Yes, ocean water is fine.

And I need some wet towels. Can we borrow yours? Let’s get that umbrella over here, give it some shade—we need to try to keep it from overheating as much as possible.

I experience a moment of irritation that he’s stealing my authority, but it’s smothered by a swell of relief. It’s the opposite of biology class, where I was always the one giving orders, telling him what to do. It’s a welcome change, especially in this situation, and … honestly, watching him take charge is kind of sexy.

I gulp, suddenly flustered.

“Quint?” says the lifeguard.

Quint glances at him and recognition fills his face. “Steven! Hey! How’s your summer?”

“Busy,” says Steven.

I gawk at them. “Excuse me!” I say, flabbergasted, and gesture to the sea lion. “Please focus.”

Quint gives me a look, suggesting, Hey, I can’t help it if I’m friends with literally every person at our school.

“What can we do?”

I look up to see Ari, Jude, and Ezra. A grin splits across my face. They’re all wearing matching yellow shirts, and together we look like an official rescue party.

Seeing the stacks of blue papers in their hands, it occurs to me that I couldn’t have planned for better publicity.

“Jude, help Quint and, uh, Steven,” I say, taking his flyers and dividing them between Ari and Ezra. “Pass these out.”

While Quint, Jude, and the lifeguard gently roll the sea lion onto a blanket so it can be hoisted into the waiting crate, I step away from their work and face the crowd. People all around us are snapping photos on their phones, watching with eager, worried eyes.

I inhale a deep breath. I don’t have time to rehearse, but I also don’t have time to get nervous.

“Folks, we’re here from the Fortuna Beach Sea Animal Rescue Center,” I say. “We obviously had no idea that this animal was going to wash ashore during our festival today, but this is a prime example of the sort of work we do. The rescue center works tirelessly to rescue injured and stranded sea animals—including sea lions like this little guy, but also elephant seals, harbor seals, fur seals, sea turtles, even otters.”

“What about dolphins?” asks the girl with the stick.

I smile at her. “Unfortunately, our facility is too small to care for dolphins, but in the past, we have worked to rescue and transport dolphins to a larger center near San Francisco.”

Her eyes go wide. “Cool.”

“When animals come into our care, we feed and rehydrate them. Our on-staff veterinarian cares for their wounds. Rehabilitation can take weeks or even months. But our goal, with every one of our patients, is to treat them until they are healthy and strong enough to be returned to their natural habitat.” I swoop my hand toward the crashing waves.

With the sea lion secured onto the blankets, Quint and the others prepare to lift it into the crate. “Our hope is that this beautiful sea lion won’t be with us at the center for long, but will very soon be brought back here, to his home. In fact, this time of year, we’re releasing rehabilitated animals back into the ocean almost every week. And if you want to be a part of one of those releases, we’re inviting all of you to join us—tomorrow afternoon, right here! We’re hosting a community-wide beach cleanup beginning at ten a.m., and once this beach is clean and safe for our animal friends, we’ll be releasing four seals that have recently been given a clean bill of health. I would love to see all of you here, helping to support our beach, our organization, and these gorgeous creatures.” The sea lion watches me from inside the crate, its eyes fearful and confused. Quint crouches down in front of it to snap a few photos with his camera, before the lifeguard shuts the grate and latches it closed.

To my surprise, the crowd cheers.

I beam. “Grab a flyer if you don’t have one yet, and you can learn more about tomorrow’s cleanup-and-release celebration! And if you can’t make it, we are accepting monetary donations! People, these animals eat a lot of fish, which doesn’t come cheap.”

There are a few chuckles, but with the sea lion no longer in sight, some of the less-interested members of the crowd are already meandering back to their blankets.

“Nice speech,” says Quint, settling a hand on top of the crate. He swipes a sleeve over his damp brow. “How far out is the recovery vehicle?”

I blink at him, and he must see the horrible realization rush through me. His eyes fill with understanding. “They’re not sending one.”

“Traffic,” I stammer. “Your mom said it would be easier if we had a vehicle that we could drive it out in…”

Quint turns to the lifeguard. “Do you have a car?”

“No, man. I rode my bike here.” He points toward a packed bike rack up on the boardwalk.

“I have the wagon,” says Ari. “It should fit.”

I turn to her. Her eyes are wide and bright with concern, and I’m hit with a sudden, almost painful tug behind my heart. “Thank you, Ari. Where are you parked?”

