balancing on the back legs. I’m tempted to kick it out from under him. His teeth, I notice for the first time, are weirdly perfect. Like, toothpaste-model teeth.
“Oh, stop it,” I hiss. “I’m not a monster. I can see that puppies are adorable, and I’m sure baby sea otters are, too. But … I like people. I like kids.”
He looks surprised at this. “You do?”
“Well, sure. I mean, when they’re not related to me. I used to tutor kindergartners in reading and they were the best.”
He stares. “Huh.”
“Don’t huh me,” I say, pointing a finger at his face. “I do more than study, you know.”
He cocks his head to the side, and I can see that this is new information to him. But I can also see him struggling not to say that. “You said you like kids when they’re not related to you. Jude isn’t your only sibling?”
“I wish. We have three younger sisters. Lucy is thirteen, Penny is nine, and Ellie is four.”
“Ellie,” he says, curious. “Short for Eleanor?”
I nod.
“Wow. Your parents were really committed to the Beatles thing, weren’t they?”
My eyes widen. He picked up on that really fast. “You know Beatles music?”
“Of course. They were pretty much all my dad listened to when I was growing up.”
His dad? This is the first I’ve heard of Quint’s dad. I don’t recall seeing a wedding ring on Rosa, but then, I wasn’t looking for one, either. And with her line of work, it’s possible she would take it off anyway.
Then I catch the subtext of Quint’s words. That’s all his dad listened to when he was growing up.
But not now?
Did he pass away?
Curiosity floods through me, but I know I shouldn’t ask. Instead, I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Yeah, well, I’m just glad my parents kept having girls, because there aren’t a lot of guy-friendly names in Beatles songs. I mean, there’s Maxwell, who murders people with a hammer. Or Rocky, who gets shot in a saloon … It’s really slim pickings.”
Quint chuckles again, but at least this time he doesn’t seem to be laughing at me, which is a nice change. “I love it. I always wanted a little brother or sister.”
“Everyone says that, because they have no idea what a pain they are.”
He shrugs. “I think I’d be a pretty kickass big brother.”
I want to argue, to shoot a hole or two in that theory, but … maybe he’s right. I mean, Jude is a great big brother. He’s way more patient with our sisters than I am and more willing to play with them or help with homework or babysit. Not that it’s a competition, but we both know who the better older sibling is.
“Do you have any older siblings?” I ask.
“Nope. Just me and my mom.” He pauses before adding, “And because I know you’re dying to ask—my dad is alive. They divorced when I was nine.”
“Oh,” I say, trying not to let on that I’d definitely been picturing a great childhood tragedy in which his dad died in some sudden and horrible way. Something like relief surges through me, even though I know that divorce can be really hard on a kid, too.
“He lives in San Francisco with his new wife,” Quint adds. “I spend two weeks with him every summer and some major holidays. I’m not sad. I’m not traumatized. It’s fine.”
I press my lips together. It’s tempting to tease him for this speech, which he’s clearly given a time or two in the past, but I resist the urge. For three whole seconds. “And you’ve spent how many years in therapy trying to get to this point of well-rounded acceptance?”
The look he gives me is withering, but in a good-natured way. It occurs to me, somewhat bewilderingly, that this conversation has actually turned into something kind of … friendly.
“Funny,” he says. “So, do you like your name? I’ve always wondered.”
I shrug. “I don’t dislike it. There have been times when I hated it, especially with a twin named Jude, because the jokes pretty much write themselves. Prudence the Prude and her weird brother, Jude … Heard that one a lot in middle school.”
Quint grimaces. “Your parents didn’t think that one through?”
“I’m not sure how they could have missed it. But ‘Dear Prudence’ is a beautiful song, one of my favorites, in fact. So … whatever. People are jerks. I’m used to it.”
“It kind of fits you, doesn’t it?”
I stiffen, the words striking me between my rib cage. My eyes narrow.