catch the tram, but it seems lazy to ride between buildings in one hotel, and by walking I’m less likely to run into anybody who knows me from the conference and get held up making awkward conversation.
At the Promenade there’s another small store off the front lobby, and this one has one-pieces, but only stocks smalls and mediums.
This is discrimination, I think, annoyed. I’m wasting all this beautiful time to myself on a quest that’s starting to feel impossible. What if I can’t find a swimsuit? Pop said it would be easy, but what if it’s only easy for men like Pop? What if nobody on this island has ever conceived of a female being a size large?
I could go in my underwear, like I did at Leo’s pool that day. I have a black bra and briefs that I might be able to get away with. But that would be like wearing a two-piece, which we’ve already established is a no-go, and besides, people would probably be able to tell. Mom definitely wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of me walking around in front of all of her esteemed colleagues in my bra and panties.
I could wear a shirt over it, I consider. And shorts. But regular clothes in the water would feel uncomfortable and gross.
Desperate now, I take the tram to the Lagoon Tower. When I get off the train there’s a large set of stairs leading down to the spa and the cultural center, a sign helpfully informs me. The cultural center is where Afton and Abby are learning hula. I check my phone; about thirty minutes have passed since I last saw my sisters. I don’t know how long the class is. I’m overcome by the panicky feeling that they’re going to come bounding up the stairs at any moment, and then Afton will dump Abby off on me and leave me exactly where I started.
I duck into a shop—the girl was right; there are several shops here. I don’t even really care which one.
“Can I help you?” asks a guy folding shirts in the corner.
“I need a swimsuit,” I mumble.
“Sure,” he says cheerfully. “Back wall.”
The entire back wall is stocked with bathing suits of many shapes and colors and styles, and, most importantly, sizes. I breathe in a sigh of relief when I discover a board shirt—like a wet suit top with short sleeves—which would cover my cavewoman shoulders and also extend down to cover my belly. It’s white with hibiscus flowers on it, it’s a size large, and I immediately love it.
On the next rack there’s a selection of separate tops and bottoms, also available in large.
I pick a bright green top like a sports bra (okay, a two-piece, but no one is ever going to see, on account of the board shirt) and a matching boy-shorts bottom. I bring all three items straight to the checkout counter and lay them out carefully in front of the guy who helped me earlier.
“Would you like to try these on first?” he asks. “We have a dressing room.”
I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He rings me up. The total is ninety-two fifty. I slide the hundred-dollar bill across the counter.
In a minute I’m standing outside the store again, waiting for the tram. This time I am faced with more than the fear that my sisters are going to spontaneously appear before me and spoil my solitary fun. To get back on track with my paddleboarding plan, I’ll need to change and apply sunscreen and do something with my unruly hair. I also forgot my sunglasses.
I have to go to our room. Which is at the opposite end of the resort. Then I have to hurry and dress and prepare myself and make my way to the paddleboard rental place. Which is where I am now.
It’s going to eat into so much more of my precious time, but I don’t have a better option. I consider buying new sunscreen and sunglasses and getting dressed at the store after all, but then I remember I only have seven dollars and fifty cents.
So I do the only thing I can do: I get on the tram and go back to the room.
I don’t waste any time when I get there. I want to hurry, in case Afton and Abby come back soon. I feel mildly guilty about trying to avoid them, but I want my time alone to be more than just a shopping excursion. I want to freaking