“This looks familiar,” says Quint. He’s looking at the list of fundraising ideas I compiled a couple of days ago while he polishes off the doughnut.
“Yeah, but we didn’t really get around to discussing any of these options.”
“A gala?” he says, reading off the paper. “What is it with girls and galas?”
“Galas are how you get fancy people to give you a lot of money. You offer wine and appetizers and have an auction and there’s so much peer pressure to look generous that rich people go nuts outbidding one another.”
He licks the sugar from his fingertips. “And how much money would it cost for us to host this fancy gala?”
I consider. “Five, ten thousand dollars?”
He fixes a look on me.
“Okay, maybe not a gala.” I take the duplicate list that I’ve saved for myself and scratch it off. “What about opening the center up to the public? Say, one day a week people can come in and see the animals, and we could have volunteers tell them about environmental issues and how they can get involved. You could charge admission…” I trail off. Quint is shaking his head at me.
“We used to do that,” he says, lacing his hands behind his head and tilting so far back in the chair that it’s only in pure defiance of gravity that he doesn’t go toppling over. “We were open to the public on Saturdays and Sundays. But you need a lot of volunteers to make it work, and our staff got bitter because they didn’t have enough time to do their actual jobs.”
“We’ll get more volunteers.”
“How?”
“We’ll advertise for them.”
“With what money?”
I throw up my hands. “Okay, I see what’s happening. This is a self-fulfilling prophecy. No one knows about the center, so they can’t support it. And if no one supports it, the center doesn’t make any money. And if the center doesn’t make any money, you can’t host events or advertise or do things that will inform even more people about the center!”
“Exactly.” Quint gestures at my notepad. “Luckily, we have Prudence Barnett on the case. You’re the ideas person. What are your ideas?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you about them for three days now, but every time I do, I either get shot down or coerced into water sports.”
Quint wrinkles his nose. “Snorkeling isn’t exactly a sport.”
I sigh. “You’re not being very much help.” I tap the end of my pen against my mouth, staring at all the ideas on the list. I won’t give him the satisfaction of saying it again, but Quint might be right. Or, he at least makes a valid point, one that I’ve been warring with since the idea of raising money for the center first entered my mind. If there was money to spare, we’d have a lot more options.
I’m really beginning to understand the adage: You need money to make money.
Realizing that Quint has gone abnormally quiet, I glance up.
His gaze is fixated on … my lips? Is my lipstick smeared? I move a hand to my mouth, at the exact moment Quint realizes I’m looking at him and immediately turns his attention back down to the box of doughnuts. He picks out another—berry filling, powdered sugar—but cuts it in half this time rather than taking the whole thing. He takes a big bite, still not looking at me. A dusting of sugar sprinkles onto his yellow shirt.
I self-consciously lower my hand and tighten my grip on the pen. “Your … um … your mom said you’ve done fundraisers in the past. Do you know if they kept records for those? Maybe we can take a look, see what worked and what didn’t?”
He thinks about this while he chews.
“Shauna probably has something we can look at,” he says. “From what I remember, fundraisers do make money, just … never enough. And we do have some long-term donors, people who write us big checks every year. But again…”
“It’s never enough,” I finish. “What do you do to cultivate those relationships?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, does your mom send handwritten thank-you notes to those people? Invite them for special tours of the center? Maybe we could let them name some of the animals?”
Quint stares at me. “But those people are already giving us money.”
“Yeah, for now. But those few things would barely cost any money to do, and it might keep you from losing a major source of income. There are a billion different charities out there. If something else snags their