint and I spend a little more than an hour cleaning the kitchen and doing dishes, then sorting the newest delivery of fish for tomorrow’s meal prep.

“So what’s Jude up to while you’re here slaving away?” Quint asks as I dry a collection of bottles and arrange them in one of the cabinets.

“He’s working at the record store this summer.”

Quint looks at me, surprised. “Ventures?”

“Yep.”

“Really? Seems a little… hipstery. For Jude.”

I laugh, in part because the idea of my parents’ store being “hipstery” strikes me as faintly hilarious. “Oh yeah, Jude doesn’t fit in there at all. But our parents own the store. You didn’t know that?”

He looks at me, surprised. “No. That’s cool. It’s been years since I’ve gone in.”

“You and ninety-eight percent of the town’s population.” I sigh, thinking about my dad’s die-hard optimism, his certainty that business will start to pick up now that it’s almost tourist season. But I’m beginning to see some cracks in his cool exterior. “You know there’s been this revival of vinyl records over the past decade? They’re suddenly cool again, and diehards will rant for hours about the superior sound quality and collectability and how digital music has”—I curl my fingers dramatically—“sucked the life out of the music.”

He snickers.

“But unfortunately, the rise in vinyl sales has happened at the same time as the fastest-rising property values in Fortuna Beach history. My parentsdon’t really talk about that stuff with us, but I overhear them talking about it sometimes, and I can tell they’re worried. The store has been in that location for seventeen years. It may not be the most popular place in town, but they do decent business, and it’s kind of a landmark, right? But if rent goes up again…” I shake my head and give Quint an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.”

But he’s nodding sympathetically. “It’s ironic, right? The economy is great, but it’s always a struggle for the little guy.”

He sounds almost wise when he says this, and I wonder if these are words his mom has spoken in the past. After all, more wealth in the community should benefit everyone. But if that wealth isn’t being distributed…

It makes my head spin. I cannotwaitto take economics in college so that all this might actually start to make sense.

“Anyway, I don’t want to give my parents a complete pass. They had the chance to buy the building a long time ago, but my mom had just gotten pregnant again and they didn’t think they could make ends meet. But if they’d made different choices, they’d be sitting on a real estate gold mine right now rather than stressing out about next month’s payment.”

Quint shrugs. “Decisions like that look a lot different in hindsight. Besides, they wanted kids. Can’t fault them for that.”

I make a face. “They already had twins. Did they really need to make three more babies?”