I grunt, unconvinced, though a part of me can’t keep from imagining what he could do to lure me back into the waves. I shiver as a number of possibilities float unbidden through my mind.

“Speaking of snorkeling,” says Quint as we leave the auditorium. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and produces a glossy photograph. It’s a little warped from being in his pocket all day, and the printing quality isn’t the best, but my heart still leaps when I recognize the sea turtle.

My sea turtle. The one I spotted when we went snorkeling. He captured it with its head raised, looking directly at the camera, waves of light flickering over the sand below. It’s beautiful.

“Sorry it got a little bent,” Quint says, uncreasing one of the corners. “I can print another copy if you want.”

“I will cherish it always,” I say, cradling the photo in my hands. I mean for it to sound like a joke, but I’m not sure that it is.

“I’m holding you to that. When you die, I want you to be buried with that picture.”

I laugh and tuck the photo into my notebook. “Thank you. Truly. I love it. And … okay, maybe someday I’ll go snorkeling again. Maybe. We’ll see.”

His grin widens. “See? Persuasive.” He starts heading for the doors, but I stop him and make a beeline for the concessions stand instead.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m going to ask to speak to the manager. See about getting this place booked for the gala.”

“Now? We can’t do it tomorrow?”

“No time like the present!” I chirp.

But when I start to talk about event space rentals and community events, the boy behind the concessions stand gives me a perplexed look and tells me the manager isn’t in, and I should maybe try calling or something?

“Told you so,” says Quint as we head to the exit doors.

“Psh. It was a worth a try.”

Though it was daylight when we got here, the sun has set now and Main Street is glowing with twinkling lights that have been strung through the trees and along the roof lines of the iconic hundred-year-old buildings. A wind has kicked in, tossing the boughs of palm trees overhead. A thick cover of clouds obscures the stars. It feels like a storm is moving in, after all.

I cross my arms over my chest. It hadn’t occurred to me to bring a jacket.

Quint’s brow creases as he takes in the wind. “Did you ride your bike?”

“Yeah, it’s down this way.”

“Mine too.”

As we hurry along the sidewalk, the first spattering of raindrops strike our heads.

“So, when is our next”—Quint pauses—“gala planning meeting?”

I wonder if he’d meant to say date.

“Tomorrow?” I say. “I’ll call the theater in the morning, and if we can get it booked, then we should start working on our advertising plan.”

“Sounds good.”

He barely gets the words out before the rain begins in earnest. It’s so sudden, the change from fat but sparse raindrops to a torrential downpour. I cry out in surprise and duck under the nearest overhang. Quint crowds in beside me and we stand in silence, watching as the rain fills up the street gutters, puddles on the sidewalks, floods the storm drains. The few cars on the street slow down, their headlights barely cutting through the storm.

I’m so amazed at the power of the rain that I don’t realize I’m hugging myself for warmth until Quint puts his arm around me and starts briskly rubbing my shoulder. I tense. My brain nearly short-circuits.

“Hey,” he says, drawing my gaze upward. My breath catches. I’ve never been this close to him before. Never been this close to any boy before. But I know instantly that his mind isn’t on the same topic as mine. His expression is worried, his brow taut. “I’m going to go to the center.”

“What?” I say. Even this close, we almost have to yell to be heard over the downpour.

“We’re probably closer than any of the volunteers and … I want to check on the animals. We’ve had issues with flooding before, during bad storms like this. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but, anyway, I just think I should go. But I want to make sure you get home okay first. Should we make a run for the bikes?”

My eyes widen as I think of the outdoor pools. I imagine the yard flooding, and all the animals trapped and afraid.

“Yes,” I yell. “But I’m coming with you.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

I’ve ridden my bike in the rain before, but never rain like this. Downpours like this are rare in Fortuna Beach, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it this bad. Dodging puddles is like dodging land mines, and the water that courses through the gutters threatens to knock my wheels out from under me more than once. Luckily, it’s a short trip. Even with the storm, it takes us less than fifteen minutes to get to the center—our time aided by the weather’s clearing the roads of most vehicles.

We drop our bikes in the parking lot and rush to the door. Quint has a key and soon we’re inside, breathing heavy, tearing off our helmets.

