Free Something Like Normal by Trish Doller

to do. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at nine p.m.”
    “So what are we doing?” I ask, glancing into the backseat of the Land Rover. Lying across the seat is a small shovel, along with a black plastic tarp and a flashlight with a piece of red film covering the lens. “Burying a body?”
    Harper throws a devious smile in my direction. “Maybe.”
    So fucking cool.
    “We’re nest-sitting.” She hands me a large foam cup of coffee.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Well, we’re in the middle of sea turtle hatching season,” she explains. “It’s been fifty-five days since this one particular nest was laid, so tonight should be the night.”
    I’m not an especially romantic person, but when a beautiful girl invites a guy to the beach at night, sea turtles are not usually involved. Also, this is not something I’d have expected from Harper. “So we’re… helping?”
    “In a sense. We give them as many advantages as we can without disturbing the natural process,” she says. “I brought you because I figured you’d be good at digging.”
    Marines carry small folding shovels called entrenching tools. E-tools, for short. We use them to dig holes for sleeping, burning trash, fighting, and taking a dump. So, yes, I am very good at digging. “That the only reason?”
    She gives me a tiny bit-lip smile that knocks the wind out of my chest. “Maybe.”
    On the way to the beach, Harper explains that I’ll dig a trench from the nest to the water while she sets up the tarp. It’s attached at intervals to wooden stakes so it can be positioned around the nest and along the trench. A funnel to keep the baby sea turtles pointed in the right direction and keep away raccoons, crabs, and anything else that might want to eat them.
    “So how long have you been turtle-sitting?”
    “A couple of years,” she says. “I’m planning to study marine biology.”
    It’s tempting to make a joke about Marines and biology, but her smile says this is important to her, and I don’t want to ruin it with a stupid joke. “That’s very cool.”
    “What about you?” Harper presses a button on the CD player and Joe Strummer sings about redemption. “Do you think you’ll go to college when you’re done with the Marines?”
    “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve still got a lot of time left, so I’ve been thinking about doing the basic recon course.” Not sure why I’m telling her this, but it’s as if I can’t help myself. I swear, if anyone wants to torture secrets out of me, apparently all they have to do is put me in a room with her. I only joked about recon with Charlie, but now that I’ve told someone else, it feels even more like a real option.
    “What does that mean?” she asks.
    “Reconnaissance Marines are kind of like special forces,” I say. “Sort of like how the Navy has SEALs or the Army has Rangers.”
    “So basically you want to do something even more dangerous than you’re already doing?”
    I laugh. “I guess.”
    “You like the Marines, don’t you?”
    “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Except for the part where people shoot at you, it’s not all that different from any other job. There are things I like and things that suck,” I say. “So where are you going to school?”
    “The College of the Atlantic. It’s up in Maine.” She parks the Rover in a spot in the deserted beach lot and cuts the engine.
    “That’s pretty far from home.” I open my door. Pretty far from anywhere I’ll be, too, which kind of sucks.
    “Not as far as Afghanistan,” she says.
    “Good point.”
    Harper gets out of the car as I start taking the supplies from the backseat. She opens the door opposite me. “COA has a really good marine science program. One of the best, really.”
    “I had no idea you were so smart,” I say, stepping out onto the sand. “Or that you still played with Barbies when you were thirteen.”
    She laughs and punches me on the arm. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
    “I