We’re going opposite directions, which means … neither of us moves.

“So,” Quint says.

“So.”

The moment stretches out between us, each smiling our goofy, sleepy-eyed grin.

My fingers tighten around the handlebars. “Thanks for the movie. And … everything else.”

His smile widens at the mention of everything else. “We should do it again sometime.”

I hum thoughtfully. “We should get stuck at an animal rescue center in the middle of the year’s worst storm with no food and no power?”

“Exactly.”

I lean toward him. “I’ll be there.”

His hand scoops the hair from the back of my neck as he kisses me. For a few brief seconds, we are nothing but lips and fingers and heartbeats—

And then I lose my balance. My bike tips over, crashing against Quint’s. I nearly go down with it, but he catches me by the shoulders. We haven’t even caught our breath before we’re laughing.

“Okay, we should probably go,” he says. He gives me one more kiss, quick, chaste, but promising more to come. Soon. I hope. Then he stands me back up and swings one leg over his bike before he can change his mind.

I do the same. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

I wink at him. “Sweet dreams.”

Then I kick off and start pedaling, my heart soaring in my chest, my brain addled and fogged, but my whole body humming with energy. I’m delirious, but happy. I laugh all the way home.

FORTY-ONE

I fall asleep immediately, barely taking the time to greet my family and throw my damp, gross clothes into the laundry and put on some pajamas, before collapsing onto my bed. I wake up to Jude shaking my shoulder.

“Pru, Mom says you should get up.”

I groan and toss my arm over my eyes. “What for?”

“Because if you keep sleeping, you’ll never go to bed tonight, and your sleep schedule will be screwed up for all eternity.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“Or at least, like, a week. Come on, you’ve been napping for four hours.”

“Still sleepy.”

“You’ll survive. Want some lunch?”

Ooooh, lunch. My stomach rumbles, answering for me.

Jude nods knowingly. “I’ll set out some sandwich stuff.” He starts to walk backward toward the door, before giving me the I’m-watching-you gesture, fingers to his eyes, then back at me. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

“I won’t. I’m up. I’m getting up. Fine.”

It still takes me a few minutes to pull myself from the cozy blankets. I grab my phone, which I dropped on my desk when I got home, but the battery is still dead. Oops. I plug it in, and check my watch. It’s almost noon.

I stretch my back. Rub my eyes. Throw my bathrobe on over my pajamas. I’m tying the robe’s belt when last night crashes into me with the force of a bulldozer.

Quint.

And Quint’s kisses.

And Quint’s words.

And Quint’s smiles.

And Quint’s arms.

And … am I dating Quint Erickson?

We didn’t talk about dating or boyfriend-girlfriend or anything official like that. But how could we not be official? We even had our first date. Because, in hindsight, Jaws was definitely a date.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. Sleeping? Dreaming? About me and my red lipstick? My heart jolts to think of it.

I can’t wait to see him again. I want to call him, but we’ve never exchanged numbers, and I’m not about to call the center and ask Rosa for it.

We’re both working tomorrow. I’ll have to suffer until then.

By the time I get downstairs, Jude has set out an array of deli meats and condiments. He even took the time to slice a tomato and an avocado, because he is an awesome human being.

“Thanks,” I say, squirting mustard onto a slice of bread. “I barely ate anything yesterday.”

Ellie runs in from the living room. “Pru’s awake!” she says, grabbing me and pressing her face into my hip. “You were gone all night! And there was so much rain!”

“I know,” I say, rubbing the top of her head. “Was that the biggest storm you ever saw, or what?”

She looks up at me with huge eyes. “I thought you were going to drown!”

“Nope. I didn’t drown. Besides, I know how to swim.”

“Not very good.”

“Hey! How do you know that?” I unwind her arms from my waist. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” She bounces on her toes. “Will you play with me?”

I cringe. “Not right now, okay? I need to eat something.”

She pouts in disappointment.

“Let’s play checkers after lunch,” says Jude. “Go get the game set up.”

She nods excitedly and dashes off.

Jude finishes making up his own sandwich and sits down at the table. “How was it spending the night at the center? Are there even beds there?”

