The Selection series 1-3

If only I could sit and patch them up for him. That was my great ambition. Not to be Illéa’s princess. To be Aspen’s.

It hurt me to be away from him. Some days I went crazy wondering what he was doing. And when I couldn’t handle it, I practiced music. I really had Aspen to thank for me being the musician that I was. He drove me to distraction.

And that was bad.

Aspen was a Six. Sixes were servants and only a step up from Sevens in that they were better educated and trained for indoor work. Aspen was smarter than anyone knew and devastatingly handsome, but it was atypical for a woman to marry down. A man from a lower caste could ask for your hand, but it was rare to get a yes. And when anyone married into a different caste, they had to fill out paperwork and wait for something like ninety days before any of the other legal things you needed could be done. I’d heard more than one person say it was to give people a chance to change their minds. So us being this personal and out well past Illéa’s curfew … we could both get in serious trouble. Not to mention the hell I’d get from my mother.

But I loved Aspen. I’d loved Aspen for nearly two years. And he loved me. As he sat there stroking my hair, I couldn’t imagine entering the Selection.

“How do you feel about it? The Selection, I mean?” I asked.

“Okay, I guess. He’s got to find a girl somehow, poor guy.” I could hear the sarcasm. But I really wanted to know his opinion.

“Aspen.”

“Okay, okay. Well, part of me thinks it’s kind of sad. Doesn’t the prince date? I mean, can he seriously not get anyone? If they try to wed the princesses to other princes, why don’t they do the same for him? There’s got to be some royal out there good enough for him. I don’t get it. So there’s that.

“But then …” He sighed. “Part of me thinks it’s a good idea. It’s exciting. He’s going to fall in love in front of everyone. And I like that someone gets a happily ever after and all that. Anybody could be our next queen. It’s kind of hopeful. Makes me think that I could have a happily ever after, too.”

His fingers were tracing my lips. Those green eyes searched deep into my soul, and I felt that spark of connection that I’d only ever had with him. I wanted our happily ever after, too.

“So you’re encouraging the twins to enter, then?” I asked.

“Yes. I mean, we’ve all seen the prince from time to time; he looks like a nice enough guy. A snot, no doubt, but friendly. And the girls are so eager; it’s funny to watch. They were dancing in the house when I came home today. And no one can deny that it’d be good for the family. Mom’s hopeful because we have two entries from the house instead of one.”

That was the first good news about this horrible competition. I couldn’t believe I’d been so self-absorbed that I hadn’t thought about Aspen’s sisters. If one of them went, if one of them won …

“Aspen, do you realize what that would mean? If Kamber or Celia won?”

He closed his hold tighter around me, his lips brushing my forehead. One hand moved up and down my back.

“It’s all I’ve thought about today,” he said. The gritty sound of his voice pushed out every other thought. All I wanted was for Aspen to touch me, kiss me. And that’s exactly where the night would have gone, but his stomach growled and snapped me out of it.

“Oh, hey, I brought us a snack,” I said lightly.

“Oh, yeah?” I could tell he was trying not to sound excited, but some of his eagerness came through.

“You’ll love this chicken; I made it.”

I found my little bundle and brought it to Aspen, who, to his merit, nibbled it all slowly. I took one bite of the apple so he would feel like it was for us, but then I set it down and let him have the rest.

Where meals were a worry at my house, they were a disaster at Aspen’s. He had much steadier work than we did but got paid significantly less. There was never enough food for his family. He was the oldest of seven, and in the same way I’d stepped up to help as soon as I could, Aspen had stepped aside. He passed his share of the little food they had down to his siblings and to his mom, who was always tired from working. His dad had died three years ago, and Aspen’s family depended on him for almost everything.

I watched with satisfaction as he licked the spices from the chicken off his fingers and tore into the bread. I couldn’t imagine when he’d eaten last.

“You’re such a good cook. You’re going to make someone very fat and happy one day,” he said, his mouth half full with a bite of apple.

“I’m going to make you fat and happy. You know that.”

“Ah, to be fat!”

We laughed, and he told me about life since the last time I’d seen him. He’d done some clerical work for one of the factories, and it was going to carry him through next week, too. His mom had finally gotten into a routine of house-cleaning for a few of the Twos in our area. The twins were both sad because their mom had made them drop their after-school drama club so they could work more.

“I’m going to see if I can pick up some work on Sundays, make a little more money. I hate for them to give up something they love so much.” He said this with hope, like he really could do it.

“Aspen Leger, don’t you dare! You work too hard as it is.”

“Aw, Mer,” he whispered into my ear. It gave me chill bumps. “You know how Kamber and Celia are. They need to be around people. They can’t be cooped up cleaning and writing all the time. It’s just not in their nature.”

