#practice challenge 1

"You should sleep." I hear behind me.  I look over my shoulder to see my uncle Aran sitting in roughly the same position as I am, hunched over some papers. There's a fort of binders build around him, the soft desk-light enhancing the circles under his eyes. He’s a lawyer and working on a case. Has been for the last couple of weeks, and has gotten slowly more buried in work, his fort growing in size every day. My own fort is located at the dinner table at the moment. Some discarded coffee-cups form the front, followed by an impenetrable wall of books and notebooks. The wounded soldiers can be counted by the amount of ink spots I keep managing to end up on my hands. It's three in the morning.  "Hypocrite," I mumble, loud enough for him to hear. "Nerd," he fires back, not looking up from his work either. "Actually, I will have you know that I'm not doing any schoolwork right now." I smile a little smug, seeing how he starts to frown.  "Job?" I shake my head. "Extracurriculars?" "Wrong again." I tap the papers against the table to straighten them. "It's a Selection application." "What!"  He jumps from his chair, an excited smile on his face as he approaches me. A stack of his papers fall on the floor but he ignores it. He must really be excited. I should have known, and not just from his reaction when they announced it. At least once a year, he forces me to watch the previous ones, calling it quality time. I don’t know if becoming gradually more disappointed in the previous state of our country can be considered quality. Neither can the whole procedure. The candidates’ debate skills are mediocre at best, no matter how much they bat their lashes. Not that it matters.  But it should.  At least, if I get the chance to have any say in it.  “You never said anything about applying,” he says, pleasantly surprised.  “I wanted to research the procedure first,” I reply, filling in my whole name and age. "They're asking for the colour of my eyes and hair, but no essay whatsoever,” I comment, checking the front and back of the form twice to be sure. Uncle Aran looks with me from over my shoulder. “It's already ridiculous," I add. "Of course, how else can Prince Arin romantically compare your political viewpoints to a summer's day." He makes a twinkling movement in the air with his hand, as if he's coating me with glitter as my fairy godmother.  I grab a blank piece of paper anyway and write my name and date at the top. "Appearances shouldn't matter as much for the future freaking Queen of the country." "Says the pretty girl. Besides, if this were a democracy, people would be voting for whoever is most entertaining to watch, you know that." He shrugs. Considering how he roots for the same sassy mean girl every rewatch, I’m not surprised he’s indifferent to the Selection being what it is. Or was. It’s some time ago now. "Maybe that's why we're not a democracy," I state, starting my first sentence. He does not look amused and even somewhat disappointed. In me or the country, I'm not sure. I'd say the latter is more justified.  Sighing, he starts to walk to the stairs, picking up the cat along the way.  "I'm going to sleep, and so are you," he says. "I'm coming in a second," I reply as I continue writing on why I should be admitted to the Selection. Why I would be a great addition even. Why I- "You're putting that pen down right now or I’ll burn that essay of yours first thing in the morning." I begrudgingly comply. “Usually my second draft is better anyway,” I argue, though putting my pen down.  He shakes his head, mumbling something about craziness to the cat. She seems to agree. Of course she would.  Traitor. 

