The Selection series 1-3

He didn’t elaborate.

“What do you keep looking for?” he asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You can’t seem to keep your eyes in one place. I can tell that you’re paying attention, but you seem to be looking for something.”

I realized he was right. All through his little speech, I’d scanned the garden and the windows and even the towers along the walls. I was getting paranoid.

“People … cameras …” I shook my head as I looked into the night.

“We’re alone. There’s just the guard by the door.” Maxon pointed to the lone figure in the palace lamplight. He was right, no one had followed us out, and the windows were all lit up but vacant. I’d seen that already through my scanning, but it helped to have it confirmed.

I felt my posture relax a little.

“You don’t like people watching you, do you?” he asked.

“Not really. I prefer being below the radar. That’s what I’m used to, you know?” I traced the patterns carved into the perfect block of stone beneath me, not meeting his eyes.

“You’ll have to adjust to that. When you leave here, eyes will be on you for the rest of your life. My mom still talks to some of the women she was with when she went through the Selection. They’re all viewed as important women. Still.”

“Great,” I moaned. “Just one more thing I can’t wait to go home to.”

Maxon’s face was apologetic, but I had to look away. I was freshly reminded of how much this stupid competition was costing me, how my idea of normal was never coming back. It didn’t seem fair ….

But I checked myself again. I shouldn’t take it out on Maxon. He was as much a victim in this as the rest of us, though in a very different way. I sighed and looked back to him. I saw his face set as he decided something.

“America, could I ask you something personal?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. He gave me a humorless smile.

“It’s just … well, I can tell that you really don’t like it here. You hate the rules and the competition and the attention and the clothes and the … well, no, you like the food.” He smiled. I did, too. “You miss your home and your family … and I suspect other people very, very much. Your feelings are incredibly close to the surface.”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “I know.”

“But you’re willing to be homesick and miserable here instead of going home. Why?”

I felt the lump rise in my throat, and I pushed it back down.

“I’m not miserable … and you know why.”

“Well, sometimes you seem okay. I see you smiling when you talk to some of the other girls, and you seem very content at meals, I’ll give you that. But other times you just look so sad. Would you tell me why? The whole story?”

“It’s just another failed love story. It’s nothing big or exciting. Trust me.” Please don’t push me. I don’t want to cry.

“For better or for worse, I’d like to know one true love story besides my parents’, one that was outside these walls and the rules and the structure …. Please?”

The truth was I’d carried the secret for so long, I couldn’t imagine putting it into words. And it hurt so much to think of Aspen. Could I even say his name out loud? I took a deep breath. Maxon was my friend now. He tried so hard to be nice to me. And he’d been so honest with me ….

“In the world out there”—I pointed past the vast walls—“the castes take care of one another. Sometimes. Like my father has three families who buy at least one painting every year, and I have families that always pick me to sing at their Christmas parties. They’re our patrons, see?

“Well, we were sort of patrons to his family. They’re Sixes. When we could afford to have someone help clean or if we needed help with the inventory, we always called his mother. I knew him when we were kids, but he was older than me, closer to my brother’s age. They always played rough, so I avoided them.

“My older brother, Kota, he’s an artist like my dad. A few years back this one metal sculpture piece that he’d been working on for years sold for a massive amount of money. You may have heard of him.”

Maxon mouthed the words Kota Singer. The seconds passed, and I saw the connection click in his brain.

I brushed my hair off my shoulders and braced myself.

“We were really excited for Kota; he’d worked really hard on that piece. And we needed that money so badly at the time, the whole family was elated. But Kota kept almost all the money for himself. That one sculpture catapulted him; people started calling for his work every day. Now he has a waiting list a mile long and charges through the roof because he can. I think he might be a little addicted to the fame. Fives rarely get that kind of notice.”

Our eyes met in a very significant moment, and I thought again of how I was past ever going unnoticed again, whether I wanted to be or not.

“Anyway, after the calls started coming, Kota decided to detach himself from the family. My older sister had just gotten married, so we lost her income. Then Kota starts making real money, and he up and leaves us.” I put my hands on Maxon’s chest to emphasize my point. “You don’t do that. You don’t just leave your family. Sticking together … it’s the only way to survive.”

I saw the understanding in Maxon’s eyes. “He kept it all for himself. Trying to buy his way up?”

I nodded. “He’s got his heart set on being a Two. If he was happy being a Three or Four, he could have bought that title and helped us, but he’s obsessed. It’s stupid, really. He lives more than comfortably, but it’s that damn label he wants. He won’t stop until he gets it.”

Maxon shook his head. “That could take a lifetime.”

“As long as he dies with a Two on his gravestone, I guess he doesn’t care.”

“I take it you’re not close anymore?”

I sighed. “Not now. But at first I thought that I’d just misunderstood something. I thought that Kota was moving out to be independent, not to separate himself from us. In the beginning, I was on his side. When Kota got his apartment and studio set up, I went to help him. And he called the same family of Sixes we always did and their eldest son was available and eager and worked with Kota a few days helping set things up.”

I paused, remembering.

“So there I was, just pulling things out of boxes … and there he was. Our eyes met, and he didn’t seem so old or rough anymore. It had been awhile since we’d seen each other, you know? We weren’t kids anymore.

“The whole day I was there, we would accidentally touch each other as we moved things around. He would look at me or smile, and I felt like I was really alive for the first time. I just … I was crazy about him.”

My voice finally broke, and some of the tears I’d been longing to shed came out.

“We lived pretty close to each other, so I’d take walks during the day just in case I might get to see him. Whenever his mother came by to help, sometimes he’d show up too. And we’d just watch each other—that’s all we could do.” I let out a tiny sob. “He’s a Six and I’m a Five, and there are laws … and my mother! Oh, she would have been furious. No one could know.”

I was moving my hands a little spastically, the stress of all the secret-keeping coming to the surface.

“Soon, there were little anonymous notes left taped to my window telling me I was beautiful or that I sang like an angel. And I knew they were from him.

“The night of my fifteenth birthday, my mom threw a party and his family was invited. He cornered me and gave me my birthday card and told me to read it when I was alone. When I finally got to it, it didn’t have his name or even a ‘Happy Birthday’ on the inside. It just said, ‘Tree house. Midnight.’”

Maxon’s eyes widened. “Midnight? But—”

“You should know that I break Illéa curfew regularly.”

“You could have landed yourself in jail, America.” He shook his head.