“But it’s not fair for them to expect you to do it all, Aspen. I know exactly how you feel about your sisters, but you need to watch out for yourself. If you really love them, you’ll take better care of their caregiver.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Mer. I think there are some good things on the horizon. I wouldn’t be doing it forever.”

But he would. Because his family would always need money. “Aspen, I know you could do it. But you’re not a superhero. You can’t expect to be able to provide everything for everyone you love. You just … you can’t do everything.”

We were quiet for a moment. I hoped he was taking my words to heart, realizing that if he didn’t slow down, he’d wear himself out. It wasn’t anything new for a Six, Seven, or Eight to just die of exhaustion. I couldn’t bear that. I pressed myself even closer to his chest, trying to get the image of it out of my head.

“America?”

“Yes?” I whispered.

“Are you going to enter the Selection?”

“No! Of course not! I don’t want anyone to think I’d even consider marrying some stranger. I love you,” I said earnestly.

“You want to be a Six? Always hungry? Always worried?” he asked. I could hear the pain in his voice, but also the genuine question: If I had to choose between sleeping in a palace with people waiting on me or the three-room apartment with Aspen’s family, which one did I really want?

“Aspen, we’ll make it. We’re smart. We’ll be fine.” I willed it to be true.

“You know that’s not how it’ll be, Mer. I’d still have to support my family; I’m not the abandoning type.” I squirmed a little in his arms. “And if we had kids—”

“When we have kids. And we’ll just be careful about it. Who says we have to have more than two?”

“You know that’s not something we can control!” I could hear the anger building in his voice.

I couldn’t blame him. If you were wealthy enough, you could regulate having a family. If you were a Four or worse, they left you to fend for yourselves. This had been the subject of many an argument for us over the last six months, when we seriously started trying to find a way to be together. Children were the wild card. The more you had, the more there were to work. But then again, so many hungry mouths …

We fell quiet again, both unsure of what to say. Aspen was a passionate person; he tended to get a little carried away in an argument. He had gotten better about catching himself before he got too angry, and I knew that’s what he was doing now.

I didn’t want him to worry or be upset; I really thought we could handle it. If we just planned for everything we could, we’d make it through everything we couldn’t. Maybe I was too optimistic, maybe I was just too far in love, but I really believed that anything Aspen and I wanted badly enough, we could make happen.

“I think you should do it,” he said suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Enter the Selection. I think you should do it.”

I glared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Mer, listen to me.” His mouth was right to my ear. It wasn’t fair; he knew this distracted me. When his voice came, it was breathy and slow, like he was saying something romantic, though what he was suggesting was anything but. “If you had a chance for something better than this, and you didn’t take it because of me, I’d never forgive myself. I couldn’t stand it.”

I let out my breath in a quick huff. “It’s so ridiculous. Think of the thousands of girls entering. I won’t even get picked.”

“If you won’t get picked, then why does it matter?” His hands were rubbing up and down my arms now. I couldn’t argue when he did that. “All I want is for you to enter. I just want you to try. And if you go, then you go. And if you don’t, then at least I won’t have to beat myself up for holding you back.”

“But I don’t love him, Aspen. I don’t even like him. I don’t even know him.”

“No one knows him. That’s the thing, though, maybe you would like him.”

“Aspen, stop. I love you.”

“And I love you.” He kissed me slowly to make his point. “And if you love me, you’ll do this so I won’t go crazy wondering what if.”

When he made it about him, I didn’t stand a chance. Because I couldn’t hurt him. I was doing everything I could to make his life easier. And I was right. There was absolutely no way I’d get chosen. So I should just go through the motions, appease everyone, and when I didn’t get picked, everyone would drop it.

“Please?” he breathed into my ear. The feeling sent chills down my body.

“Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll do it. But know now that I don’t want to be some princess. All I want is to be your wife.”

He stroked my hair.

“You will be.”

It must have been the light. Or the lack thereof. Because I swore his eyes welled up when he said that. Aspen had been through a lot, but I had seen him cry only once, when they whipped his brother in the square. Little Jemmy had stolen some fruit off a cart in the market. An adult would have had a brief trial and then, depending on the value of what was stolen, either been thrown in jail or sentenced to death. Jemmy was only nine, so he was beaten. Aspen’s mom didn’t have the money to take him to a proper doctor, so Jemmy had scars all up and down his back from the incident.

That night I waited by my window to see if Aspen would climb up into the tree house. When he did, I snuck out to him. He cried in my arms for an hour about how if he’d only worked harder, if he’d only done better, Jemmy wouldn’t have had to steal. How it was so unfair that Jemmy had to hurt because Aspen had failed.

It was agonizing, because it wasn’t true. But I couldn’t tell him that; he wouldn’t hear me. Aspen carried the needs of everyone he loved on his back. Somehow, miraculously, I became one of those people. So I made my load as light as I could.

