“Whoa!” says Quint, grabbing my elbow to steady me, a second too late. “You okay?”

“Yep!” I brush my hair back from my face. “Just … weirdly clumsy this summer for some reason.”

“At least you didn’t get a concussion that time.”

“Thankfully. Not sure my head could handle another big lump.”

He chuckles and lets go of my elbow. “So … tonight?”

“Tonight! Um. Tonight? Oh, I have plans, actually. Ari and I are meeting up at Encanto. And maybe Jude, if he doesn’t have to work. But Ari really enjoyed that karaoke night and thought she’d give it another shot. I guess she has a couple of songs she’s been practicing.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

I nod, already feeling like I just made a huge mistake, even if I was telling the truth.

Ari would understand if I canceled on her and … was he asking …

“Mind if I come?”

I stare at him. “You want to come to karaoke night?”

“Not to sing,” he says quickly. “But we could start making plans for this gala of yours. You could fill me in on some of your ideas. I can start making up some posters or invitations or something.” He shrugs, in a way that is perfectly nondescript. Not suspicious. Not nervous. Not awkward.

Ah. Not a date, then.

Of course not a date.

Obviously.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll bring my binder.”

“Binder?”

“For the gala.”

“You already have a…” He pauses, then shakes his head, smiling lopsidedly. “Of course you do. All right, then. I’ll see you there.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“So,” says Jude, his head tilted to one side as he scans the notebook between him and Ari, the top page scrawled with my list of “Gala To-Dos.” “Venue and rentals, catering, advertising, decorations, AV equipment, auction items, and … an orchestra?” He looks at me, his eyes full of speculation. “And you have how much to pay for all this?”

“Three hundred sixty-four dollars,” I say, tapping the pen against my bottom lip. As an afterthought, I add, “And eighteen cents.”

“Oh, good,” says Jude with an exaggerated puff of his cheeks. “I was doubtful, but that eighteen cents makes all the difference.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea,” says Ari. “So romantic. It will be like Cinderella’s ball!”

“Yeah, sort of,” I say. “Except you have to buy a ticket, and in the end, we save a bunch of seals.”

“Even better.” Her eyes have a glazed, dreamy look. “I want to go to a gala.”

She mindlessly passes out the bundles of silverware wrapped in paper napkins. Me, Jude, herself. The fourth bundle she sets at the edge of the table, next to me.

“I’m sure I can snag you a ticket. I mean, I am the coordinator, so…” I toss my hair over my shoulder.

“It’s a trap,” says Jude. “She says she’ll get you a ticket, but what she means is that she’ll hand you an apron and put you to work passing out hors d’oeuvres.”

Ari shrugs. “I would gladly help out if you need more people.”

I point my pen at her. “I might take you up on that. Right now, I’m still figuring out how much help we need, and hoping that a lot of the center’s regular volunteers can pitch in.”

“What is it with girls and galas, anyway?” asks Jude.

“Funny, Quint asked me the same thing. The question is, what do boys have against them?”

“Tuxedos, for one.”

“What’s wrong with tuxedos?” asks Ari, as if this statement personally offended her. “They’re so sexy!”

He makes a face. “Have you ever had to wear one?”

“Okay, first,” I say, holding up a finger, “the only ‘tuxedo’ you’ve ever worn was for Cousin Johnny’s wedding, and they didn’t even make you wear the jacket. And second, there’s no way tuxedos are half as uncomfortable as Spanx, so I don’t want to hear any whining.”

Jude opens his mouth, hesitates. Then shrugs, knowing I’ve spoken the truth. “Nevertheless, you still haven’t explained how you’re paying for all this. It sounds really expensive.”

“That’s the beauty of planning an event for a nonprofit. I’ve been researching the heck out of this, and if I play my cards right, we won’t have to pay for hardly anything. Not if I can get some local businesses on board to act as sponsors. For example…” I swing my arm toward the bar, where Carlos is vigorously rattling a cocktail shaker. “Encanto! They cough up some money and are repaid with copious praise at the event. Free publicity for them! Plus, we’ll put coupons for tostones in the goody bags, so it serves as advertising, too. Oh!” I click the pen and grab my notebook. I scrawl across the bottom of the list, Goody bags.

“And you’ve talked to Carlos about this?” asks Ari.

