No, he walks up and down the aisles, handing them out one by one. Grinning. Being grinned at. He could be a politician, wooing the masses with that casual saunter, that laid-back smile. One of the girls even flutters her lashes at him as she takes the report, mumbling a flirtatious Thanks, Quint.
My knuckles have gone white around the stick. I imagine Quint stubbing his toe on one of the table legs or slipping on spilled lab chemicals and twisting an ankle. Or no—even better—I imagine that in his tardiness and haste, he grabbed the wrong folder and has just passed out thirty-two copies of an impassioned love letter he wrote to our principal, Mrs. Jenkins. Even he couldn’t be immune to that sort of embarrassment, could he?
None of this happens, of course. My dreams of cosmic justice never do come true. But my nerves have calmed somewhat by the time Quint makes his way to the front of the classroom and finally deigns to look at me. The change is instant, the defensiveness that comes over him, the lifting of his chin, the darkening of his eyes as we prepare for battle. Something tells me he’s been bracing himself for this moment since he entered the room. No wonder he took his sweet time handing out the papers.
I try to smile, but it feels more like a snarl. “So glad you could join us.”
His jaw twitches. “Wouldn’t miss it. Partner.” His eyes swoop toward the model and, for a moment, there’s a hint of surprise on his face. He might even be impressed.
As he well should be. Impressed, and also ashamed that this is the first time he’s seeing it.
“Nice model,” he mutters, taking his place on the opposite side of my miniature Main Street. “I see you’ve left out the rehabilitation center I suggested, but—”
“Maybe if I’d had more help, I could have catered to gratuitous requests.”
He lets out a low groan. “Caring for the animals who get injured as a result of tourism and consumerism isn’t—”
Mr. Chavez loudly coughs into his fist, interrupting the spat. He gives us both a weary look. “Two more days, guys. You have to suffer each other’s company literally for just two more days. Can we please get through this presentation without any bloodshed?”
“Of course, Mr. Chavez,” I say, in unison with Quint’s “Sorry, Mr. C.”
I glance at him. “Shall I continue, or do you have something to contribute?”
Quint feigns a bow, flourishing one hand in my direction. “The stage is yours,” he says, before adding under his breath, “Not that you’d share it anyway.”
A few of our classmates in the front row hear him and snicker. Oh yes, he’s hysterical. Next time, you try working with him and see how funny he is.
I bare my teeth again.
But when I turn back to the presentation board, my mind goes blank.
Where was I?
Oh no. Oh no.
This is it. My worst nightmare. I knew this would happen. I knew I would forget.
And I know it’s all Quint’s fault.
Panic floods my system as I pull out the notecards and fumble with them single-handed. Resort and spa … electric bike rentals … A few cards slip to the floor. My face is suddenly as hot as a stove top burner.
Quint stoops down and picks up the dropped cards. I grab them away from him, my heart racing. I can feel the class’s eyes boring into me.
I hate Quint. His complete disregard for anyone but himself. His refusal to ever show up on time. His inability to do anything useful.
“I could also say something?” says Quint.
“I’ve got this!” I snap back at him.
“All right, fine.” He lifts his hands protectively. “Just saying. This is my presentation, too, you know.”
Right. Because he did so much to help us prepare for it.
“What’s really going to set Fortuna Beach apart?” Jude whispers. I go still and look at him, as grateful for him as I am irritated with Quint. Jude flashes me another thumbs-up, and maybe our twin telepathy is working today, because I’m sure I can hear his encouraging words. You’ve got this, Pru. Just relax.
My anxiety ebbs. For the millionth time I wonder why Mr. Chavez had to torture us with assigned lab partners when Jude and I would have been such an awesome team. Sophomore year would have been a walk in the park if it hadn’t been for marine biology and Quint Erickson.
TWO
Thanks, I mouth back to Jude, setting down my notes. All I needed was