His words hit hard and I gape at him, even as Rosa chastises, “Quint!”

But I don’t need her to defend me. I take a step toward him. “I’m sorry, but what is your problem? I did everything you asked yesterday, I showed up today, on time, even though you clearly didn’t expect me to. So what is this about?”

His eyes are blazing and he opens his mouth to speak, but then hesitates. He glances at his mom and his expression darkens. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gives his head a shake. “Nothing. I’m just dying to hear these ideas of yours.”

“Quint,” Rosa says again. “You’re being rude. And heaven knows any sort of financial boost would go a long way around here.”

“Thank you,” I say. I hold Quint’s eye a second longer before turning to Rosa. I tighten my grip on the folder and launch into the speech I practiced a dozen times in front of my mirror last night. “Consider me your new business consultant. First, I want to start with a community event, something we can use to really get the locals involved. I’ve lived in Fortuna Beach my whole life, and I just learned about this place, so it’s clear that we’re lacking visibility in the community, and that needs to be remedied. Plus, people want to be a part of something. They like to think they can make a difference through their actions. It’s not just about clicking the donate button on Kickstarter, right? But once they see what great work is happening here, I know more people will want to contribute financially, too.”

Rosa stops me with a laugh. “Well, Quint didn’t exaggerate. You are certainly dedicated. Prudence, I do appreciate your optimism.” She scratches the back of her neck. “But I have to stop you there, because, to be honest, I feel like we’ve tried everything, and nothing seems to stick. We have fundraisers every year, but the money seems to evaporate as fast as it comes in. We’ve tried hosting events, and we had that Facebook page at one time, although it’s probably been a while since it got updated.” She shakes herself, as if realizing how cynical she sounds. “The thing is, no one here has time for any of that. Including me. Especially me.” She sighs and stands. “I don’t want to discourage you. Maybe we can talk more in the next couple of days? But right now, I need to check on Luna and some of our other patients. And I know you both have a lot of work to get through today, too. I’m sorry, Prudence. I hate to leave you hanging, but…” Despite her words, the look she gives me is the definition of discouraged. “We’ll talk more about this later, all right?”

I don’t think she means it. I don’t think she’s trying to dissuade me from coming up with ideas, but she looks exhausted as she walks away, and her day has only begun. Maybe she’s just so overwhelmed with the day-to-day trials of keeping this place going, she simply can’t process the idea of adding anything else to the mix.

Which means, if this is going to work, my plans can’t revolve around Rosa, at least not beyond getting her approval.

I’m far from discouraged. In fact, this will work out even better. I didn’t really want her looking over my shoulder anyway as I’m doing my best to breathe new life into this place.

As Rosa heads into the corridor—what they call the critical care wing—I feel a hand on my shoulder. I startle and turn to see Shauna smiling at me, the wrinkles pronounced around her eyes.

“She’s just under a lot of stress. It’s been a tough season,” she says. “For one, I think some new fundraising campaigns could help a lot. I hope you give it a try.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Shauna departs, too, then, heading up the stairs to the second floor.

I thump the edge of the folder in my palm and turn to Quint. His eyes are dark, his lips pressed tight.

“What?” I snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?” My cheeks have already reddened and we’re not even arguing, yet, but I can feel his animosity and it’s making me defensive, though I have no idea what we’re fighting about.

“No reason,” he says, in the most blatant lie of all time. “I have work to do.” He turns and shoves open the screen door.

I follow him, still clutching my folder. Quint snatches a pool brush that was leaning against the wall and starts in on one of the kiddie pools. It had sea lions in it yesterday, but it’s since been emptied out. I wonder how often the pools have to be cleaned. How much time is spent shuffling animals around. I mean, can that possibly be necessary? Their natural habitat is gross, sludgy seawater, after all.

“What is your problem?” I say. A couple of volunteers are feeding fish to the animals in the next pool. They turn to me and Quint, startled, but we both ignore them. “And give me a real answer. I thought you’d be excited about this!”

“Oh yeah, it’s thrilling.” Quint squirts some dish soap directly into the empty pool. “Good thinking, partner. So glad we have you on the team.” He takes the brush and starts scrubbing furiously.

