coming of age

On June 1, I arrived at Island 43. By some miracle, Trisha’s also here, but the rest of us are split up. Since we’re seventeen now, we don’t get to stay with our parents anymore or do the Island Chores. Most of the other girls have been counting down to this moment since age fourteen — waiting for the freedom of exploring the island on our own — and I’ve hoped that feigning my own excitement would make it a reality. But nope. I’m just sitting here, silently jealous that Harper is still eleven and gets to go with our mom.

Sure, there are all the perks of coming of age. I spent all year picking out my favorite lingerie, working with the Island Designers to create custom nightgowns and bustiers. I packed my best new ballgowns and was put on the pill, making my figure grow into curves I’ve never seen before. I can start thinking about men now, like really thinking about them, and they can think about me too. I get to spend a summer away from my parents and become an adult in every possible way.

But I didn’t mind working. I enjoyed tailoring the older girls’ gowns and hearing their stories secondhand. I spent long days with the seamstresses, partly because my mother was one but mainly because I loved it. I loved listening as women told me to enjoy my last few years of childhood and I loved enjoying those years. No eyes on me, no hands on me.

Trisha got on the earlier boat to the island so she came to greet me by the dock. I asked if she had any inclination of where we were and she gave me an apologetic smile and shake of the head. I should have figured — nobody was allowed to know where we were and even if we had some sort of map, schools have forbidden geography lessons for the past 45 years. My mother remembers them faintly, but the Island County have done their best to erase such memories.

“Have you seen the suitors? I never realized they were this attractive!” I had never seen Trisha like this before — was she playing a part or had two hours on the island already kicked in? I shook my head. I hadn’t even looked at the men on the boat with me. What was wrong with me?

My questions didn’t linger long in my mind before I was shuffled from one booth to the next, picking up pamphlets and little red, white, and blue pills. How to Pleasure, a pamphlet read. What to Expect Before Coming of Age was the title of another. At least I’d have something to go off of.

“Don’t worry, just take the round blue one and you’ll get more psyched about this summer,” Trisha offered me. “And take the red oval one before the ball tonight — that’s what the Suitress Advisor told me.”

Before the Summer Islands, women learned about sexuality from their mothers. Whenever the power goes out, my grandmother will tell us secret stories of prom nights and vodka sodas. The wild 20’s. Back in 2023, she had twelve sexual partners! Twelve! And it was legal! She’s told us about how my great-grandmother sat her down at age thirteen to have a “sex talk.” I fear these stories will die with her generation and all I’ll have to tell my grandchildren will be from this one summer.

I followed Trisha to the Suitress Quarters and unpacked my bag. I shared a room with nine other seventeen year olds, about half of whom were there already. We weren’t allowed to hang anything on the walls or bring any decorations — nothing of our childhood. We were women now, and we had to start acting like it.

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“Tonight is the Coming Out ball, so I need you to all look through the Suitor Book and rate your top twenty matches. It’s due by 5pm so the Island Matchers can create your dance cards,” my residential advisor told us as she passed out the books. Each page had photos, names, and Zodiac signs of ten suitors. I believed in astrology, but is that how I’m going to pick a husband? There were ten pages total. 100 men.

“Each Saturday, your list of matches will shorten and you will attend another ball. During the weekdays, you will go on dates with your matches and attend courses on seduction and pleasure, health and safety, and becoming a wife. On August 1, you will get your match, get married, and consummate the marriage.” The advisor spoke quickly, though I was quite certain we all knew the schedule by heart anyway.

I hung up my dresses for approval and sat down on the bed. I was passing the round blue pill back and forth between my fingers, debating whether to take it, when a knock at my bedpost startled me.

“Sorry J, didn’t mean to make you jump there.” The voice was familiar but the man was not. He towered over me, casting a shadow and blocking my eyes from the sun. I stared at him long before I realized.

“Emmett?” Why hadn’t I known he was my year?

“I saw your name on the list, had to come see if it was for real.”

“So you’re —”

“Oh no, I came of age two summers ago. I’m here with Gabby, my wife, to work on the events team. You two will really get along, I’ll introduce you at the ball.”

Emmett and I went to Island 509 for three summers in a row — back when the government tested out sending people to the same island each year to build relationships before coming of age. We were young then, I must have been twelve the last time I saw him.

“So does it work?” I felt childish asking him such a question. Even if it didn’t, I didn’t have a choice whether or not to participate.

“I don’t know any different.” His response lacked emotion and I knew better than to push for more answers. I popped the pill in my mouth and wrapped my arms around him.

The pill sank down through my throat and almost immediately I got a headrush. The room started to spin and my body let go. Every sore muscle loosened and every knot untwisted.

“So I’ll be okay?”

“You’ll be more than okay. You just have to give in. There’s no room on this island for your smartass comments.”

I laughed and stared at him. It felt unbelievably incredible to have someone know me, to have someone remember things about me, to have a history with someone. I wanted to know everything about his past five years: his summer coming of age and college thereafter. I wanted to know everything about Gabby — what she is like, why he thinks we will get along, when they knew they’d match each other, how they knew they would, if she was forward or submissive, if she made the decisions or he did, if she actually learned anything during the classes. I must have held his gaze for too long because the residential advisor shot me a warning glare: he’s married. I blinked, but I didn’t want him to be my husband.

I didn’t want anyone to be my husband.

Emmett excused himself to my advisor and walked out of the room. I joined Trisha in looking through the Suitor Book and thought about copying her choices. This isn’t an assignment, I told myself, but it still felt like a test — like an entrance exam with trick questions.

I popped two more pills in my mouth and ten minutes later, I was able to create my list and turn it in.

At six o’clock I got my matches. At five past six I took the red oval pill with lemon water. At twenty past six I took another.

At seven o’clock I went to the Coming Out ball and I had a fucking fantastic time.