“That does not surprise me.” Quint sits down on the makeshift bed and rolls up a couple of towels to use as a cushion behind his back. I hesitate for a few seconds before sitting down on the opposite side, facing him. We’re close enough that it feels intimate, especially with the dim lighting of the flashlight reflected off the ceiling, but far enough that I can pretend it isn’t totally awkward. “Okay,” he says, “if you weren’t sleeping, then what would you be doing?”
“I don’t know. Planning the gala? Making sure everything will be perfect?”
Quint clicks his tongue, as if chastising me. “Do you ever think you might be too much of an overachiever?”
My nose wrinkles. “Jude keeps me aware of that, yes. I can’t help it though. There’s always more to do, and I don’t want to settle for less than perfect, you know? Why be mediocre? But it can be hard to know when enough is enough, or how to prioritize my time. Like this summer. I’ve been thinking so much about the center that I’ve done hardly any work on our biology project at all.”
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Quint says, his eyes twinkling. “I was sort of hoping you’d forgotten about it.”
“I definitely have not forgotten about it. I still want to do something extraordinary. I actually thought that maybe we could use the gala as a real-world example of how ecotourism can function to help the environment. But I still need to bring more science into it, and that’s got me stumped. So then I set it aside and focus on the center and fundraising … even though I know that by putting it off I’m just creating more stress for myself.”
“What? You? Hold on.” Quint leans toward me conspiratorially. “Are you saying that you, Prudence Barnett … have been … procrastinating?” He says it like it’s a bad word, his face drawn with disbelief.
I can’t help but laugh at the overdramatization, even though it does give me a hiccup of anxiety when I realize the revised project is due in only a few weeks. “Absolutely not,” I say emphatically. “I’ve just been … conducting copious amounts of research.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” He winks at me, sending my heartbeat on another erratic drum solo. “Just so long as you know that when I’m procrastinating, research is my go-to excuse, too.”
“I am not procrastinating. That word is not in my vocabulary. But I will admit that it’s hard to spend my time writing a report about saving wildlife when I could be … you know. Helping to save actual wildlife.”
His teeth flash in a gigantic grin. “I couldn’t agree more.”
As he says this, a thought occurs to me. One I can’t believe hasn’t crossed my mind until now.
I think of the times I tried to cast karmic justice on Quint at the start of the summer. When he refused to help with the biology project because he “had other things to do,” or when he was late to meet me on Main Street. I was so mad at him. So sure he was being selfish and lazy. But he wasn’t. He really did have other things to do. Seals to feed. Sea otters to rescue.
That’s why my attempts kept backfiring. Instead of punishing him, the universe was rewarding him. The extra credit from Mr. Chavez. The twenty-dollar bill.
All that time, I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. But the universe could. The universe knew.
“What?” says Quint, and I realize I’ve been staring at him.
I flush, and shake my head. “Nothing. Just spacing out.” It takes me a second to remember what we were talking about. “Anyway, don’t get the wrong idea. I do still think that revising the report and improving our grade is important. If I’m going to get into one of my top college choices, I can’t let my GPA slip.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Stanford,” I say, with no hesitation. “Or Berkeley. They both have really good business schools.”
He makes a face. “Business? What, did you look up the most boring majors possible and that one ranked just above political science?”
“Excuse me. Business is fascinating. The psychology of why and how people spend their money, the reasons why some businesses fail and others keep going strong … And I figure, a business degree can be applied to almost every field out there, so no matter what I’m drawn to later, I’ll