The Selection Stories Collection (49 page)

I couldn’t stop staring at the bracelet. It was so understated, with polished stones that weren’t quite gems. I reached out and ran a finger over one of the oval-shaped beads, and Maxon wiggled the bracelet in his hand, which made me laugh.

“Do you want me to put it on?” he offered.

I nodded and stretched out the wrist that didn’t have Aspen’s button on it. Maxon placed the cool stones against my skin and tied the little ribbon that held them together.

“Lovely,” he said.

And there it was, pushing up through all the worries: hope.

It lifted the heavy parts of my heart and made me miss him. I wanted to erase everything since Halloween, go back to that night, and hold on to those two people on the dance floor. And then, at the same time, it made my heart plummet. If we were back at Halloween, I wouldn’t have a reason to doubt this gift.

Even if I let myself be everything my father said I was, everything Aspen said I wasn’t … I couldn’t be Kriss. Kriss was better.

I was so tired and stressed and confused, I started crying.

“America?” he asked hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asked quietly. I mentally noted that he was doing much better around crying girls these days.

“You,” I admitted. “I’m just really confused about you right now.” I wiped away a tear on one side of my face, and, so gently, Maxon’s hand moved to wipe the tears on the other.

In a way, it was strange to have him touch me like that again. At the same time, it was so familiar that it would have seemed wrong if he hadn’t. Once the tears were gone, he left his hand there, cupping my face.

“America,” he said earnestly, “if you ever want to know anything about me—what matters to me or who I am—all you need to do is ask.”

He looked so sincere that I nearly did ask. I almost begged him to tell me everything: if he’d always considered Kriss, if he knew about the diaries, what it was about this perfect little bracelet that made him think of me.

But how did I know it would be the truth? And—because I was slowly realizing he was the steadier choice—what about Aspen?

“I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet.”

After a moment of thought, Maxon looked at me. “I understand. I think I do anyway. But we should talk about some serious things very soon. And when you’re ready, I’m here.”

He didn’t press me; instead he stood, giving me a small bow before grabbing his camera and making his way to the door. He looked back at me one last time before disappearing into the hall, and I was surprised by how much I ached to see him go.

“P
RIVATE LESSONS
?” S
ILVIA ASKED
. “As in, several a week?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

For the first time since I arrived, I was truly grateful for Silvia. I knew that there was no way she’d be able to resist having someone willing to hang on her every word; and if she was making me do extra work, it meant I could keep myself busy.

Thinking about Maxon and Aspen and the diary and the girls was too much right now. Protocol was black-and-white. The steps for proposing a law were orderly. These were things I could master.

Silvia looked at me, still slightly stunned, before she broke into a huge smile. Embracing me, she cried out, “Oh, this will be wonderful. Finally one of you understands how important this is!” She held me at arm’s length. “When do you want to start?”

“Now?”

She was bursting with delight. “Let me go get some books.”

I dove into her studies, so grateful for the words and facts and statistics she crammed into my head. If I wasn’t with Silvia, I was reading up on something she’d assigned me as I spent countless hours in the Women’s Room, all but tuning out the other girls.

I worked, and I was excited about the next time the five of us had a joint class.

When that time came, Silvia started by asking us what we were passionate about. I scribbled down my family, music, and then, as if the word demanded to be written, justice.

“The reason I ask is because the queen is typically in charge of a committee of some kind, something that benefits the country. Queen Amberly, for example, began a program for training families to take care of their mentally and physically infirmed members. So many get deposited in the streets once the families can no longer deal with them, and the amount of Eights grows to an unmanageable number. The statistics over the last ten years have proven that her program has helped keep the numbers lower, thus keeping the general population safer.”

“Are we supposed to come up with a program like that?” Elise asked, sounding nervous.

“Yes, that will be your new project,” Silvia said. “On the
Capital Report
in two weeks’ time, you’ll be asked to present your idea and propose how you might start it.”

Natalie made a little squeak of a sound, and Celeste rolled her eyes. Kriss looked like she was already dreaming something up. Her instant enthusiasm made me nervous.

