“I’d wanted this one Barbie for months. She wore a yellow jumpsuit and heels and had her hair in a ponytail like I did. When I ripped off the wrapping paper Christmas morning and saw what was inside, I’d danced around the room, shrieking with excitement. Mom sipped coffee in that bathrobe with the cats on it. You had just opened the Girl Talk game.” She chews her lip. “I shoved my Barbie toward you, begged you to look. Do you remember what you did?”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. “No.”
“You rolled your eyes.” I cringe. “So I tried a second time. This was the Barbie. I just wanted you to see how cool she was. The second time you told me to get it out of your face.”
I rip a hangnail. My cuticle begins to bleed.
“The third time you turned to me and said”—here Kit adopts a psychopathically cold tone—“？‘Aren’t you a little old for Barbies?’？”
I swallow.
“All of a sudden that nightgown I was wearing, the one with Ariel and the purple ruffles, seemed babyish. I took the Barbie out of the packaging to show Mom how much I loved it, but I felt like a two-year-old whenever I brushed Barbie’s hair or slipped the plastic heels on her feet. I looked stupid making her walk and talk. A month later I stopped playing with dolls. For good.”
The worst part is not the act itself （though that was mean enough） but the fact that I have no recollection of it, whereas my sister has carried it with her for decades. So much for us remembering only the wrongs we’ve committed, not the ones committed against us. I open my mouth but can’t think of a single redeeming thing to say.
Kit watches me with red eyes. “You’re not going to take Wisewood’s sparkle from me.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough; I know it’s not.
“I’m not denying the rules here are strange. Every system has flaws. Wisewood is no different. But we focus on the positives of the program.”
I’ve lost the will to fight my sister. She’s fallen under the spell of a group and an ideology I can’t understand. If she insists this place makes her happy, then fine.
“Understood.” I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m on your side, okay?”
A knock at the door makes us both jump.
“Ms. Collins, are you in there?” Gordon calls.
“I’m busy,” Kit says.
“Please open the door.”
She closes her eyes. This time her tone is icy. “I said I’m busy.”
A pause. “Very well. I’m taking the boat out, so you’ll have to—”
Kit leaps from the bed and opens the door. “We’re not supposed to leave.”
Gordon draws himself to full height. Even so, he’s shorter than she is.
“It’s snowing,” she says.
Still he doesn’t speak.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
His gaze swings toward me. “Are you sure you want that answer right here, right now?”
My sister glances at me.
“Kit, I have to tell you something,” I say, remembering my reason for being here. “We’re not done.”
“Yeah, we are.” She follows Gordon outside and closes the door.
33
Kit
OCTOBER 2019
WE WADED OUT of the water and put our shoes back on in silence. Debbie offered a towel she’d brought especially for me. Even after I dried off, my teeth still rattled so hard my jaw hurt. When he saw my knees knocking, Jeremiah handed over his jacket.
I shook my head, pointing to my soaked sweater and jeans. “It’ll get wet.”
He shrugged. “It’ll dry.”
I flashed him a tired smile and zipped the coat to the top. I was instantly warmer, though the ends of my hair had hardened to icicles. The members of the IC began heading single file into the forest. As I followed Sanderson, Jeremiah close behind me, I tried to work out what the Quest of Judgment might encompass. Were they going to list my sins and dole out punishments that fit the crimes? I imagined standing in front of a panel of my peers. For stealing candy from that convenience store when you were thirteen: ten blows against the knuckles with a ruler. For getting your high school best friend arrested: three days without a single meal. For being a negligent daughter: kneel on broken glass until your skin is speckled with blood.
I might have to pass judgment on someone else.
“It’s not as bad as you’re imagining,” Jeremiah said from behind. I nodded, stomach roiling.
A drizzle began to fall, forcing us to pick up our pace. Like a cabin-fevered child, Sofia rushed up the pine cone–strewn path, ducking and dodging wayward branches, shouting the entire way. The rest of the group was solemn, which did nothing to calm me.