“No, we just spread out a bunch of blankets on the floor.”

“We?”

I glance up at him. Did he think I was there alone all night? Did my parents?

“Uh. Quint was there, too.”

One eyebrow shoots up, amused. “Anyone else?”

I gulp and focus on alternating slices of turkey and ham, making sure they overlap in perfect increments. In other words—doing my best to avoid Jude’s gaze. “Sure. The animals were all there, too. Some of them were pretty freaked out by the storm. We even lost power.”

“Wow. Sounds traumatic.”

Traumatic isn’t the word I would use to describe it. Should I tell Jude what happened? I mean, normally I tell him everything, but … there’s never really been boy stuff to talk about before, and suddenly I feel weird about it. He might be one of my best friends, but he’s still my brother. Plus, he knows Quint. He witnessed our mutual dislike of each other firsthand. How am I supposed to explain how quickly and completely things have changed?

“It was an adventure,” I say.

I’m saved from giving further details when Mom comes into the kitchen with a cardboard box tucked against her hip. “You kids don’t have any interest in golf, do you?”

We both look at her.

“Golf?” I say, not sure I heard correctly.

Jude, equally dumbfounded, adds, “As in, the sport?”

“I’ll take that as a no. We have those old golf clubs that were your grandfather’s, but … I think I’m going to get rid of them. Your dad and I are trying to clean house a little bit, so if you guys have anything else you’re not using anymore…” She pats the side of the box, smiles at us, then walks back out.

I gulp, remembering the receipt for our belongings at the pawnshop. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Jude, abandoning my half-finished sandwich on the counter.

The envelope of money is still tucked into my backpack, which I’d haphazardly thrown onto the entryway bench when I came. Seeing it reminds me of my visit to the pawnshop and everything that preceded it. The lost earring, the beachcomber, the missing money from the donation jar.

I clutch the envelope in both hands and go in search of Mom. She’s in the garage, using a damp towel to dust off a bag of old golf clubs.

“Hey, Mom? This is yours.”

She glances up, surprised. “What is it?” she asks, taking the envelope. Her eyes widen when she sees the money inside.

“I stopped by the pawnshop yesterday morning, looking for something, for a friend … but Clark thought I’d come in to pick up your money. So he gave me this. There’s the receipt, too, so you know what sold and for how much…” I hesitate, before adding, “The silverware hasn’t sold yet, but someone did buy the keyboard.”

She closes the envelope and looks at me, concerned for a moment, before her face softens. “It’s all just old stuff that we’re not using. Stuff we don’t need anymore. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know.” I tighten the belt on my robe. “But we also need the money, don’t we?”

She sighs and drapes the rag over one of the clubs. “We’re not desperate, if that’s what you’re wondering. Business has started to pick up at the store, thank heavens for tourist season. We can pay our bills. We’re fine.”

“But?”

She presses her lips together. “You know, things sure do get harder to hide from you kids when you guys get older.”

“Mom.”

She nods, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Lucy wants to sign up for soccer and basketball again this year, but she’ll need new jerseys, new shoes. Penny’s bike isn’t going to last another summer, and of course, there are still music lessons to consider. And Ellie’s preschool teachers mentioned a science-based summer camp coming up next month that she’s of course dying to do…” She looks away. “Your dad and I have always wanted to give you kids every opportunity, every experience we could. But life is expensive. Families are expensive. And as much as we love the store … it is never going to make us rich.”

I bite my lower lip. I know I shouldn’t ask, but … “Mom. Do you ever wish…” I can’t bring myself to say it.

“What?” she asks. “That we didn’t have you kids?”

“That you didn’t have so many of us.”

She laughs. “Easy for the oldest to say, isn’t it?” She tucks the envelope of money into her back pocket, then takes my face into her hands. “Never, Prudence. You and Jude and your sisters bring us more joy than any amount of money ever could. And…” She releases me and glances at the golf clubs. “If I can trade some of our old junk in order to make your childhoods a little brighter, I will in a heartbeat. This is just stuff. But you only get to live your life one time.”

She cocks her head, studying me as if to see if I believe her.