My nerves begin to ratchet up when five, ten minutes past the start time, it’s still just me and Quint. We keep our conversation light. We busy ourselves tidying the stacks of tote bags.

But I know he’s thinking it, too.

What if this is a gigantic flop? What if no one comes?

And then, at fifteen minutes past the hour … they come. At first, just a sprinkling of curious beachgoers. But then they keep coming. People I know, but also a lot that I don’t.

Sure, the crowd is nothing compared with yesterday’s festival, but it keeps growing. And, best of all, people actually seem kind of excited to be here helping out.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

People are here. They’re learning about the center and its patients. They’re helping.

With any luck, they’ll be donating some cash, too.

Quint and I try to greet everyone, telling them about the center while we hand out bags and latex gloves. People begin to spread out across the shore, scouring the beach for garbage and debris left over from yesterday’s festival. I’m pleased to see a lot of families there with children, who seem just as enthusiastic to pick up garbage as they are to collect shells and rocks.

We’ve set out a large donation jar on the table at the front of the tent, and as the minutes go by, I find myself constantly checking on it. I notice with glee that it’s started to gather an assortment of green bills and change. I wish I could estimate how much money is inside, but it’s impossible to tell. Are those singles or twenties? I’ll have to wait in suspense to find out when we count it up after the event.

“All set for the big release celebration?” I ask Quint as I open another box of gloves.

“The patients are getting prepped back at the center as we speak,” says Quint. “They’re going to bring them down in an hour.”

“Perfect.”

“I have to admit it, Prudence, combining the cleanup with an animal release was brilliant. Everyone keeps asking when the release is going to happen. I guess they put a story in the paper about it this morning?”

I shrug. “I might have called the Chronicle to tell them about finding Lennon yesterday, and used the opportunity to promote this event.”

He gives me a sidelong glance, beaming. “You do have a knack for this sort thing, don’t you?”

I shrug again. “We have to work with our strengths, and I figure, no one can resist those cute little faces.”

“I know I can’t.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and it seems like he holds my gaze a second longer than necessary before turning away and pulling another stack of tote bags from a cardboard box.

Warmth spreads through my body. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning, because I know he didn’t really mean anything by it.

I busy myself scanning the crowd, looking for people I know. Ari and Jude both said they would try to come down after their shifts, but I don’t really think they’ll make it. I do recognize a handful of people from school. Not friends, but acquaintances, or just people I’ve seen in the halls. I also spot my eighth-grade English teacher and one of the librarians from the public library and even Carlos, who I’ve never seen outside of Encanto before.

Around eleven o’clock there’s what could almost be considered a rush. Quint and I hand out tote bags left and right, directing people where to throw their garbage and recyclables when their totes are full, and encouraging them to venture farther up the beach to where the earlier volunteers haven’t gotten to yet.

“This is beyond a doubt the best beach party I have ever been to!”

I glance up, startled. My parents are walking toward the tent, grinning. Dad is holding Ellie’s hand, and Penny is there, too, clutching something in both of her fists.

“Hey!” I say, going to greet them. Mom draws me into a hug. “What are you guys doing here? Dad, why aren’t you at the store?”

“We wanted to surprise you,” he says. “Besides, Jude and Ari can handle it. And I know, I know, you probably would have preferred that they come see you instead of your old man, but … what can I say? Your mom and I are dying to see what you’ve been working so hard on the last few weeks!”

“Look what I found!” says Penny, showing me the collection of broken shells she’s holding.

“I found one of them!” Ellie pipes up, trying to peer into Penny’s palms. She points at a broken shell. “That one.”

“Yes, Ellie found that one,” Penny concedes.

I smile at them both. Penny is the sort of kid who appreciates the simple things in life—things that I usually roll my eyes at—but today, I can almost understand what she sees in those broken, colorful bits.

And Ellie? Well, she’ll take any excuse to dig through the sand. I notice that she’s wearing her sparkly monkey dress again, and that there’s still a faint tomato juice stain that will probably never come out.

The sight of it gives me an uncomfortable twinge of guilt.

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

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

That girl being 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 use that girl to 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’t not introduce 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 and oohs with 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 likes them.

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 actually has been 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 screams skabetti! 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.

My lips part in surprise. I cannot believe she actually came.

“Hey, Maya,” says Quint, beaming. “Come to help out?” He holds an empty tote toward her.

A look of uncertainty flashes across her face, but she quickly conceals it with a smile … albeit it an unenthusiastic one. “I actually had a question.”

“Shoot.” Quint sets the bag down and steps closer to her. As if being drawn into her orbit.

I bristle, and then feel immediately annoyed with myself for it.

“I lost something a while back, at the bonfire party.” She twists her hands. “I was wondering if maybe one of your volunteers picked it up.”

“What was it?”

“An earring. A diamond earring.”

I avert my attention to another cardboard box and start peeling off the tape.

Of course that’s why she’s here. Not to help out, but to see if we found her missing jewelry.

Odd how this comforts me, knowing that she isn’t here to help with the cleanup. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but I’m still shaken from how nice she was to Jude and Ari this morning. It’s difficult to reconcile with my hazy memories from the bonfire.