“Not yet, but I will. I have a whole list of potential community partners to approach.” I flip a few pages and show them. “I’ll be asking for donations for the silent auction, too. We’ll handle the pickup and transportation of the goods, and I’ll even put them in fancy gift baskets if necessary.”

“Is someone donating the baskets?” asks Ari.

I consider this, then add “Sandy’s Seaside Gifts” to the list of potential partners. “Sandy must sell baskets in her store, don’t you think? I mean, she sells everything.”

“Ventures is on that list,” says Jude, frowning at the notebook. His eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m not sure…”

“I know,” I say. “Not every business is going to be able to donate free merchandise. But I have to at least ask Mom and Dad, right? Maybe we can find a way that they can help sponsor the music or something.”

Jude groans. “Please don’t suggest that Dad bring a record player and act as the night’s DJ. Because I guarantee he would say yes.”

“Oh, that would be neat!” says Ari, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

Jude and I both grimace. “For now, I’m going to stick with my plan for the live orchestra.”

“Hey, it’s my little cadets!” says Carlos, approaching our booth with arms outspread. “Where’ve you been? I thought you were gonna be here every day this summer.”

Ari looks truly regretful. “Sorry, Carlos. We’ve been busy.”

“Oh yeah? What’s kept you so busy you can’t even stop in and say hi?”

“Well, Jude and I are working over at Ventures Vinyl, and Pru is volunteering with the sea animal rescue center.”

Carlos brightens. “Oh yeah! I saw you at that cleanup party. Good for you. It’s nice to see today’s youth making contributions to society.” He winks. “Not that I expect anything less from you three. So, you here for karaoke tonight?”

“Actually, yes,” I tell him, nudging Ari with my toe. “Ari’s been practicing.”

Carlos hoots excitedly. “I knew this karaoke thing was a good idea. You know, it’s actually been going really well. Definitely bringing in some of the tourists on these slow Tuesdays. And Trish is great, isn’t she?” He glances over to where Trish Roxby is setting up her sound equipment. Her outfit is as eye-catching as the first time we saw her: heavy boots; neon-blue leggings; and an oversize black sweater that’s fraying along her rib cage. Doesn’t she know it’s almost ninety degrees outside?

Honestly, I haven’t seen enough of Trish to know whether she’s great or not, but Ari obligingly responds that she’s fantastic, while I’m distracted by the entry door opening, letting in a stream of sunlight.

I crane my head to see—

Nope. Just a couple of guys in board shorts, their hair still damp from the ocean.

I slump back down against the bench.

Carlos takes our order and moves on to chat up the newcomers.

“This does seem pretty packed for a Tuesday,” says Jude, peering around the restaurant. “Karaoke. Who knew?”

“Everyone wants fifteen minutes of fame,” I say. “Even if that fifteen minutes is really just three and a half minutes, and that fame is really just making a nuisance of yourself at a dive bar off Main Street.”

“This isn’t a dive bar.” Ari scowls at me. “And singing isn’t a nuisance!”

“It isn’t when you do it,” I amend. “But I can’t say the same for everyone.”

“So what song are you going to sing?” Jude asks.

“I thought I might do an Oasis song,” Ari says. “I haven’t been able to stop listening to it all week.”

“Let me guess,” says Jude. “It’s obscure, haunting, and lyrical.”

She laughs. “It’s not that obscure.” Then she gets a wicked look in her eye and leans toward me. “Did you know? Some people feel that Oasis is the best band to ever come out of England.”

It takes me a second to realize her implication. That some people think Oasis is even better than the Beatles.

I gasp, horrified. “You take that back!”

“I didn’t say I feel that way,” she says, giggling. “Though I do love their music.”

The front door opens again. I swivel my head.

A woman walks in wearing a floppy sun hat and huge sunglasses, scanning the room as if she were meeting someone.

I sigh.

“Worried he’s not coming?” asks Jude.

I snap my attention back to him. Was I being that obvious?

“No,” I say, checking my watch. We said we would meet at six. It’s only five fifty-two. He’s not even late yet. “I’m not worried.”

And I realize it’s true. I’m not worried. In the past I was always shocked on those few occasions when Quint didn’t disappoint me. But now, I’d be more shocked if he did.