It had been amazing that I’d found the grace to answer her with a smile and the truth: I told her the hazel in my eyes were not contacts but my DNA, just like my sandy brown hair that everyone swore came off the head of some poor woman from Indonesia.

The memory of how I’d had to check her reminded me of how much I didn’t like being here. Why were these women all up in somebody else’s business? They were First Ladies, for goodness sake. Surely, they wouldn’t be happy if the tables had been turned their way.

As I gave Cecily a long glance, I shook my head. This woman could have done so much good. Not only because she and her husband, Pastor Davis, had an eight thousand member church in Ward 3, the richest section of D.C., but with the most diverse congregation out of all of us, Cecily could have been a real shaker making major moves if so many people didn’t like her — because of her mouth. She commanded attention with her still model-curvy frame and the way she strolled around still wearing five-inch stilettos, even though she was in her mid-fifties. She’d traded in her Malaysian twenty-two inch tresses for a cute pixie-cut that was as white as snow, giving her an exotic look. She was sassy, she was always designer-sharp...and she had a hard heart that was always filled with bad news.

After the laughter died down a bit, one of the First Ladies asked, “So did his wife really go to her apartment?”

“Yeah, girl,” Cecily said, leaning forward like she had all the tea and was ready to spill more.

I said, "So, about the Dress for Success program, not only have I checked on the inventory of clothes and I want to give a report about that, but I’ve spoken to several schools.”

Cecily’s mouth snapped shut in shock as if she couldn’t believe I’d interrupt her with some nonsense about the business at hand. And the rest of the First Ladies glared at me as if I’d taken away their toys on Christmas morning. “I just thought you’d want to know,” I continued, not moved at all by their expressions, “that several schools are really interested in us bringing the program to them, especially Morton High School."

“Morton!” Cecily pressed both hands against her chest, leaned back and cackled. “This is rich. You know Morton is where their daughter goes to school. She’s in the eleventh grade and I heard she was the one who drove her mother to that trick’s house.”

The women gasped and I sighed. How in the world had Cecily diverted my diversion and taken us right back to the gossip? Now that was a gift that I was glad I didn’t have.

“And now,” Cecily continued, “everyone in her school is talking about how her mama tried to cut her daddy over at the side piece's house. Lord hammercy."

The room filled with a bunch of side conversations and all I wanted to do was grab my bag and walk out. I’d done that before, which was why Cecily wasn’t the only one in this group who didn’t like me. When it came to me, the First Ladies Council was split in half: there were those who didn’t like me, and those who told me about the ones who didn’t like me. If it were not for First Lady Sonya, I would have been voted off this island a long time ago. Though I wasn’t worried about that. My concern, at this point, was that I didn’t jump off and swim away from the island myself.