How to Outswim a Shark Without a Snorkel by Jess Keating

“Perhaps something for a pool party?” Steel drums and Caribbean style music jangled in the background.
    Ashley shook her head. “No, thanks. We’re just looking. I’ll call you if we need any help.” I stared as the lady nodded and went back to her perch by the cash. Normally when salespeople come up to me in stores, I always feel like I need to humor them, so I don’t offend anyone. Then they pester me for ages thinking I want their help. Ashley had dismissed this girl like it was no big deal.
    â€œI’m thinking you need something brighter. That dark suit doesn’t do you any favors,” she said. The hangers clattered on the racks as Ashley dug behind a mannequin and pulled out a hot pink one piece with beading on the chest.
    â€œNo way!” I said, backing away.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Because it’s a girly color?” The swimsuit swayed on its hanger as she hooked it over her wrist.
    â€œNo,” I said. “When I wear pink, I look like I’m always blushing,” I said finally. I blush enough from actual embarrassment. I didn’t need any extra help in that department.
    She shook her head. “That’s because you’re wearing the wrong pink. You have a tan now, so this one will look good.” She threw it in her basket and kept walking, leaving me to follow behind her like a lost puppy.
    She turned around suddenly, squinting as she leaned closer. “What?” I asked. I put my hand over my mouth. “Do I have food in my teeth or something?” I checked my shirt for rogue animal stains.
    â€œI’m checking to see the color of your eyes, weirdo,” she said. “You should try one in this sea blue too.” She whipped around and found another suit in a different style, this time in a bright aquamarine blue. “The ruching will help you.” She nodded firmly.
    â€œRuching? What the heck is ruching?” I held up the suit, examining the scrunchy fabric.
    â€œIt’s this stuff.” She touched the fabric that was bunched around the waist. “It helps disguise problem areas. But don’t freak out. It’s just a good idea to have on a swimsuit, especially if you’re wearing a one piece.”
    I was beginning to feel like one big problem area.
    Following Ashley through the store, I stopped to watch her pick up a sheer orange wrap and hold it next to her hips. Scrunching her nose, she returned it to its spot.
    Having never been in Aviana’s before, I was starting to realize why I preferred department stores. Some of their stuff was nice, but between the glarey saleslady and the skimpy bikinis on the mannequins, I felt like my clothes were peeling away with each step, leaving me standing vulnerable and naked. I tugged at the bottom of my shirt anxiously.
    â€œOoh!” Ashley exclaimed. “Here we go! This is perfect. Try this one on.” She grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me to the dressing room, with a teal green swimsuit over her shoulder.
    â€œWhat? Already? We just got here!” I cried. I would sell my firstborn to get out of this.
    Ashley stood with her hand on her hip. She wasn’t having any of it, I knew that much. “This isn’t brain surgery,” she said. “You have to actually, you know, try them on .”
    â€œWhat if it doesn’t fit?” I asked, biting my nails.
    â€œThen we get another size, duh,” she said, slapping my hand down.
    I stepped inside the fitting room and closed the door, while Ashley flung the suits over the top. “Don’t forget the squat test,” she yelled.
    â€œThe what?” I felt like I was stuck in a test tube. Any minute now the scientists would be here with their goggles to measure how much of a fool I was in here.
    â€œThe squat test.” Her foot tapped outside the door, with her shoes clicking against the cold floor. “Life is all about the squat test, Ana. You can’t