I remembered Maxon talking about an upcoming elimination. I felt like Kriss and I were at a slight advantage, but still.

“Is this really helpful?” Celeste asked. “I’d rather learn about something we’ll actually use.”

I could tell that beneath her concerned tone, she was either bored with this idea already or intimidated by it.

Silvia looked appalled. “You will use this! Whoever becomes the new princess will be in charge of a philanthropy project.”

Celeste muttered something under her breath and started fiddling with a pen. I hated that she wanted the position with none of the responsibility.

I’d make a better princess than she would,
I thought. And in that moment I realized there was some truth to that. I didn’t have her connections or Kriss’s poise, but at least I cared. And wasn’t that worth something?

For the first time in a while, I felt a true shot of enthusiasm course through me. Here was a project that would allow me to show off the one thing that separated me from the others. I was determined to pour myself into this and hopefully produce something that might genuinely make a difference. Maybe I’d still lose in the long run; maybe I wouldn’t even want to win. But I would be as close to a princess as I possibly could, and I would make my peace with the Selection.

It was hopeless. Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a single idea for my philanthropy project. I thought and read and thought some more. I asked my maids, but they had no ideas. I would have sought out Aspen, but I hadn’t heard from him in days. I guessed he was being extracautious with Maxon home.

What was worse was that Kriss was clearly deep into her presentation. She skipped hours of time in the Women’s Room to go read; and when she was present, she had her nose in a book or was scribbling notes furiously.

Damn.

When Friday came, I felt like dying as I suddenly realized I only had a week left and no prospects on the horizon. During the
Report
, Gavril set up the structure for the next show, explaining that there would be a few brief announcements and then the rest of the evening would be dedicated to our presentations.

A light sweat broke out on my forehead.

I caught Maxon looking at me. He reached up and tugged his ear, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t quite want to say yes, but I didn’t want to just brush him off. I pulled on my ear, and he looked relieved.

I fidgeted while I waited for him to show up, twiddling the ends of my hair and pacing around my room.

Maxon’s knock was brief before he let himself in the way he used to. I stood, feeling I needed to be a bit more formal than usual. I could tell that I was being ridiculous, but I felt completely unable to stop it at the same time.

“How are you?” he asked, crossing the room.

“Honestly? Nervous.”

“It’s because I’m so good-looking, isn’t it?”

I laughed at the sympathetic face he made. “I should avert my eyes,” I said, playing along. “Actually, it’s mostly about that philanthropy project.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting at my table. “You could run your presentation by me if you like. Kriss did.”

I felt deflated. Of course she was done. “I don’t even have an idea yet,” I confessed, sitting across from him.

“Ah. Yes, I can see how that would be stressful.”

I gave him a look as if to say he had no idea.

“What’s important to you? There has to be something that really touches you that the others might miss.” Maxon leaned back in the chair comfortably, one hand on the table.

How was he so at ease? Couldn’t he see how on edge I was?

“I’ve been thinking all week, and nothing’s come to mind.”

He laughed quietly. “I would have thought that you’d have the easiest time. You’ve seen more hardships in your life than the other four combined.”

“Exactly, but I’ve never known how to change any of it. That’s the problem.” I stared at the table, remembering Carolina with perfect clarity. “I can see it all … the Sevens who get injured doing their labor-heavy jobs and are suddenly downgraded to Eights because they can’t work anymore. The girls who walk the streets on the edge of curfew, wandering into the beds of lonely men for practically anything. The kids who never have enough—enough food, enough heat, enough love—because their parents are working themselves to death. I can remember my worst days like they’re nothing. But coming up with a feasible way to do anything about it?” I shook my head. “What could I possibly say?”

I looked at him, hoping there was an answer in his eyes. There wasn’t.

“You make an excellent point.” Then he was quiet.

I thought over everything I said as well as his response. Did it mean that he knew more about Gregory’s plans than I thought? Or did it mean he felt guilty because he had so much when others had so little?

He sighed. “This really wasn’t what I was hoping we’d talk about tonight.”

“What did you have on your mind?”