My hair drips a little on the table from my swim, wetting the morning paper. I catch up on the Globe’s articles- skipping the endless pictures of celebrities handing in their application forms- and drink my coffee. “Any news?” Aran grumbles, pouring his own coffee in a huge mug. He’s not a morning person.  “MRTFLR is doing good in the stock market, and they voted against-” “I meant about the Selection you’re applying for.” “Oh,” I answer, “Only about who is and who isn’t going to apply. So no.” He quickly throws back his coffee, already late for work, motioning for me to tell him anyway as he does.  “Alright, some Two named Angela is applying, she even broke up with her boyfriend for it,” I read, disinterest coating my voice. Who reads this stuff? My question is answered by uncle Aran’s genuine interest on his face. “She did?!” he brings out, knotting his tie around his neck quickly. Apparently she’s known for something. “Uh, yeah. Oh, and your favourite actress Tianna isn’t.” "Objection!" "You're a lawyer, you know that's not how it works. It should be used-" "I know, honey, but sometimes people try to be funny." He shakes his head like I’m a lost cause and kisses the top of my head, before he grabs his briefcase to go to work. I hate when he does that. Like I don’t know the joke I’m a part of.  One would expect I’ve caught on by now through trial and error. Yet somehow I fail to notice people make intentional mistakes to be amusing. My therapist said it was coming from my compulsive desire to be right.  I replied she was wrong. The sessions stopped shortly afterwards.  Besides, there was nothing left to discuss. My parents’ death had been talked about in excessive detail. I had told her about it enough times. I wasn’t going to cry about it anymore, let myself be miserable and useless. It wouldn’t make sense to let myself dwell on that any longer.  I mean, the whole thing is almost 10 years ago now. There is nothing to say other than that they were successful, hard working people. Going on what should have been a short political trip to Swendway. Dad was Hansport’s Mayor, mom started as his assistant and became his spokeswoman. They made the perfect team. They’ve raised me till the age of twelve to be just as hard working, just as ambitious and successful.  And I will be.  That’s the least I can do in their memory. Try to be even an ounce of what they had hoped for me. They named me Regina, after all. Though I prefer Reggie, the Latin meaning of it still stands.  Queen.  I suppose subtlety wasn’t their forté.  Uncle always says mom focussed way more on the second meaning: female ruler. Usually he adds that above all she wanted me to be happy. I don’t know what my dad meant by my name. I suppose fathers tend to call their daughters their little princesses anyway. However I don’t remember either of them focussing on me becoming anything other than successful. The most royal part about that were dad’s own ambitions to become an advisor in the Palace.  An ambition I follow.  Uncle never really talks about my dad much. A lingering resentment is usually audible in his words. What for, I don’t know. I know Mom wouldn’t have gone on that plane if she didn’t want to. He seems to think she was simply too loving for her own good.  But I’ve seen clips of her as my father’s spokeswoman. She could be ruthless. Uncle has different memories with her of course, being her brother. That’s why I’ve never understood why he has gotten rid of all their work, everything through the shredder or in the fireplace. I would have clinged to every piece of paper of them if I had the choice. Their handwriting, their way with words. Reading interviews in old newspaper just isn’t the same. Imagining the words as you look at pictures isn’t either. Aran just said it was better that way, and me being twelve and grieving, I nodded.  Now I find myself compulsively reading in archives or watching them make speeches at festivities. Trying to find advice in their political statements, their decisions for our Province.  It never works of course. 

The halls are surprisingly quiet. Or well, I’m not surprised really. It’s the second week of the new semester and people are still sleeping off their hangovers as usual. Already slacking. I don’t mind. I like it better like this. The ancient buildings, the statues and the dusty library just don’t feel the same when there’s people walking around bragging about their keg stand of the night before. How someone can walk among the same places that some of the most accomplished people of our country have walked and think only about their next sexual conquest is beyond me. Since a marble statue has some problem wrinkling their nose at those people, I take the liberty to do it for them.  So I don’t mind the thinner crowd. Besides, at least halls like these permit me to read and walk at the same time.   I finished my essay in between my Political Science classes and I go over it again now. I admit I am unsure about the quality, since there’s no clear assignment. Of course, there’s no real assignment at all. But that’s where they’re wrong. Therefore the extra effort could only work out in my favour.  Just before I can fully reread it, Ethan rips it out my hands.  “What’s this?” he asks, apparently too incompetent to read, “You’re applying? I didn’t know you had the hots for the Prince.” He looks surprised and amused, checking out my essay. Ethan Brookes.  One of the most promising students at Hansport University, on his way to graduating with honors and possibly at the top of his class. If it weren't for me, of course. It’s been this way since the very first lecture I attended. Whatever position one of us takes on a subject in class, the other will oppose it. Sure, it keeps me on my toes. But he’s also annoying enough to keep standing on my toes.  “You’re applying with an essay?” he lets out with a chuckle, “You know that’s not how it works right, it’s not college.” “If college did work like that,” I say, grabbing my papers back, “You wouldn't have gotten in here.” He rolls his eyes.  “Whatever.” Weak argument. “I just don’t think they make crowns big enough for a head like yours.” Never mind. Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I don’t think Royal Advisors wear those anyway,” I counter, lifting my chin somewhat. “Ha!” he lets out, snapping his fingers at me, “Of course. I knew your heart couldn’t have magically thawed out for the Prince.” I scowl at back at him, much to his amusement.  “I’d argue having a heart of ice beats not having one,” I add coldly, sweeping my braid off my shoulder before I turn away, leaving him annoyed or entertained. Or both. Either way, I don’t have time for his antics.  I am on a mission.  It takes another couple walks in the area close to his office, but then I spot Professor Matthews. He is at the end of the hallway with a thick stack of papers under his arm, glasses on top off his head waiting to get tangled in his messy hair. Or what’s left of it. I power walk to catch up with him.  “Good morning Professor.” He jumps.  “Fucking hell,” he mumbles. Not very professional. “Morning Miss Wright.” “I wanted to talk to you about the-” “I really don’t have the time, Miss Wright,” he says quickly, turning to the hallway on his right and advancing his pace. I follow. “Of course, but I just wanted to ask-” “No, Miss Wright,” he sighs loudly, “I can’t give you extra bonus points because you’ve given me two papers on the topic. Yes, they were both sufficient.” “Sufficient?” “Good, they were good. Now leave-...I have to go,” he replies, swiftly going into his office to hide. Perhaps I should add persistent to my application, under qualities, I joke to myself, feeling accomplished.   I realise that that makes me unlikeable in the eyes of some. Nevertheless I tend to follow the thoughts of Niccolo Machiavelli. It’s almost impossible to be a good politician and also a good person. This proposes the age old question whether to be feared or loved. Both can be argued for, but in my opinion feared has the upper hand. A leader of any degree is not someone to love, it’s someone to look up to. Someone to respect, to trust and to make decisions for you. Someone who looks at a problem as a whole and can conclude what’s best when the people can’t do that for themselves. It’s impossible to be good at all things, yet a politician should be good at those things most of all. And in that sense it’s also impossible to be both loving and kind, as well as a good politician. So I won’t apologise for who I am.  I have higher ambitions than being loved anyway. 

