Right now she supposed it was time for early breakfast. She’d been told that cruise food was good. Certainly dinner the night before had been tasty. She wished she’d eaten more of it but she always felt as if people were watching her eat and deciding that was why her waist was bigger around than her hips.

The sun rose fully, the wind died and the rain slowed to a mist, leaving the air heavy and thick. Marissa didn’t think her heart had stopped beating fast but she was suddenly so tired her head bobbed. A man at the front of the boat took some pictures of them all but Marissa couldn’t find more than an annoyed smile. Settling her bulging backpack on her lap, she wrapped her arms over it and tried to doze. It seemed the only thing she could do that didn’t add to the fear and tension in the boat.

She drifted for a few minutes then found herself writing a letter in her head, something she’d always done when stressed. They were letters she would never send.

This one began—like lots of others—with “Dear Mom.”

Thank you again for the generous gift of a week-long cruise in Tahiti.It’s not your fault the ship sank.Instead of all those years of computer science courses, I wish I had paid more attention to reality TV shows about turning bugs into breakfast.

I’m sure I’ll be fine and when I get home you can bet I’ll listen to the rest of your advice about what I ought to do with my life, since this has worked out so well.

Love, Marissa

P.S. I don’t think I’ll make it home in time for the club’s summer ball.

P.P.S. Please make my apologies to the blind date I’m sure you arranged.

P.P.P.S. I’m a lesbian.

If I get home again, Marissa told herself, I’m sending that one. “Hey,” someone behind her shouted. “Isn’t that land?”

People actually stood up. The boat rocked violently, and they all sat down again. Marissa craned her neck and saw the low white cloud in the distance.

“Great. I always wanted to be in an episode of Lost.”

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until several people near her gave her annoyed stares.

You’d think she’d said shark or something. Marissa muttered to herself, “I’m not the only one thinking it.”

Seated in the row ahead of Marissa, a tall woman glanced back at Marissa as she said, “I sure as hell was. But I’d rather Gilligan’s Island.” Her expression was surprisingly calm and they shared comrades-in-twisted-humor half-smiles.

Gregorio was trying to settle the handful of men who wanted to Take Action. One older Brit kept saying he didn’t understand why they weren’t trying to get to land until the tall Gilligan’s Island fan said, firmly, “It’s farther than it looks. Rowers need water and we don’t have a way to get more. The beacons were on and with the storm cleared a search will be quickly underway.” When he would have argued, she added, “I’m just the translator.”