“Would you sing for me? Give me something good to fall asleep to?”

I smiled. I loved giving him songs. So I settled in close and sang a quiet lullaby.

He let me sing for a few minutes before his fingers started moving absently below my ear. He pulled the neck of my shirt open wide and kissed along my neck and ears. Then he pulled up my short sleeve and kissed as far down my arm as he could reach. It made my breath hitch. Almost every time I sang, he did this. I think he enjoyed the sound of my raspy breathing more than the singing itself.

Before long we were tangled together on the dirty, thin rug. Aspen pulled me on top of him, and I brushed his scraggly hair with my fingers, hypnotized by the feel. He kissed me feverishly and hard. I felt his fingers dig into my waist, my back, my hips, my thighs. I was always surprised that he didn’t leave little finger-shaped bruises all over me.

We were cautious, always stopping shy of the things we really wanted. As if breaking curfew wasn’t bad enough. Still, whatever our limitations were, I couldn’t imagine anyone in Illéa had more passion than we did.

“I love you, America Singer. As long as I live, I’ll love you.” There was some deep emotion in his voice, and it caught me off guard.

“I love you, Aspen. You’ll always be my prince.”

And he kissed me until the candle burned itself out.

It had to have been hours, and my eyes were heavy. Aspen never worried about his sleep, but he was always concerned about mine. So I wearily climbed down the ladder, taking my plate and my penny.

When I sang, Aspen ate it up, loved it. From time to time, when he had anything at all, he’d give me a penny to pay for my song. If he managed to scrounge up a penny, I wanted him to give it to his family. There was no doubt they needed every last one. But then, having these pennies—since I couldn’t bear to spend them—was like having a reminder of everything Aspen was willing to do for me, of everything I meant to him.

Back in my room, I pulled my tiny jar of pennies out from its hiding spot and listened to the happy sound of the newest one hitting its neighbors. I waited for ten minutes, watching out the window, until I saw Aspen’s shadow climb down and run down the back road.

I stayed awake a little while longer, thinking of Aspen and how much I loved him, and how it felt to be loved by him. I felt special, priceless, irreplaceable. No queen on any throne could possibly feel more important than I did.

I fell asleep with that thought securely etched in my heart.

ASPEN WAS DRESSED IN WHITE. He looked angelic. We were in Carolina still, but there was no one else around. We were alone, but we didn’t miss anyone. Aspen wove twigs to make me a crown, and we were together.

“America,” Mom crowed, jarring me from my dreams.

She flicked on the lights, burning my eyes, and I rubbed my hands into them, trying to adjust.

“Wake up, America, I have a proposal for you.” I looked over at the alarm clock. Just past seven in the morning. So that was … five hours in bed.

“Is it more sleep?” I mumbled.

“No, honey, sit up. I have something serious to discuss.”

I worked myself into a sitting position, clothes rumpled and hair sticking out in strange directions. Mom clapped her hands over and over, as if it would speed up the process.

“Come on, America, I need you to wake up.”

I yawned. Twice.

“What do you want?” I said.

“For you to submit your name for the Selection. I think you’d make an excellent princess.”

It was way too early for this.

“Mom, really, I just …” I sighed as I remembered what I’d promised Aspen last night: that I would at least try. But now, in the light of day, I wasn’t sure if I could make myself do it.

“I know you’re opposed, but I figured I’d make a deal with you to see if you would change your mind.”

My ears perked up. What could she possibly offer me?

“Your father and I spoke last night, and we decided that you’re old enough to go on your jobs alone. You play the piano as well as I do, and if you’d try a little more, you’d be nearly flawless on the violin. And your voice, well, there’s no one better in the province, if you ask me.”

I smiled groggily. “Thanks, Mom. Really.” I didn’t particularly care to work alone, though. I didn’t see how that was supposed to entice me.

“Well, that’s not all. You can accept your own work now and go alone and … and you can keep half of whatever you make.” She sort of grimaced as she said it.

My eyes popped open.

“But only if you sign up for the Selection.” She was starting to smile now. She knew this would win me over, though I think she was expecting more of a fight. But how could I fight? I was already going to sign up, and now I could earn some money of my own!

“You know I can only agree to sign up, right? I can’t make them pick me.”

“Yes, I know. But it’s worth a shot.”

“Wow, Mom.” I shook my head, still in shock. “Okay, I’ll fill out the form today. Are you serious about the money?”

“Of course. Sooner or later you’d go out on your own anyway. And being responsible for your own money will be good for you. Only, don’t forget your family, please. We still need you.”

“I won’t forget you, Mom. How could I, with all the nagging?” I winked, she laughed, and with that, the deal was done.