“Babe it’s not like I’m asking you to get married. Just go on a few photo-opt dates, then after Ethan’s album has been out for a few months you can quietly call it off.” Carolyn, the publicist being berated, argued. 

“That’s exactly the problem! It’s not like he’s some dude I’m actually interested in long term. I. don’t. Like. lying.” Ava huffed and leaned against the wall crossing her arms and glaring at Carolyn. 

“Don’t think of it as lying just as acting.” She tried to purswade. 

Ava just glared and chewed on the inside of her cheek as she tried to find some way to get out of this. 

“Common Ava, remember what I said to you when you were a kid, ‘sometimes you have to bend a little.’” She pressured. 

“Bend a little! I moved to Angeles! I changed my name! I rewrote Heart Full of Scars! I did your playboy magazine! I’ve done every single thing that you’ve told me too!” She screamed now getting some looks from other agents. One of them would likely let this outburst slip out soon, another ‘snobby two throwing a tantrum’ she could already see the headlines “Has Ava Jones gotten too used to the rich life? Illeans sweetheart has rotted.’ Probably something shorter but that was why Ava was not a journalist.

“You absolutely have not! You turned down the chance to speak with Scooter Burnt on his show! You barely got to the playboy thing and I had to convince you for days before you’d go! You’ve refused modeling opportunities and went against me and released ‘Do You’!” 

“And it fucking slaps! It got us 65.2 million views within 24 hours! Sometimes you’re wrong!” She yelled and turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Carolyn asked, running after her. 

“Home.” She huffed and put her hands in her pockets turning to take the stairs out. 

“Angeles or Sumner?” 

“Sumner!” She yelled back as Carolyn started falling behind. 

“For how long?” 

“Till you get me out of this mess!” She yelled back, turning the corner to the front door of her agents studio. Suddenly he bombarded her. 

“Please wait! Ava!” Ethan yelled chasing after her before grabbing her arm. 

She spun on him, “What! You tricked me into thinking we were friends then told the press I slept with you, why do you think I should give you another second of my time?” 

“Don’t you want to?” He asked with a raised eyebrow more than a little to calm for Ava’s anger.

“To what?” She asked, genuinely confused.

“Sleep with me?” 

Suddenly, Ethan wasn’t smiling anymore, in fact he was on the ground, a red slap mark across his face, security moving to stop Ava but hesitating, they wouldn't want to hurt Illea’s darling. 

“You whore!” Ethan yelled and lunged at her, the guards were much less hesitant with him. After all he was a has-been lunging at a will-always-be. Suddenly the door to the building swung open, the guards stopped, Ethan stood quickly and wrapped a hand around Ava’s waist. As much as she wanted to shove him off and make the sides of his face symmetrical she didn’t want to deal with even more bad press.  

He leaned down to her ear, “behave or I will fucking destroy you.” he whispered. 

“Yeah right, like you can.” She grumbled back through gritted teeth as a paparazzi tried to act hidden, wandering around like he was looking for a room as he held a camera close to his body, attempting to keep it under his bag. 

“Calm down, sweetheart. You’re the one escalating this.” He whispered as they shuffled together to the door trying to make their way out to their private parking deck. Ava quickly scanned her ID for the building and they slipped out of sight. 

As soon as the door closed behind them she shoved him off and down to the ground, “Never touch me again. I’m not the one escalating this, you’re the one who told the press I was ‘cute’ in bed, what the hell does that even mean? I am reacting. I am allowed to react to you being the shittiest person alive,” She rushed to her car and pulled away. 