I throw my free hand into the air. “You haven’t even heard my ideas yet! Don’t you want this place to make more money? To be successful?”

He stops scrubbing, both hands gripping the brush handle like he’s resisting flinging it at me. “You’ve been here for one day, Prudence. One. Day. Do you even know how to tell the difference between harbor seals and sea lions yet?”

I blink at him, bewildered, then glance to the nearest pool. At the plump, shiny-bodied creatures diving in and out of the water. “Seals,” I say, waving the folder at them.

“Wrong.”

Shoot.

“Sea lions are the ones with flaps over their ears, among other things.”

What? What flaps?

I look again.

Oh. They do have funny little ear things. Who knew?

“Do you know what a pinniped is?”

My nose curls in irritation. “No. But I bet I can spell it better than you can!”

He glowers at me and, yeah, I know, it was a cheap shot. But I don’t understand why he’s acting like this!

“A pinniped is a mammal that’s evolved to have fins instead of feet. Like, for example … seals! And sea lions!”

I plant one hand on my hip. “So I don’t know the terminology. What does that matter?”

“How about what kind of fish we worked with yesterday? You never even asked.”

“It’s fish! It was gross. They eat it. Who cares?”

“It matters because you don’t care. All you care about is whether or not you can swoop in and take over another project so you can prove to everyone how”—he waves his hand toward me—“brilliant you are, or whatever. But you don’t know anything about these animals or what we’re doing here. Whereas my mom has been running this place for almost twenty years. What makes you think that you know better than her? Than me? Than the volunteers who have been putting their hearts and souls into this place for years? Oh, wait!” He smacks his hand to his forehead. “You think we should make more money? Wow, Prudence, you’re a genius. Why didn’t we think of that?”

He rolls his eyes. I’ve never been attacked with such utter derision before, and for a moment I’m left speechless, though the blood is running hot beneath my skin. Quint goes back to scrubbing the pool. The muscles in his shoulders are knotted. The volunteers in the next enclosure have emptied the bucket of fish but I can see them lingering, unsure if they need to interject themselves into our argument or are just too nosy to walk away.

“Fine. Maybe you’re right,” I say, lowering my voice. Quint keeps scrubbing. I sense that this will be the most squeaky-clean pool these animals have ever experienced by the time he’s done with it. “I don’t know a whole lot about this place. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know it existed. But I just spent the last six months researching exactly this sort of thing—how organizations that care about animals and the environment can actually be profitable. It’s a booming industry right now, and from what I’ve seen—in, admittedly, just a day—this center isn’t taking advantage of this opportunity at all. You don’t even update your Facebook page! Quint, this is exactly what our paper was about. The idea that people will pay money to be a part of something good. Something important. But first we need people to know that the center even exists. We need them to care.”

His eyes flicker toward me. There is no sign of relenting. “We?”

I frown at the implication that I am clearly not a part of this team, this family. “You. Your mom. These volunteers. My point is, I can help.”

“Right. Because you wrote a report on ecotourism.” He tilts his head. “Tell me, what grade did you get again?”

I snarl. It’s a low blow, and I sense he’s getting back at me for the spelling comment earlier.

“I didn’t get a bad grade because I don’t know what I’m talking about,” I say through clenched teeth. “I got a bad grade because…” My attention darts toward the cluster of sea lions again. They’re all in the pool, but as soon as I glance over, one of them leaps out, and within seconds the rest have all charged up after him onto the pool deck. Like the world’s cutest game of follow-the-leader.

I swallow. “Because I didn’t know why it mattered,” I hear myself saying. “I know how our community can make money by focusing on ecotourism, I just … didn’t express why it’s important. Why these animals and their habitats are important.”

“And do you think they’re important?” He flattens the brush on the bottom of the pool and leans on the handle. “Truly. Do you think saving these animals is a worthwhile cause? Or is this just one more box for you to check on your list of accomplishments? A nice addition to the résumé of Prudence Barnett.”

I let out a frustrated groan. “Look. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want that, but in this case, if I succeed, then so do you. So does your mom. Can’t you at least let me try?”