Maxon looked up at me as if I must be crazy. “You, of course.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “What about me exactly?”

He changed positions, angling his chair so we were a bit closer and leaning in as if this was a secret. “I thought that after you saw that Marlee was fine, things would change. I was sure you’d find a way to care about me again. But that hasn’t happened. Even tonight, you agreed to see me, but everything about you is standoffish.”

So he did notice.

I ran my fingers across the table, not looking him in the eyes. “It’s not exactly you I have a problem with. It’s the position.” I shrugged. “I thought you knew that.”

“But after Marlee—”

My head popped up. “After Marlee, things kept happening. I’ll have a grasp on what being a princess will mean one minute and lose it the next. I’m not like the other girls. I’m the lowest caste here; and Elise might have been a Four, but her family is way different from most Fours. They own so much, I’m surprised they haven’t bought their way up yet. And you were raised in this. It’s a serious change for me.”

He nodded, his endless patience still there. “I do understand that, America. That’s part of why I wanted you to have time. But you need to consider me in this, too.”

“I am.”

“No, not like that. Not like I’m part of the equation. Consider my predicament. I don’t have much time left. This philanthropy project will be the springboard for another elimination. Surely, you’ve guessed that.”

I lowered my head. Of course I had.

“So what am I to do once it’s down to four? Give you more time? When it gets to three, I’m supposed to choose. If there are only three of you and you’re still debating if you want the responsibility, if you want the workload, if you want
me
… what am I supposed to do then?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t know.”

Maxon shook his head. “That’s not acceptable. I need an answer. Because I can’t send someone who really wants this—who wants me—home if you’re going to bail out in the end.”

My breathing picked up. “So I have to give you an answer now? I don’t even know what I’m giving an answer to. Does saying I want to stay mean saying I want to be the one? Because I don’t know that.” I felt my muscles tensing, like they were preparing to run.

“You don’t have to say anything now; but by the
Report
you need to know if you want this or not. I don’t like giving you an ultimatum, but you’re being a bit careless with my one shot.”

He sighed before continuing. “That wasn’t where I wanted this conversation to go either. Maybe I should leave.” I could hear in his voice that he wanted me to ask him to stay, to tell him this was all going to work itself out.

“I think you should,” I whispered.

He shook his head, irritated, and stood. “Fine.” He walked across the room in quick, angry strides. “I’ll just go see what Kriss is doing.”

I
WENT DOWN FOR BREAKFAST
on the late side. I didn’t want to risk running into Maxon or any of the girls alone. Before I made it to the stairs, Aspen came walking up the hall. I made an exasperated sound, and he looked around before approaching me.

“Where have you been?” I quietly demanded.

“Working, Mer. I’m a guard. I can’t control when and where they schedule me. I’ve stopped being placed on the round for your room.”

I wanted to ask why, but this wasn’t the time. “I need to talk to you.”

He thought for a moment. “At two, go to the end of the first-floor hallway, down past the hospital wing. I can be there, but not for long.” I nodded. He gave me a quick bow and went on his way before anyone noticed our conversation, and I continued downstairs, not feeling satisfied at all.

I wanted to scream. Saturday being a day-long sentence to the Women’s Room was really unfair. When people came to visit, they wanted to see the queen, not us. When one of us was princess, that would probably change, but for now I was stuck watching Kriss pour over her presentation again. The others were reading things, too, notes or reports, and I felt sick to my stomach. I needed an idea and fast. I was sure Aspen would help me figure this out, and I had to start something tonight no matter what.

As if she could read my thoughts, Silvia, who had been visiting with the queen, stopped by to see me.

“How’s my star pupil?” she asked, keeping her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t notice.

“Great.”

“How is your project going? Do you need any help fine-tuning?” she offered.

Fine-tuning? How was I supposed to tweak
nothing
?

“It’s going great. You’re going to love it, I’m sure,” I lied.

She cocked her head to the side. “Being a bit secretive are we?”

“A bit.” I smiled.

“That’s fine. You’ve been doing wonderful work lately. I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.” Silvia patted my shoulder as she headed out of the room.