She was never supposed to drive herself, just like she wasn’t supposed to hit other celebrities, or yell in hallways, or put up a fight. But lately she was feeling so tired. 

She pulled into an empty church parking lot and sat there for a moment, the air conditioning on as cold as possible, and she almost let it out. She almost let her lips quiver, she almost felt her tears pouring over, she almost called her Carolyn and pleaded for ‘out’. Out of singing, out of performances, out of autographs, out of stalkers, out of lies, out of men thinking that because she is a she in a position of power they can take it from her. Out of letting them. 

But, she didn't. She held onto her steering wheel, she popped open her glove compartment and took out a small cigarette box. Of course she would never risk hurting her voice. Instead inside was a picture of herself as a young girl with a boy. The two of them were about thirteen, they were having a picnic on a farm, drinking sparkling apple juice out of two champagne flutes, feeling so adult. Inside there was a small swatch of fabric. She held it closed and breathed it in, and the warmth took over and she was okay. 

She picked up her phone and called one of her top numbers, “Hey Ms. Rosado! I’m coming home for a while tonight. Do you mind if I swing by the house?” 

“Of course not! You know you’re welcome any time, baby.” The now elderly woman eased. 

****************************************************************

Sumner was always Ava’s heaven. It’s where she wasn’t Ava Jones at all. She was Avery Jacoby. Her family was from very rural Sumner. There were about 800 people in her town, mostly fours and lower. Her family had been fours for years until she bought their way into the two castes. The Rosado’s were a family of sevens who worked on their poultry farm. Angeles was loud, full of screaming cars, and people. All she had to hear at home was the chickens and cows. She pulled up on the dirt road which led not to her house, but to the Rosados. It had been un-lived in for the last six years. 

Untouched, Ms. Rosado couldn’t be in it anymore so she had moved in with Ava’s family. She couldn’t stand the silence, where her little boy had once run around with Ava, playing monsters vs heroes. Hearing Michael play guitar along with Ava’s singing. It made her think of his body, falling to the ground, the final seizure taking him at fifteen, it lasted for eight minutes before he passed on. 

Ava laid down in his childhood bed. Her best friend, her soul mate's bed. His smell surrounded her as she looked up at the stars painted on his ceiling, “Mike.” She called out softly covering her eyes with her arm. She knew he couldn't see her. She didn’t believe in all that “they’re watching from above shit. Why would he waste his time in heaven on that. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” She breathed out. 

“But I’m not giving up on us. We said it, we were gonna make it one day, you’re the asshole who made me promise I wouldn’t give up no matter what. Well now what? I’ve made it I think, but there always seems to be more to do. When is it enough? I need you to tell me. Why were you so shitty with your deathbed wishes. What does it even mean? Make it to your debut album? Check. Make it to your first sold out concert? Check! Have billions of fans worldwide? Done and done. But now what do you want me to become a triple threat take on acting and modeling? Do you want me to keep performing? I did all this for you after all! Pretty rude of you to leave me hanging here!” 

“Well do you still like singing?” She shot up at the response. Not from some magical ghost but from her younger sister, Katy.

“What are you doing here?” She asked defensively about her sister's eavesdropping. 

“Aitana said you were stopping by. I figured you needed saving before you turned into-” she paused and gestured to her sister, a crying mess in a child’s bed, “-that.” 

She paused for a moment and sat down next to her, “you know, we’d never want for money again. You’ve made enough for us and ms. Rosado to live like kings for the rest of our lives. Probably your kids too and grandkids. You don’t have to keep doing this, that is, if you don’t like it.” 

Ava sighed looking back up to the painted night sky, “I love singing, I’ll always love singing.” She mumbled. 

“But?”

“But, I hate the performing, I hate being watched, I hate being told who to date, who to talk to, what to wear, what I’m permitted to eat, how much to work out, scripted for in interviews.” 

Katy made a dramatic gasp, “Scripted? You? I thought you just really loved Nike shoes all the sudden.” she joked. 

Ava couldn’t help but laugh and lightly hit her arm. “You bitch, I worked hard to deliver those lines.” She grinned ear to ear. Being apart from Katy was one of the worst things about being in Angeles. 

“Seriously though, you look like shit. You don’t seem happy anymore. You know he wouldn’t want this. He didn’t care about fame he just thought it was what you wanted and wanted you to be happy. Clearly, you’re not, so quit.” She sighed before standing up. “It’s simple, just stop working.” She stood up. 

“You didn’t know him like I did.” Ava mumbled looking down at her hands, knowing her sister was right, but also remembering his eyes and how they lit up dreaming about their future together. 

