it’s almost tourist season. But I’m beginning to see some cracks in his cool exterior. “You know there’s been this revival of vinyl records over the past decade? They’re suddenly cool again, and diehards will rant for hours about the superior sound quality and collectability and how digital music has”—I curl my fingers dramatically—“sucked the life out of the music.”
He snickers.
“But unfortunately, the rise in vinyl sales has happened at the same time as the fastest-rising property values in Fortuna Beach history. My parents don’t really talk about that stuff with us, but I overhear them talking about it sometimes, and I can tell they’re worried. The store has been in that location for seventeen years. It may not be the most popular place in town, but they do decent business, and it’s kind of a landmark, right? But if rent goes up again…” I shake my head and give Quint an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.”
But he’s nodding sympathetically. “It’s ironic, right? The economy is great, but it’s always a struggle for the little guy.”
He sounds almost wise when he says this, and I wonder if these are words his mom has spoken in the past. After all, more wealth in the community should benefit everyone. But if that wealth isn’t being distributed …
It makes my head spin. I cannot wait to take economics in college so that all this might actually start to make sense.
“Anyway, I don’t want to give my parents a complete pass. They had the chance to buy the building a long time ago, but my mom had just gotten pregnant again and they didn’t think they could make ends meet. But if they’d made different choices, they’d be sitting on a real estate gold mine right now rather than stressing out about next month’s payment.”
Quint shrugs. “Decisions like that look a lot different in hindsight. Besides, they wanted kids. Can’t fault them for that.”
I make a face. “They already had twins. Did they really need to make three more babies?”
“Remember, I’m the one who’s jealous that you have siblings. You won’t get any pity from me.”
I put the last of the bottles in the cabinet and shut the door before giving him an appraising look. “You want one? I’ll give you a great deal on Lucy.”
“Is she the little one?”
“No, that’s Ellie. Lucy is thirteen.”
He flinches. “Oy. I don’t think my big brother skills are ready for a teenager.”
“No one ever is. You know. Unless that teenager is me. I’m a model daughter.”
“I so badly want to make fun of you for that statement,” says Quint as we hang up our aprons, “but something tells me it’s probably true.”
We head up the stairs to the staff break room, which is mostly filled with a long narrow table and mismatched chairs. My backpack hangs on a peg on the wall and I take it down and dig out the same folders and papers I’d had with me for yesterday’s meeting, though I was up for two hours last night making changes.
Quint settles into one of the chairs. Someone brought in a box of doughnuts, and he spends a few moments inspecting his options before picking up one coated in cinnamon and sugar. “So once you’re done here, will you turn your business knowledge toward helping your parents? You could have a community campaign—Save Ventures Vinyl!”
I hand Quint some of the papers and sit down across from him. “I don’t know. I mean … I guess I could. I’ve just always sort of seen it as their problem to fix.”
“The center wasn’t your problem, either.”
“Yeah, but…” I trail off.
“Ah. Right. You’re just here for the extra credit.”
“That’s not true.” I pause. “Anymore.”
A smile flashes over his face, but he quickly tucks it behind one of the papers as he begins to read over my notes. I’m still thinking about the record store, wondering whether I could make a difference. Not by working as a minimum-wage employee, but by applying the same sort of tools that I want to use to help the center. Marketing. Publicity. Social media. I know there are record stores that are doing really well, that don’t struggle to pay their bills every month.
Why couldn’t Ventures Vinyl be one of them?
“Prudence?”
My attention snaps back to Quint. “Sorry. Was just distracted.”
One thing at a time, I tell myself. I’ve already dedicated my summer to the Fortuna Beach Sea Animal Rescue Center. My parents’ store has lasted this long; it will survive