She points, and I can see the turquoise car from here. She arrived early enough to get a premium spot, not half a block up the beach.

“Pull it around,” says the lifeguard. “We’ll have you back it up to here. I’ll help direct you.” He nods at Quint. “Keep the crowds back, all right?”

While we wait, I kneel down beside the crate. The sea lion is resting its head, its eyes closed again. I’m terrified for it. The fear that is surging through my veins is palpable.

“We’re doing our best,” I whisper. “Please don’t die, okay?”

If it hears me, it shows no sign.

A hand brushes between my shoulder blades. Quint crouches beside me and I glance over at him, his face pinched with the same concern. I wonder how many times he’s been through this. How many rescues he’s seen. I wonder how many he’s watched die, after trying so very hard to save them.

I don’t think I could stand it.

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, pulling his hand away from me and idly running it along the strap of his camera. “I think it’ll be okay.” His eyes slide over to me. “You’ll get to name it, you know.”

My heart lurches at the thought. I already feel a responsibility toward this creature, though it hasn’t been more than twenty minutes since I first saw it. To name it seems like a privilege I’m unprepared for.

“Not yet,” I whisper. “I need to know it’s going to be okay first.”

He nods, and I know he understands.

“Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”

He shakes his head. “Not when they’re this young. When they get bigger, the males will develop a ridge on their head that females don’t have. Plus, they’re bigger and their fur tends to be darker. But it’s too early to tell on this one.” He looks at me. “Opal will give it an inspection at the center, though. She’ll be able to tell us.”

I’m digesting this information when I hear a series of short, almost polite honks. I look up to see the station wagon driving slowly along the beach. Jude and Ezra are holding back the crowd as Ari makes her way toward us. For someone who’s barely comfortable driving on residential roads, I know she must be completely freaked out. But she has her brave face on, I can tell even with the windshield dividing us.

I think I might have my brave face on, too.

To my surprise, Quint grabs my hand and gives it a hasty squeeze. Then the touch is gone, as quick as it came. He doesn’t look at me as he stands up. “Come on. Let’s get your sea lion to the center.”

TWENTY-SIX

I sit in the front passenger seat, giving Ari directions, while Quint, Ezra, and Jude cram into the bench behind us. Rosa was right. We pass hordes of vehicles trying to cram into downtown for the festival. For a long time, we’re the only car heading the other direction.

“It’s like running from the zombie apocalypse,” muses Jude.

No one answers and, after a few seconds, Ezra leans forward, settling his chin on the bench between me and Ari. “I like your ride. ’62 Falcon?”

Ari glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh. Yeah. That’s right.”

“Ever thought of putting a V8 in it? Get some more horsepower?”

“Uh.” Ari’s brow furrows as she tries to concentrate on driving. “No. Never thought about it.” She shifts to a higher gear, but the movement is awkward, making the car jerk a couple times. I wince, feeling bad for the sea lion in the back.

“Let me know if you do.” Ezra rubs his fingers along the cream-colored upholstery between me and Ari. “I moonlight at Marcus’s Garage on weekends. Wouldn’t mind spending some time under this hood.”

I frown and glance at him over my shoulder, unable to tell if he’s talking in euphemisms or not. “So what’s your primary job?” I ask.

Ezra looks at me, surprised, as if he’d forgotten I was there, too. “What?”

“You said you moonlight at Marcus’s Garage, which implies it’s your second job. So what’s your first job?”

He stares at me a second longer, before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Living the easy life, Prudence. It’s a full-time gig.”

I roll my eyes, and he turns his attention back to Ari. “Didn’t I see you at the bonfire party? With the guitar?”

“Yeah, that was me,” says Ari.

“You’re pretty good. I didn’t recognize the songs you were playing.”

“Oh. I wrote most of them. I mean, some of them. Not all. I think I played some Janis Joplin that night and some Carole King, if I remember … Those definitely weren’t written by me. Obviously.” I glance over at Ari. She’s blushing. My gaze skips back to Ezra, who seems oblivious to how nervous he’s making her. I’ve never given much thought to Ezra Kent’s looks, I guess like I’d never given much thought to Quint’s, either … until recently. I guess Ezra could be called cute, in an unconventional way. He’s thin, pale, and freckled, with red hair that’s just a tinge too dark to be called ginger. He wears it long, to just beneath his ears. He has a troublemaker’s smile.