I was in so much trouble.

The minutes passed so slowly that it was like a special kind of torture. Just before two I excused myself and went down the hallway. At the very end, there was a burgundy upholstered couch underneath a massive window. I sat to wait. I didn’t see a clock, but the minutes passed too slowly for comfort. Finally Aspen came around a corner.

“About time.” I sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing by the couch, looking official.

So much,
I thought.
So many things I can’t talk to you about.

“We have this assignment, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t think of anything, and I’m stressed, and I can’t sleep,” I said spastically.

He chuckled. “What’s the assignment? Tiara designing?”

“No,” I said, shooting him a frustrated glare. “We have to come up with a project, something good for the country. Like Queen Amberly’s work with the disabled.”

“This is what you’ve been worked up about?” he asked, shaking his head. “How is that stressful? That sounds like fun.”

“I thought it would be, too. But I can’t come up with anything. What would you do?”

Aspen thought for a moment. “I know! You should do a caste exchange program,” he said, his eyes glittering with excitement.

“A what?”

“A caste exchange program. People from the upper castes switch places with people from the lower castes so they can know what it feels like to walk in our shoes.”

“I don’t think that would work, Aspen, at least not for this project.”

“It’s a great idea,” he insisted. “Can you imagine someone like Celeste breaking her nails stocking shelves? It’d serve them right.”

“What’s gotten into you? Aren’t some of the guards natural Twos? Aren’t they your friends now?”

“Nothing’s gotten into me,” he answered defensively. “I’m the same as ever. You’re the one who’s forgotten what it was like to live in a house with no heat.”

I straightened my back. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m trying to come up with a service project to stop things like that. Even if I go home, someone might use my idea, so I need it to be good. I want to help people.”

“Don’t forget, Mer,” Aspen implored me with a quiet passion in his eyes. “This government sat by while you went without food. They let my brother get beaten in the square. All the talk in the world won’t undo what we are. They put us in a corner we could never get out of on our own, and they’re not in a rush to pull us out. Mer, they just don’t get it.”

I huffed and stood.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the Women’s Room,” I answered, starting to move.

Aspen followed. “Are we seriously fighting over some stupid project?”

I turned on him. “No. We’re fighting because you don’t get it either. I’m a Three now. And you’re a Two. Instead of being bitter about what we were handed, why can’t you see the chance you have? You can change your family’s life. You could probably change lots of lives. And all you want to do is settle the score. That’s not going to get anyone anywhere.”

Aspen didn’t say anything, and I left. I tried not to be upset with him for being passionate about what he wanted. If anything, wasn’t that an admirable quality? But it made me think so much about the castes and how they couldn’t be undone that I started getting angry about the situation.

Nothing was going to change it. So why bother?

I played my violin. I took a bath. I tried to nap. I spent part of the evening sitting in a quiet room. I sat on my balcony.

None of it mattered. It was getting dangerously late in the game, and I still had nothing for my project.

I lay in bed for hours, trying to sleep and not getting far with that either. I kept flashing back to Aspen’s angry words, his constant struggle with his lot in life. I thought about Maxon and his ultimatum, his demand for me to commit. And then I wondered if any of this mattered anyway, since I was certainly going home as soon as I showed up Friday night without anything to present.

I sighed and pulled back my blankets. I’d been avoiding looking at Gregory’s diary again; I was worried that it would give me more questions than answers. But maybe something in there would give me direction, something I could talk about on the
Report
.

Besides, even if I couldn’t help myself, I had to know what happened to his daughter. I was pretty sure her name was Katherine, so I flipped through the book looking for any mention of her, ignoring everything else, until I found a picture of a girl standing next to a man who appeared to be much older. Maybe it was just my imagination, but she looked like she’d been crying.

He sold her. The pig sold his daughter to a man she hated so he could have everything he wanted.

My instinct was to close the book again, to shut it all out. But I forced myself to flip through it, reading passages at random. In one place a rough diagram of the caste system was laid out, originally dreamed up with six tiers instead of eight. On another page he plotted to change people’s last names to separate them from their pasts. One line made it clear that he intended to punish his enemies by placing them lower on the scale and reward the loyal by placing them higher.

