“Wait, really? Like, a sea turtle?”
“Yeah. From here, she looks like a loggerhead.”
“Can we go closer?”
“Maybe a little. We don’t want to scare her. No phone flashlights, okay? She’ll get disoriented.”
We shuffled forward, making sure to give the mama turtle—who was definitely a loggerhead—plenty of space. We watched, fascinated, as she flapped her flippers in the sand, digging a body pit and a chamber in which to lay her eggs—probably about a hundred of them. When she was done, she buried andcamouflaged the nest, then lumbered to the gulf, where a placid wave helped her glide into the dark water.
“That was the absolute coolest,” Henry said once she’d disappeared. “I mean,wow. Have you ever seen anything like that before?”
“A couple of times, with my parents.” When I began to get interested in marine life, my mom and dad started bringing me to the shore after dark, toting beach chairs, midnight snacks, and turtle-safe flashlights. “Once we saw hatchlings making their way into the ocean. They were so cute and tiny, scuttling down to the surf.”
“But how did they know where to go? I mean, instinct, I guess, but how do they figure out where the water is?”
“They move toward light. The moon reflecting off the water is usually the brightest thing out here at night.”
“Whoa. Nature is crazy-cool.”
I smiled; my thoughts exactly. “What’s really amazing is that when the turtles are ready to lay eggs of their own—like, twenty or thirty years later—they almost always return to the same beach where they hatched.”
He lifted his brows, impressed. “How do you know all this stuff?”
My parents were super smart about ocean animals, and I want to be just like themwas the truest answer. But it was also the most personal. I wasn’t ready to go there.
I started walking away from the turtle’s nest, bare feet sinking into the cool sand. Henry stayed by my side.
“I grew up near the beach.” I nodded toward the book under his arm. “And I like to read, like you. Also, I love sea turtles. If I had to choose, I’d say they’re my favorite animal. What’s yours?” I asked, trying to throw him off the trail of my gloomy family life.
“Ostriches,” he replied without hesitation.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”
“Yeah. They can run twenty-plus miles at an average speed of thirty miles per hour. That means they could run a full marathon in forty-five minutes, theoretically. Incredible.”
“Yikes. They look prehistoric.”
“Birds are more closely related to dinosaurs than any other living animal, so that checks out. And yeah, they’re creepy, but no more so than a turkey or a chicken.”
“True,” I said, shuddering at the memory of the blue-headed wild turkey I’d encountered the summer before while hiking with Gabi and her family.
We trekked out of the deeper sand, closer to the waves. There was plenty of room to walk without getting wet, but Henry took the spot closest to the water, a considerate act that didn’t escape my notice.
We’d only known each other a couple of hours, but I liked him. He was kind. He was funny. He liked animals, even ugly animals. Our musical tastes aligned. He was smart, full of interesting trivia that was hilariously useless. He asked me questions, like he thoughtIwas smart. Like my opinions and experiences were valuable.
I couldn’t imagine him laughing at me, or belittling me, or rolling his eyes at me, as my sister had taken to doing. Talking to him unearthed my confidence. Being with him made me feel secure.
I was hooked.
Henry
After Piper leaves Blitz Brews, I pull out my phone to send a run update to Silas and Ricky, only to find that Whitney’s beentexting. I think about ignoring her messages, but I’m not a monster. We’ve been through a lot together, but she’s survived infinitely more as an individual. It’s not in me to ghost her.
Whitney 6:23 p.m.
It’s been a day.
6:26 p.m.
