“So, several years ago, I was in a band,” Sol explains. “We weren’t well known, but we had a couple songs that made it to local radio stations. We got picked up by a record label, and they sent us on tour. By all accounts, things were looking up for us. I thought I was going to be a rock star.”
“I thought you worked in finance?”
“I did. This was before all that. I’ve lived many lives.”
I nod and find myself leaning forward, eager to learn more about his past.
“I was traveling all over the country with my three closest friends, playing music, and since I was the front man, I had women throwing themselves at me everywhere I went. I was living the dream! But then we hit a bump in the road.”
“What happened?”
“First,” Sol says, ticking off one finger, “our guitarist left the band without warning. The road just wasn’t for him. But thatmeant we had no guitarist. I was the lead singer, so everyone expected me to pick up the slack. I had to learn to play a whole new instrument in a very short amount of time. It was stressful, it was humiliating because I had to perform—badly—in front of crowds, but I stuck it out. My fingers bled every night on that tour bus. And, ultimately, it made me a much more versatile artist. It made me better.”
I’ve heard Sol play his guitar plenty of times, and he sounds good to my ears. “All the effort paid off.”
“You’re a sweetheart for saying so,” he says. “But that was just the start. That wasn’t the end of our troubles. Our bus broke down on our way to Chicago, and the record label told us we had to make our own way there because it would take a while to fix it. We had to walk and hitchhike sixty miles. And then one of the people we hitched a ride with stole my wallet with all my money in it.”
“Are you sure you’re not the main character in a horror movie?” I ask.
“You joke, but it did get pretty dicey there. One guy who offered to pick us up had a chainsaw in his back seat for no apparent reason.”
“Yikes. But you made it to Chicago?”
“Wedid, and we put on a heck of a show when we got there,” he says. “But it was a harrowing experience. It made me realize how much I was taking for granted. How I needed to learn to rely on myself more than others. Especially when, not long after that, the label dropped us. I was devastated, but later, I had an epiphany.”
“What?”
Sol leans forward with a smile. “I got exactly what I needed from that experience. I didn’t need fame or money. What I needed was to challenge myself, to learn who I was and what I was capable of through some hardship. And that’s what I’m trying to offer all of you girls with these trials. To show you what you’re capable of. To push you to a limit I know you can handle and let you see how powerful you are.”
When he puts it like that, it does sound kind of nice. I don’t know when the last time I felt powerful was. I don’t know if I ever really have.
“So while it won’t be easy,” he continues, “you don’t need to be nervous, either, because I know you very well by now, Iris. Don’t you agree?”
“Better than anyone.”
“Exactly. I know you better than anyone. I know what youneed to challenge you, to help you blossom and make you see exactly how strong you are. I just need you to trust me.”
“I do.”
I trust him with everything. If it wasn’t for Sol, I don’t know if I’d even be alive right now.
“Good.” He reaches out and gives me a playful little punch on the arm. “You’ve got this.”
I’m grinning back at him now, feeling much lighter than when I walked in here a few minutes ago. “So when do we get started?” I ask.
“Soon,” he says. “Part of the challenge is that you’ll never know exactly when your next trial is coming.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say. “In real life, you can’t prepare for unexpected setbacks.”
“Exactly!”
“I do have questions, though.”
“Ask away. I’ll answer as best I can without compromising the trials.”
“So … why can’t I talk to the others about this? Not even the older girls?”
“That’s a completely understandable question,” he says. “I’m sure you want to talk to them—find out what they had to do fortheir trials, brainstorm about yours, all that. I’d want to, too. But part of the challenge here is realizing that you can handle things on your own.” He grabs the hand that is twisting through my hair and pulls it toward him, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve had a lot of people let you down—friends and family. You’ve told me so much about it, and my heart breaks for that poor girl. But you’re not her anymore. I can see that. I can see that you’re strong and independent. I want you to see that, too. And, unfortunately, that means not leaning on your sisters here. This is something for you to handle on your own so that you know you can.”