I wondered if my great-grandparents simply had nothing to offer or if they had resisted this. I hoped it was the latter.

What should my last name have been? Did Dad know?

My whole life I’d been led to believe that Gregory Illéa was a hero, the person who saved our country when we were on the edge of oblivion. Clearly, he was nothing more than a power-hungry monster. What kind of man manipulated people so willingly? What kind of man hawked his daughter for his own convenience?

I looked at the older entries I’d read in a new light. He never said he wanted to
be
a great family man; he just wanted to
look
like one. He would play by Wallis’s rules
for now
. He was using his son’s peers to gain support. He was playing a game from the very beginning.

I felt nauseated. I stood and paced the floor, trying to wrap my head around it all.

How had an entire history been forgotten? How was it that no one ever spoke of the old countries? Where was all this information? Why didn’t anyone know?

I opened my eyes and looked to the sky. It seemed impossible. Surely, someone would have disapproved, would have told their children the truth. But then again, maybe they had. I’d often wondered why Dad never let me talk about the timeworn history book he had hidden in his room, why the history I did know about Illéa was never in print. Maybe it was because, if it was there in writing that Illéa was a hero, people would have rioted. But if it was always a point of speculation, where one person insisted it was a certain way and another denied it, how would anyone ever hold on to the truth?

I wondered if Maxon knew.

Suddenly a memory came to me. Not so long ago, Maxon and I had our first kiss. It was so unexpected that I had pulled away, leaving him embarrassed. Then when I realized that I wanted Maxon to kiss me, I suggested that we simply erase that memory and plant a new one.

America,
he’d said,
I don’t think you can change history
. To which I replied,
Sure we can. Besides, who’d ever know about it but you and me?

I’d meant it as a joke. Surely, if he and I end up together, we’d remember what really happened no matter how silly it was. We’d never actually replace it with a more perfect-sounding story simply for the sake of show.

But the whole Selection
was
a show. If Maxon and I were ever asked about our first kiss, would we tell anyone the truth? Or would we keep that little detail a secret between the two of us? When we died, no one would know, and that fraction of a moment that was so important to who we were would be gone.

Could it be that simple? Tell one story to one generation and repeat it until it was accepted as fact? How often had I asked someone older than Mom or Dad what they knew or what their parents had seen? They were old. What did they know? It was so arrogant of me to discount them completely. I felt so stupid.

But the important issue wasn’t how this all made me feel. The important issue was what I was going to do with it.

I’d lived my whole life stuck in a hole in our society; and because I loved music, I didn’t complain. But I had wanted to be with Aspen, and because he was a Six, it was harder than it had to be. If Gregory Illéa hadn’t coldly designed the laws of our country, sitting comfortably at his desk all those years ago, then Aspen and I wouldn’t have fought and I never would have cared about Maxon. Maxon wouldn’t even be a prince. Marlee’s hands would still be intact, and she and Carter wouldn’t be living in a room barely big enough for their bed. Gerad, my sweet baby brother, could study all the science he wanted instead of pushing himself into the arts for which he had no passion.

By obtaining a comfy life in a beautiful house, Gregory Illéa had robbed most of the country of its ability to ever attempt to have the very same thing.

Maxon said if I wanted to know who he was, all I had to do was ask. I’d been afraid to face the possibility of him being this person, but I had to know. If I was meant to make a decision about being a part of the Selection or going home, I needed to know exactly what he was made of.

Donning my slippers and robe, I left my room, passing the nameless guard on my way.

“You all right, miss?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll be back soon.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but I left too quickly for him to speak. I headed up the stairs to the third floor. Unlike the other floors, guards stood at the landing, preventing me from simply walking to Maxon’s door.

“I need to speak to the prince,” I said, trying to sound firm.

“It’s very late, miss,” the one to the left said.

“Maxon won’t mind,” I promised.

The one to the right smirked a little. “I don’t think he’d appreciate any company right now, miss.”