were teasing me about my ten-year-plan when you’ve been keeping all that a secret this whole time.”
He still looks uncomfortable as he rolls out his shoulders a few times. “It’s weird to talk about. I mean … you tell people you want to dive the Great Barrier Reef and become an underwater photographer? It’s kind of far-fetched, as dreams go.”
“It’s not. I mean, someone has to do it, otherwise we wouldn’t have all those cool documentaries about bizarre sea life that Mr. Chavez made us watch.”
“True. That’s a good point.” His eyes are glinting, almost gratefully. “That’s one thing I like about you, Prudence. No one can say you aren’t an optimist.”
“I like to think I’m more of a realist who’s willing to work hard.”
He grins. “Even better.”
My cheeks warm. It’s my turn to look away, my fingers digging into the plush blankets. I curl my knees up toward my chest, draping my arms around them. “I have to believe that, with enough diligence and effort, you can make anything happen. And I do get that I’m a ridiculous perfectionist and, yes, probably too much of an overachiever. But it’s all I have, so … I figure, better make the best of it.”
“What do you mean, it’s all you have?”
I wince. I shouldn’t have said anything. A part of me wants to backtrack, to say, never mind, I was just rambling, but … there’s something about the dim lighting, the rain that’s turned from a torrent to a melodious pattering, the way Quint just confessed this close-held dream, that makes me brave. Or, if not brave, I at least feel like maybe it’s okay to be a little vulnerable.
“It’s like, Jude, for example,” I say, quietly, careful with my words. “He’s so nice. Everybody likes him. He just gets along with people, everywhere he goes. I know I’m not that. And Ari, she’s so talented, and so passionate about music, but I’m not really passionate about anything, other than wanting to succeed. To do my best. But I can make plans, and I can stay organized, and if a teacher assigns a report, I’m going to write the best darn report they’ve ever seen. If I’m throwing a gala, I’m going to throw a party that no one will ever forget. I can do that. And if I can impress people, then maybe they won’t notice that I’m not witty or beautiful or … fun.”
I stop talking and tuck the lower half of my face behind my arms. I can’t believe I just said all that. But at the same time, it feels good to admit that all the confidence I show the world is a diversionary tactic. A cover for the fear that lies underneath.
“I mean,” says Quint, finally, as if he were the one who’d been saying too much, “you’re not … not beautiful.”
A sound, part laugh and part cough, bursts out of me. I dare to look up at him, but quickly have to look away again. “First of all, double negatives are not grammatically acceptable.”
He groans. “I can’t win with you.”
“Second of all,” I say, ignoring him, “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. But … thanks? I think?”
“I know you weren’t.” He clears his throat, and I sense that he might be as uncomfortable with this conversation as I’ve become. “But I had to say something. I’ve never seen you self-conscious about anything before. And I mean it. You’re…” He trails off.
I viciously shake my head. “You don’t have to say it. Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not that I think I’m hideous or anything, but … being surrounded by girls who wear nothing but cutoff shorts and string bikinis all summer long? I mean, I know I don’t look like that.”
Quint makes a humming noise, and I can’t tell whether he’s agreeing with me or not. When he speaks again, I expect a refrain of the same semi-compliment: You’re not not beautiful. And yeah, my whole body is still flushed from those words. But instead, he says something that is somehow a hundred times better. Something that I don’t think anyone has ever said to me before. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty fun. At least, when you’re not criticizing everything I say or do.” His cheeks dimple. “Actually, I’ve had a lot of fun with you this summer.”
We stare at each other in the flashlight’s glow, the rain drizzling against the windows. My throat tightens. I’m startled to find that my