I chew the tip of the pen. “It’s not a terrible idea.”
“Which I know translates to ‘Wow, Quint, you’re a genius!’” He leans toward me. “I’m beginning to speak Prudence.”
I laugh, then close my notebook and hook the pen over the cover. “Should we go check it out?”
“The theater? Naw, let’s wait for tonight.”
“Tonight? It’s just two blocks away. Why not go now?”
“Because we’d be early. The movie doesn’t start until seven.”
I frown at him. “What movie?”
“The special screening of Jaws.”
I freeze. Gawk at him. Picture a sharp dorsal fin and blood in the water and that iconic music thumping through my chest. Bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Quint counters.
“I’m not watching it.”
“Yes, you are. I already got tickets.”
“Well—” I hesitate. “You did?”
I can feel heat climbing up my chest, my throat, spreading across my cheeks, and think maybe if I blush deeply enough he’ll start to think it’s a sunburn.
“I did. These special showings always sell out early and I didn’t want to miss out. Come on. It’s a classic. And you need to meet my namesake.”
“You mean, Captain Quint? The shark hunter?”
“The one and only.”
“Quint—I’m already afraid of sharks!”
He scoffs and nudges me with his shoulder. “It’s an animatronic shark from the seventies. I think you can handle it. And we’ll be scoping out the theater for a potential venue. It’ll be productive.”
I groan. “Oh no. You’ve discovered the magic word.”
“Told you. I’ll be fluent in Prudence-speak soon enough.”
I have no desire whatsoever to see Jaws. Having lived here my whole life, I’ve spent years scanning these waves for shark fins, sure that—despite all the statistics telling us how sharks really aren’t that dangerous to humans and how you’re more likely to die in a plane crash or get struck by lightning than ever get bit by a shark—I was certain that if there was ever a shark attack at Fortuna Beach, it would be me getting devoured.
I know myself well enough to know that seeing the most famous shark-attack movie ever made is a terrible idea. I know I’m going to regret it.
But somehow, I hear the words coming faintly from my mouth. I, too, am trying to sound nonchalant. “Fine. You win. I’ll go.”
He thrusts both fists into the air. “Yes. Music to my ears.” Bringing his hands back down, he claps once and then rubs his palms together. “Okay. Let’s consider the venue problem solved for now. Man, I am full of answers today. Give me something else. I’ll have this gala planned in time for popcorn.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Under any other circumstances, I would be extremely nervous. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to a movie with a boy, at least, one that I’m not related to. But I’m not thinking about Quint and the way my heart trips when he looks at me. I’m not even thinking about the movie we’re about to see, one that I’ve done my best to avoid.
As we walk past the ticket booth and step into the theater lobby, I have thoughts only for the gala. I’m scanning the paneled walls, the concessions counter, the light fixtures. It’s a cool old theater, dating back to the late 1920s and the era of silent, black-and-white films. Just like Quint suggested, the lobby would definitely be big enough for dinner service, and according to their website, which has a page that gives details about renting the theater for special events, they can seat up to three hundred people. There’s a neat art deco vibe to the crown moldings and chandeliers. The parquet flooring is dated, the wall paint is a little dingy, and the smell of buttered popcorn is overwhelming—but I can probably overlook all that.
“This could work,” I whisper, leaning in to Quint, who is standing in the concessions line. “We could set up the auction table along that wall, and use this counter for the desserts.” I tap my finger against my lower lip, nodding. “I like it.”
Quint hums to himself. “Butter, yes or no?”
I glance at him, and it takes me a second to realize he’s the next person in line. “Yes. Of course.”
“Oh, good. If you’d said no, I was going to make you get your own.”
We’re among the first people to arrive, so once we enter the theater, we’re able to claim a couple of seats nearly dead center, but I don’t sit down. I’m turning in circles, considering the small upper balcony, where we could seat former donors as a VIP perk. And the stage upfront,