The Selection. Kiera Cass
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smiled a little. “That’s my girl. Go get your things, and we’ll head out. I want to get yours in as soon as possible.”
I went to grab my shoes and bag as I’d been instructed, but I stopped short at Gerad’s room. He was staring at a blank canvas, looking frustrated. We kept rotating through options with Gerad, but none of them were sticking. One look at the battered soccer ball in the corner or the secondhand microscope we’d inherited as payment one Christmas, and it was obvious his heart just wasn’t in the arts.
“Not feeling inspired today, huh?” I asked, stepping into his room.
He looked up at me and shook his head.
“Maybe you could try sculpting, like Kota. You have great hands. I bet you’d be good at it.”
“I don’t want to sculpt things. Or paint or sing or play the piano. I want to play ball.” He kicked his foot into the aging carpet.
“I know. And you can for fun, but you need to find a craft you’re good at to make a living. You can do both.”
“But why?” he whined.
“You know why. It’s the law.”
“But that’s not fair!” Gerad pushed the canvas to the floor, where it stirred up dust in the light from his window. “It’s not our fault our great-grandfather or whoever was poor.”
“I know.” It really seemed unreasonable to limit everyone’s life choices based on your ancestors’ ability to help the government, but that was how it all worked out. And I suppose I should just be grateful we were safe. “I guess it was the only way to make things work at the time.”
He didn’t speak. I breathed a sigh and picked up the canvas, setting it back into place. This was his life, and he couldn’t just wipe it away.
“You don’t have to give up your hobbies, buddy. But you want to be able to help Mom and Dad and grow up and get married, right?” I poked his side.
He stuck his tongue out in playful disgust, and we both giggled.
“America!” Mom called down the hall. “What’s taking you so long?”
“Coming,” I yelled back, and then turned to Gerad. “I know it’s hard. It’s just the way it is, okay?”
But I knew it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all.
Mom and I walked all the way to the local office. Sometimes we took the public buses if we were going too far or if we were working. It looked bad to show up sweaty at the house of a Two. They already looked at us funny anyway. But it was a nice day out, and the trip was just shy of being too long.
We obviously weren’t the only ones trying to get our submission in right away. By the time we got there, the street in front of the Province of Carolina Services Office was packed with women.
Standing in line, I could see a number of girls from my neighborhood in front of me, waiting to go inside. The trail was nearly four people wide and wrapped halfway around the block. Every girl in the province was signing up. I didn’t know whether to feel terrified or relieved.
“Magda!” someone called. My mother and I both turned at the sound of her name.
Celia and Kamber were walking up behind us with Aspen’s mother. She must have taken the day off to do this. Her daughters were dressed up as neatly as they could afford, looking very tidy. It wasn’t much, but they looked good no matter what they wore, just like Aspen. Kamber and Celia had his same dark hair and beautiful smiles.
Aspen’s mother smiled at me, and I returned her grin. I adored her. I only got to talk to her every once in a while, but she was always nice to me. And I knew it wasn’t because I was a step up from her; I’d seen her give clothes that didn’t fit her kids anymore to families who had next to nothing. She was just kind.
“Hello, Lena. Kamber, Celia, how are you?” Mother greeted them.
“Good!” they sang in unison.
“You guys look beautiful,” I said, placing one of Celia’s curls behind her shoulder.
“We wanted to look pretty for our picture,” Kamber announced.
“Picture?” I asked.
“Yes.” Aspen’s mom spoke in a hushed voice. “I was cleaning at one of the magistrates’ houses yesterday. This lottery isn’t much of a lottery at all. That’s why they’re taking pictures and getting lots of information. Why would it matter how many languages you spoke if it were random?”
That had struck me as funny, but I thought that was all information for after the fact.
“It appears to have leaked a little; look around. Lots of girls are way overdone.”
I scanned the line. Aspen’s mother was right, and there was a clear line between those who knew and those who didn’t. Just behind us was a girl, obviously a Seven, still in her work clothes. Her muddy boots might not make the picture, but the dust on her overalls probably would. A few yards back another Seven was sporting a tool belt. The best I could say about her was that her face was clean.
On the other end of the spectrum, a girl in front of me had her hair up in a twist with little tendrils framing her face. The girl beside her, clearly a Two based on her clothes, looked like she was trying to drown the world in her cleavage. Several had on so much makeup, they looked kind of like clowns to me. But at least they were trying.
I looked decent, but I hadn’t gone to any such lengths. Like the Sevens, I hadn’t known to bother. I felt a sudden flutter of worry.
But why? I stopped myself and rearranged my thoughts.
I didn’t want this. If I wasn’t pretty enough, surely that was a good thing. I would at least be a notch below Aspen’s sisters. They were naturally beautiful, and looked even lovelier with the little hints of makeup. If Kamber or Celia won, Aspen’s whole family would be elevated. Surely my mother couldn’t disapprove of me marrying a One just because he wasn’t the prince himself. My lack of information was a blessing.
“I think you’re right,” Mom said. “That girl looks like she’s getting ready for a Christmas party.” She laughed, but I could tell she hated that I was at a disadvantage.
“I don’t know why some girls go so over the top. Look at America. She’s so pretty. I’m so glad you didn’t go that route,” Mrs. Leger said.
“I’m nothing special. Who could pick me next to Kamber or Celia?” I winked at them, and they smiled. Mom did, too, but it was forced. She must have been debating staying in the line or forcing me to run home and change.
“Don’t be silly! Every time Aspen comes home from helping your brother, he always says the Singers inherited more than their fair share of talent and beauty,” Aspen’s mother said.
“Does he really? What a nice boy!” my mother cooed.
“Yes. A mother couldn’t ask for a better son. He’s supportive, and he works so hard.”
“He’s going to make some girl very happy one day,” my mother said. She was only half into the conversation as she continued to size up the competition.
Mrs. Leger took a quick look around. “Between you and me, I think he might already have someone in mind.”
I froze. I didn’t know if I should comment or not, unsure if either response would give me away.
“What’s she like?” my mother asked. Even when she was planning my marriage to a complete stranger, she still had time for gossip.
“I’m not sure! I haven’t actually met her. And I’m only guessing that he’s seeing someone, but he seems happier lately,” she replied, beaming.
Lately? We’d been meeting for nearly two years. Why only lately?
“He