Page 98

“I’m glad you guys came,” I say. “No Lucy?”

“Softball practice,” says Dad, shrugging. “That girl.”

That girlbeing a common refrain around our house, one that can refer to any one of us for just about any reason under the sun. In this case, I know Dad is commenting on Lucy’s long list of social engagements and extracurricular activities, but he could just as easily usethat girlto refer to the collages Penny likes to make from the pages of old dictionaries and encyclopedias (often leaving a huge mess in her wake), or Ellie screaming because she can’t find the exact hair bow she wants to wear, or even my insistence that we organize our spice cabinet alphabetically because clearly that’s the only logical way to do it.

That girl.

“Oh well,” I say. “Are you guys here to help with the cleanup?”

“Of course!” bellows Mom. “This is such a great thing you’re doing. We’re so proud of you, Prudence.”

“Looks like you’re getting a great turnout, too,” says Dad. “I’m impressed.”

I turn toward the table to gather up some supplies for them and spy Quint watching us. He quickly turns away, busying himself by rearranging the boxes of gloves.

I hesitate, trying to recall whether or not I ever complained to Penny about my terrible lab partner. She would blab on me for sure if she put two and two together. But I can’tnotintroduce them, right?

I clear my throat. “Um. Mom? Dad? This is Quint.”

Quint’s head snaps around, his smile already flush across his face. He greets them with uber-politeness.Mr. Barnett, Mrs. Barnett, it’s a pleasure to meet you.

He admires Penny’s shell collection.

He asks Ellie about the monkey dress andoohswith just the right of amount of wonder when she shows him how the sequins change color when you brush them up and down.

I watch the whole interaction, feeling supremely awkward, though I don’t know why. This feels important somehow, but I don’t know if I care whether or not my family likes Quint, or whether or not he likesthem.

It shouldn’t matter either way.

It doesn’t matter.

Truly. Not in the least.

“So,” says Dad, pretending to scowl, “you’re the reason my daughter has been working so hard this summer and not having any fun. Don’t you kids know that summer vacation is supposed to be spent goofing off? None of this”—he gestures around at the beach—“do-gooder nonsense!”

Mom rolls her eyes and grabs Dad’s elbow. “He’s just teasing. We think this is great.”

Quint casts a sidelong glance at me. “Believe it or not, this actuallyhasbeen fun. For me, at least.”

My heart lifts as I realize, for the first time, this has actually been a lot of fun for me, too. The planning, the organizing—I thrive on that.

And Quint… well. His company hasn’t been nearly as intolerable as it used to be.

Quint and I wave goodbye as the four of them take off with their bags. Ellie insists on using the grabber first, even though her hand-eye coordination isn’t quite good enough to use it properly. I can hear my mom issuing a challenge—whoever collects the most garbage gets to choose what we have for dinner. Ellie screamsskabetti!and races off down the beach.

“And you say you don’t like having little siblings?”

I wince. “Sometimes they’re not so bad.”

“I thought they seemed great.”

I can’t look at him, otherwise he’d for sure see the way my heart is overflowing at this simple comment.

We’ve nearly filled up two giant garbage cans when someone else appears at the edges of the tent. “Hello, Quint. Prudence.”

I turn around.

Maya is leaning over the table, holding the blue flyer that my dad handed her at the record store that morning.