We’re soaked through. I feel more drenched now than I did when we went swimming. I’m soon shivering inside the air-conditioned building.

No point getting dry though. Quint and I tromp straight through to the yard, where the animals all look like huddled dark mounds in their enclosures.

Because of the way the center is situated, with sloping hills behind it, I can immediately see why Quint was anxious to get here. Already, the back corner of the yard is swelling with water that has nowhere to go.

As for the animals, some of them are squeezed together in what appear to be frightened piles. Or maybe they’re sleeping through this torrent—it’s impossible to tell.

Others, however, seem to think this is the best thing ever. A group of sea lions are playing and splashing around in the water like they’ve just gotten passes to the world’s best water park.

“What do we do?” I ask. “Do we need to get them inside?”

“Luna and Lennon need to be put inside,” Quint says. “I don’t think they’ve built up enough of a blubber layer to stay warm in this. The rest should be okay, but we’ll have to clear those pools.” I assume it isn’t the water he’s worried about—they are marine animals, after all—but there are tree branches and debris in the water, swept in by the rain, and they could easily get hurt.

I nod, and we get to work.

I prepare one of the inside pens before going back to get Luna and Lennon. They seem happy to follow me out of the storm when I herd them through the door, using a large strip of plastic to coax them in the right direction. Quint stays outside, working to relocate the animals from the flooded pools to some of the enclosures that are closer to the building.

I get some blankets for Lennon and Luna to help them stay warm. The rain wasn’t that cold, but now that they’re inside, I want them to get dry as quickly as possible. I find a couple of their toys, too, thinking it might help them feel more at home, but the toys I toss into the enclosure go ignored. Luna piles herself on top of Lennon, tucking her head against his neck. I can’t tell if she’s afraid or just tired.

At least they’re safe. I lock their gate and am halfway to the back door when an odd burbling noise catches my ear. I turn in a full circle, trying to figure out where it’s coming from, when I look over the nearest wall into an enclosure that’s currently empty.

The drain in the middle of the floor is overflowing.

Water is coming up from the ground.

My eyes widen. “Quint!” I yell. Turning, I sprint down the hallway and burst out into the yard just in time to see Quint latching the fence behind the last of the relocated animals. “Quint, the drains! They’re … water is coming up and … what do we do?”

He frowns at me for a second, then runs past me to see for himself. A second later, he’s on the phone to his mom. He’s breathless as he tries to explain to her that we’re here at the center, we moved the animals, but the drains are flooding. I can hear her steady voice on the other side of the call, coaching him in what to do.

We find flood gates for the doors and plugs for the drains exactly where Rosa said they would be. The next few minutes are chaos as Quint and I run around the building, plugging the drains. I find one of our newer patients, an elephant seal, sleeping on top of one, and I have a long internal debate about whether we could just leave him there to keep the water at bay, but eventually Quint and I decide to wake him up and get him to move so we can plug the drain for real.

I’m exhausted by the time we have the center secured and the animals taken care of. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. A very wet marathon.

“I’m going to call my mom again,” says Quint, sounding equally breathless. “See what else we should be doing.”

I nod. “I’ll make the rounds one more time, make sure everyone’s doing okay.”

My shoes slip and squelch on the linoleum floor as I check on the animals in their pens. Most are sleeping, oblivious to the storm, but Lennon and Luna are awake. Luna is still draped over Lennon like a rag doll, her flippers covering her eyes.

I open the gate. They both startle. Lennon presses his flippers against the tile, trying to scoot farther into the corner, but he can barely shift with Luna’s weight on top of him. It’s the first time I’ve seen either of them act afraid. Usually they perk up when one of the volunteers shows up, expecting food. I regret not bringing a couple of fish with me.

“Hey, guys,” I murmur, stepping closer. It’s a constant battle to remind myself that they’re still wild animals. They could be dangerous, especially when they’re frightened.

But they don’t move as I slide down to sit on the tiled floor. I grab a slightly deflated beach ball and roll it toward them. It bounces off Lennon’s nose. He shakes his head in surprise. It’s dark in here, but not so dark that he shouldn’t have seen that. I wonder if his eyes have gotten worse in the last couple of days.