By the time the rest of the White Gloves and Candidates arrived, the four of us had made our way out of the remains of the house and around the perimeter of the island. Three-quarters of it was walkable, but the northmost stretch featured a series of steep drop-offs and a heaping ton of debris.
It was like Mother Nature had been using the island for her castoffs: dead wood and decomposition and trash dredged up from the deep.
“Candidates, there are half as many of you as there were a month ago.” For once, a White Glove other than Victoria took the lead. Hope let her gaze linger first on Campbell, then on me. “And there are twice as many of you as there will be a month from now.”
The Candidates are many. The Chosen are few. I waited for someone to chime in with the phrase, but not one of the White Gloves did.
“Do you know why you’re here? Why you’ve made it this far?” Hope let the question hang in the air. “Do you know what the White Gloves really are?”
“Maybe you’ve heard rumors,” Nessa chimed in. “But you’ve only heard what we want you to hear.”
“You’ve heard,” Hope continued, “that we come from a certain kind of background and a certain kind of family.” That would have elicited an eye roll from me—and possibly a gagging sound—except that she followed that sentiment with these words: “Maybe you think that makes us powerful.”
“But you’re not here because you’re powerful.” Victoria didn’t bother trying to project her voice, and it was almost lost to a sudden gust of wind. I felt, as much as saw, the Candidates pulling in tighter, closer together as she continued. “You’re here because you know what it’s like to feel powerless. Everyone you see here has been given every privilege that money can buy, but at the end of the day, there are some privileges that money can’t buy. Money doesn’t keep people from telling girls who look like me to go back to the other side of the border. And no matter what your family name is, or how white your skin, I’m willing to bet that there are still people who tell you to smile, because you look so pretty when you smile.” She paused, just for an instant. “We all play by rules our brothers will never even have to know.
“You want to know why we go cliff-diving and off-roading and drag you out to abandoned islands in the night?” Victoria’s voice was no louder, but her delivery was suddenly crystal clear. “Because we can. Because when people say that well-behaved women rarely make history, they leave out the little tidbit that the women who do make history rarely do so alone.”
If they’d pitched the White Gloves to me this way from the get-go, I might have been in it for more than the distraction and the opportunity to cross-examine Victoria Gutierrez. Forget tradition and secrets and symbols. All they would have had to do was send me a note scribbled on scrap paper that said Smash the patriarchy? Circle one: yes or no.
“The reason that you’re still here isn’t just that you take risks.” Hope took over again, where Victoria had left off. “It’s not just that you’ve stepped up to the challenges we’ve handed down. You’re here because we believe that there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“You’re here because you have secrets,” Nessa elaborated.
“You’re here because, on some level, in some way, you want to keep up appearances and burn it all down.” Victoria gave some sort of signal with her hand. There was a flurry of movement on either side of her, and within a heartbeat, flames exploded into the air.
Torches? Check. Abandoned island? Check. Highly flammable ruins? Check.
“In a moment, you’ll receive three cards with your name on them and a pen.” Victoria’s features were lit by torchlight. “Tonight’s challenge is simple: three secrets, one on each card. I’m not going to tell you that you have to push down the urge to hold back your deepest and darkest. The secrets you choose are up to you. But what I can and will say is that this is a sisterhood. This is real. And what you choose to write down on those cards? It matters.”