Gregorio, surrounded by the Muscle Guys that had all moved to the front of the boat, continued to insist that rowing was not in their best interests. Marissa was inclined to agree—for now. But if they were still here by nightfall she was going to have to pee and she really didn’t want to use the Emergency Latrine. The E.L. was a Tupperware bowl and it would be just her luck to drop it overboard when she emptied it out. They’d vote her off the lifeboat for sure. She suspected, given that only one woman had used the facilities so far, she wasn’t the only one hoping to make it to the privacy of darkness.

The island didn’t seem to get any closer, until, by early afternoon, it was clear they were in a current and being drawn that direction. Gregorio insisted that rescue planes and boats would have been dispatched. They would be found. They were only nine hours of sailing out of Papeete, after all.

Muscle Guy Number One, who seemed to think his English was easier to understand if he added an Italian accent, insisted, then, that the island was likely to be populated. It could even be Huahine.

A heated argument ensued. Marissa thought she heard the Gilligan’s Island Woman in front of her say, “It’s the same the world over,” but she wasn’t sure.

Finally, Gregorio shrugged and didn’t protest when Number One directed Numbers Two through Four to get out the oars. Marissa had nothing against guys with muscles—obviously, they had their uses and she would be eternally grateful to them if they found solid ground and a place for her to pee. Marissa thought it wise to re-buckle her vest and she zipped her book inside her pack again where it was hopefully safer. If they were stuck on a deserted island for long, a paperback might be a valuable commodity for barter.

The woman next to her smelled of suntan lotion and sweat. Marissa imagined she didn’t smell much better but she was glad of the long pants she’d struggled into and the light long-sleeved denim shirt she had smashed into her backpack after arriving in Papeete.

Now that they were doing something other than waiting, couples that had previously only murmured between themselves began to talk to those around them as if the energy could finally be spared. The man with the camera took photos of the rowers and the approaching land. Most people didn’t speak English, something she’d figured out at dinner the night before. That could devalue her paperback should she need to trade it for chewing gum, she thought dizzily. The boat made its first directed surge through the waves and Marissa put her head down on the backpack again, letting the voices swirl around her.

“So,” someone said nearby, “Did you have friends who made you watch the Poseidon Adventure before you left home?”

She glanced up and realized that Gilligan’s Island Woman had turned around on her bench so they were knee-to-knee. Recalling her bon voyage party, Marissa admitted, “I have a friend that warped but she chose Titanic.”