I took a shower as I processed everything that had happened in less than twenty-four hours. By simply filling out a form, I was winning the approval of my family, making Aspen happy, and earning the money that would help Aspen and me get married!

I wasn’t so concerned about the money, but Aspen insisted we needed to have some savings of our own first. It cost a bit to do the legal stuff, and we wanted to have a very small party with our family after our wedding. I figured it wouldn’t take very long for us to save for that once we decided we were ready, but Aspen wanted more. Maybe, finally, he’d trust that we wouldn’t always be strapped if I did some serious work.

After my shower, I did my hair and put on the tiniest bit of makeup to celebrate, then went to my closet and got dressed. There weren’t a whole lot of options. Most everything was beige, brown, or green. I had a few nicer dresses for when we worked, but they were hopelessly behind in the fashion department. It was like that, though. Sixes and Sevens were almost always in denim or something sturdy. Fives mostly wore bland clothes, as the artists covered everything with smocks and the singers and dancers only really needed to look special for performances. The upper castes would wear khaki and denim from time to time to change up their looks, but it was always in a way that took the material to a whole new level. As if it wasn’t enough that they could have pretty much whatever they wanted, they turned our necessities into luxuries.

I put on my khaki shorts and the green tunic top—by far the most exciting day clothes I owned—and looked myself over before going into the living room. I felt kind of pretty today. Maybe it was just the excitement behind my eyes.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with Dad, humming. They both looked up at me a couple of times, but even their stares couldn’t bother me.

When I picked up the letter, I was a little surprised. Such high-quality paper. I’d never felt anything like it. Thick and slightly textured. For a moment the weight of the paper hit me, reminding me of the magnitude of what I was doing. Two words jumped into my head: What if?

But I shook the thought away and put pen to paper.

It was straightforward enough. I filled in my name, age, caste, and contact information. I had to put my height and weight, hair, eye, and skin color, too. I was pleased to write that I could speak three languages. Most could speak at least two, but my mother insisted we learn French and Spanish, since those languages were still used in parts of the country. It also helped with the singing. There were so many pretty songs in French. We had to list the highest grade level we’d completed, which could vary immensely, since only Sixes and Sevens went to the public schools and had actual grade levels. I was nearly done with my education. Under special skills, I listed singing and all my instruments.

“Do you think the ability to sleep in counts as a special skill?” I asked Dad, trying to sound torn over the decision.

“Yes, list that. And don’t forget to write that you can eat an entire meal in under five minutes,” he replied. I laughed. It was true; I did tend to inhale my food.

“Oh, the both of you! Why don’t you just write down that you’re an absolute heathen!” My mother went storming from the room. I couldn’t believe she was so frustrated—after all, she was getting exactly what she wanted.

I gave Dad a questioning look.

“She just wants the best for you, that’s all.” He leaned back in his chair, relaxing a bit before he started on the commissioned piece that was due by the end of the month.

“So do you, but you’re never so angry,” I noted.

“Yes. But your mother and I have different ideas of what’s best for you.” He flashed me a smile. I got my mouth from him—both the look and the tendency to say innocent things that got me into trouble. The temper was Mom’s doing, but she was better at holding her tongue if it really mattered. Not me. Like right now …

“Dad, if I wanted to marry a Six or even a Seven, and he was someone I really loved, would you let me?”

Dad set his mug down, and his eyes focused on me. I tried not to give anything away with my expression. His sigh was heavy, full of grief.

“America, if you loved an Eight, I’d want you to marry him. But you should know that love can wear away under the stress of being married. Someone you think you love now, you might start to hate when he couldn’t provide for you. And if you couldn’t take care of your children, it’d be even worse. Love doesn’t always survive under those types of circumstances.”

Dad rested his hand on top of mine, drawing my eyes up to his. I tried to hide my worry.

“But no matter what, I want you to be loved. You deserve to be loved. And I hope you get to marry for love and not a number.”

He couldn’t say what I wanted to know—that I would get to marry for love and not a number—but it was the best I could hope for.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Go easy on your mother. She’s trying to do the right thing.” He kissed my head and went off to work.

I sighed and went back to filling out the application. The whole thing made me feel like my family didn’t think I had any right to want something of my own. It bothered me, but I knew I couldn’t hold it against them in the long run. We couldn’t afford the luxury of wants. We had needs.

I took my finished application and went to find Mom in the backyard. She sat there, stitching up a hem as May did her schoolwork in the shade of the tree house. Aspen used to complain about the strict teachers in the public schools. I seriously doubted any of them could keep up with Mom. It was summer, for goodness’ sake.

“Did you really do it?” May asked, bouncing on her knees.

“I sure did.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Mom can be very compelling,” I said pointedly, though Mom was obviously not ashamed at all of her bribery. “We can go to the Services Office as soon as you’re ready, Mom.”

She 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.”