The group disperses, wandering down the beach, but Victoria and I hang back. “We’ll catch the stragglers.” She winks. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I dig through the sand with my toes to unearth a bottle cap and add it to our collection.
“I’ve heard that a lot of Americans don’t have a passport. You’ve really never left the States before this?”
“Not really. I know, it’s pathetic.” Most of the volunteers have visited countries in the double digits. I’m envious, inspired, and hate the feeling of being behind all at once, but better late than never.
“It’s pretty brave of you to jump into a month-long volunteer position.” Victoria’s the last person I expect a compliment from. She’s the volunteer I feel least connected to, but her words sound vulnerable and kind and they crack me open in a way that feels healing.
“Didn’t you solo travel through India? My grandmother did that in the sixties and she told those stories until the day she died. I wouldn’t even get on a plane until my best friend promised she’d hold my hand.”
“India is a beautiful country,” she says wistfully, reaching for a cigarette butt. “But so is Indonesia. I was terrified the first time I traveled on my own, and that was just to Spain. You seem to know what you’re doing. Mike said we’re already getting more volunteer applications.”
My heart stutters. The praise for my work feels good, but I’m also deeply curious about what’s going on between her and Mike. Everyone knows they’re flirty with each other, but I haven’t heard anything official. I’m bursting for someone to talk to about Steven, but I’m not sure if I can trust her. I settle for some selective vulnerability in another direction instead.
“I miss my friends, though.” I admit, quietly. “I’m excited to be here, and I think this is the right thing for me, but I can’t help feeling a tiny bit sad. I miss my Mom’s porkchops. I want to know what’s going on with my sister. It’s weird being so far away.”
“That’s normal.” Victoria shrugs. “That’s what makes technology so great.” She gestures to her phone, a massive thing with a waterproof case that’s almost always attached to her body with a lanyard. “Whenever I get sad, I call home and within a few minutes I’m usually reminded how much those fuckers actually annoy me.”
I snort.
“I’m serious.” She deadpans. “I have three brothers. But when Idogo home, the time we spend together always feels more intentional. It’s not for everyone, but I love longterm travel. Meeting new people, falling in love again and again. I live for it.”
“That makes sense,” I say, even as a knot tightens in my chest. Is that Steven’s perspective too? Am I just another conquest? Doeshe love the feeling of falling in love, and I conveniently threw myself at him?
“Sorry if I overstepped, you just seemed a little sad.”
“No, it’s fine. I appreciate it.” I do. It feels good to say all of this out loud.
“If you want to sneak out of here and go call some friends, I’ll cover for you,” she says, looking down the beach where the volunteers are beginning to herd everyone back.
Talking to Eva right now would be so helpful. And I’ll have the dorms to myself for a while. It’s a very tempting offer.
“Are we allowed to do that?” I ask, “I won’t like… get in trouble?”
Victoria scoffs and waves me away. “What are they going to do, love? Fire you?”
I take her advice, handing her my small collection of trash and scampering off the beach. Talking to my best friend and avoiding Steven? It’s a no-brainer.
I call Eva from my top bunk and feel a wave of relief wash through me as her face pops up on screen. It’s nearly 7 AM there, she’s still in bed, but she smiles sleepily at me.
“How’s my most badass friend doing? How are the turtles?”
“The turtles are great.” I grin and spend the next twenty minutes catching her up on everything that’s happened the last few days. Everything except for the guy who kissed me so thoroughly that it ruined me for anyone else.
Instead, I tell her about scuba diving, the donations, and my ideas for improving the sanctuary’s social media campaign. She finds the link and contributes while we’re still on the phone and it makes me feel a little less alone. She’s such a good friend.
I love watching her face as I describe our turtle vigil last night. “There were so many eggs! All small and slimy. Steven said that whether they’re male or female depends on how warm the sands are around their nest. Warmer sand means more males, and colder sand means females.”
“Wow, Steven sure knows a lot about sea turtles,” she says, letting me know that she’s picked up on how often his name has come up, even though I thought I was doing a good job dancing around it. I want to talk about the kiss, but that would make it real, and I have no idea what happens next. “That sounds incredible, Junie. You’re having a once in a lifetime experience out there. I’m really jealous.”
“You could always come back,” I suggest, only half joking. “The other volunteers are great, but it’s not like having my best friend here.” I have never been alone and so far from home. It’s hitting me harder than I expected.
Three weeks ago I was boring, dependable Junie. The eldest daughter, a typical anxious perfectionist.
But here, I’m staying up all night to protect turtle hatchlings. I’m kissing foreign men without knowing where we stand. I’m squatting over a hole in the ground whenever I forget to use the toilet at the sanctuary. I show Eva the bathroom on video and she cackles, but I draw the line at giving a demonstration.
“It’s not as bad as it looks!” I insist, feeling defensive over my new life.
