“I love it.” Quint holds up a hand for a high five, but when I slap my palm against his, he closes his fingers around mine and gives them a squeeze. My heart skips. “Good brainstorming session.”
I laugh. “Go team.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I know he’s thinking about all our failed lab assignments. I know, because I’m thinking about them, too, and wondering if it’s possible I just didn’t give us—the team us—a chance.
Quint releases my hand. “I can design the flyers and posters.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I can do it. And I’ll call around to some local businesses. Maybe we can get a few sponsors for the cleanup. And I’ll check with the festival, too, see if they have room for one more tent and if maybe they’ll give us a discount on the rate, given our nonprofit status. And oh! I’ll order up buttons to give out to all the vendors! They can say something like ‘I support Fortuna Beach wildlife! Ask how you can, too!’” I start scrawling my thoughts on the notepad again. They’re coming so fast, my wrist is starting to ache by the time I’ve jotted everything down.
“Okay,” says Quint, slowly. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, for now. I’ve got this. You know what else? I’ll make up some stickers. I wonder if we can get them shipped here in time. But we can put them on all the festival trash cans, with cute little encouraging—”
“Prudence.”
I glance over at him. “Yeah?”
He opens his palms, a question in his eyes.
I blink. “What?”
“I’m perfectly capable of designing flyers and posters. And buttons and stickers, too.”
I open my mouth to respond but hesitate. I try again. “It’s okay. I’ll do it tonight. Get everything ordered and then—”
“While I do what, exactly?”
He no longer sounds happy. If anything, he’s starting to sound mad.
A little exasperated, I gesture toward the row of windows overlooking the yard behind the building, full of seals and sea lions. For the most part, their barking has become white noise, hardly noticeable, but every now and then something excites them down in the yard and sets them all off at once in a great noisy racket. “You have things to do here, don’t you? Pools to clean or whatever?”
“Oh. So I’m just the manual-labor guy?”
My brow furrows. “What are you talking about? I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying you don’t trust me.”
My jaw opens and closes again.
“You’re saying that you can do a better job. On your own. Without my help.”
I’m trapped. I know I’m trapped. He knows I’m trapped.
“Well … but that isn’t—”
His chair legs screech as he pushes back from the table and launches to his feet. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I would regret this.”
I gape at him. “Quint, stop it. This is what I do. I plan. I prepare. I’m a perfectionist. I like being in control of things. You know that! And seriously, what’s the problem? You’re off the hook! Go help your mom or … or do whatever else you do. I can handle this. Everybody wins.”
“No!” He spins back toward me. “Don’t you get it? This is the problem. You are the problem!”
The air leaves me as though I’d been kicked in the chest.
Quint drags a hand back through his hair. “Not … not you,” he amends. Letting out a guttural sound, he steps closer again and grips the back of the chair he abandoned. “Okay. You like to be in control. You don’t trust other people to help out, because you’re afraid they’re going to screw up. I get that … sort of. But I did not agree to work with you over this summer just to repeat biology class all over again. This”—he gestures between us—“isn’t going to work.”
This? What does he mean, this?
The biology project? The beach cleanup? Him and me?
“I’m sorry,” I say slowly, with a knife-sharp edge to my voice, because, darn it, I’m still smarting from that you-are-the-problem comment. “But I don’t understand what this is about. Two minutes ago, I thought we had a plan. We’re finally getting somewhere. And suddenly … what? I’m too much of a control freak and you can’t stand the idea of working with me or…?”
“Kind of. Yeah. Actually, that’s exactly what this is about.”
I gape at him, dismayed. Heat climbs up my neck and I slam my mouth shut. We stare at each other, and I think maybe he’s willing me to cave