“Whatever, I’m not going to argue with you about that. Mama’s making stew for dinner, we have to get back before she gives it to the pigs.”

*******************************************************************************************

A few weeks passed on missed calls, then a few months of avoided visits. The press panicked for a moment that Ava hadn’t been literally seen in awhile, but Carolyn released a statement that she was taking a vacation, fortunately for them the present is planned in the past so Carolyn had plenty of unreleased photos to put out, and even a few unreleased songs which she had previously called, “garbage” but was turning to in desperation.

Ava felt clean. She felt safe in the hills of Sumner, the sun healed her, her family was close, and the world was quiet. Until the letter came, then Katy was screaming. 

“Our selection letters came!” 

“Our what came?” I asked munching on my bowl of corn flakes. 

“Selection, duh- oh right you’re doing that “off the grid or social media cleanse.’” She said doing air quotes.

“How very Angeles of you.” My mom chimed in. 

“I’m not trying to be hip, I'm just taking a break!” I defended myself. 

“Well- to fill you in, Prince Arin is holding a selection! I thought he never would since he and that chick seemed so close to getting married. They were even engaged three months ago.” She gushed. The cereal fell off my spoon, 

“Months?” 

Katy looked confused for a moment, “Yeah months, not every mourns for years.” 

“Yeah no. No way in hell is he over that. He’s looking for a royal rebound.” I chuckled and went back to my food. 

“So you’re not going to apply?” 

“No I’m not going to apply, and you shouldn’t either. You’ll get your heart broken joining that.” 

“Well maybe I’m not going in it for my heart.” She replied. 

“What? Have I not been giving you enough money?” 

“More like there aren’t enough men in this town. I’m itching to have some fun.” She complained. 

“And I’m out!” Our mom said rushing off as Katy began to complain about how dry her sex life had been lately. 

“Well, I’m taking the drive to the post office this afternoon. Decide if you want to join by then.” 

“I’ve decided, no thanks.” 

A few hours later Ava sat in bed reading one of her old favorite books, she was enjoying some peace until her phone was buzzing over and over again in her drawer. She would shut it off but it was a burner phone that Carolyn had given her. It was an ‘when you want to get off the grid but I still need to reach you for an emergency phone.’ She groaned and pulled it out, 

“You better be dying.” 

“No but I’m going to put you in your grave if you don’t come back here and participate in the selection.” 

“Nope sorry I told you, I’m home until I say so. If that’s all I’ll see you someda-”

“I’ll let you out of your contract with Rainbow Companion Records!” Ava bit her bottom lip. RCR had signed her when she was just fifteen. She didn’t know better so she agreed to a 10 year lease with them. Getting out would really help her quit.

“Why would you do that?” She asked, there would be no advantage for Carolyn. Everyone was playing a game with each other at this level and she needed to know her angle. 

“You’re not going to quit. I’ve known you for years, you’ll take a break but ultimately come back. People like yo- like us are simple, we need the attention. After a while you’ll ask them to take you back. I know you’re too stubborn to accept that that’s what will happen, so you’ll agree to this because you want to ‘quit’ right now. It’s happened to so many of my clients.” She explained being shockingly transparent. 

“You really don’t know me at all.” She mumbled and thought for a moment. She was afraid, afraid that what Carolyn said was true. That she’d miss all that noise. But if it wasn’t she’d finally be free.” 

“What if I don’t get in?” Ava asked, needing to know the details. 

“Sweetheart, if you want it you’re as good as already in. I know people.”

“Okay I’ll do it.” 

“Great! I’ll send someone over in three days to fill out your appli-” She shut the phone. ‘No way in hell someone is doing that for me.’ 

“Katy! Do you have my letter?” She yelled in the hallway. 

*******************************************************

Just like that, Angeles flew in and popped my bubble. "We've hired some good photographers and journalists to wait at the airport. Just smile and say you're excited. I've also got some new sponsors for you, RCR really fucked me over on those negotiations so we need a bit more big billion bucks." Carolyn said as Aileen, my makeup artist, worked on lining my lips. 

Carolyn pulled a paper out of her purse and handed it over to her, mostly it was a list of brands with a few lines they wanted her to say, nothing unusual. She normally put up a fight over promotional work but if it was her ticket to a life without lying and screaming, she’d take it. 

“Now I set up the studio for that song that you sent me. It’s going to be a hit! We’ll release it a few hours before the selected announcements come out so the popularity boost from being announced on national television will bring everyone, even people who aren’t your fans, to your new video.” She explained. 

As soon as Ava’s jet landed in Angeles it was back to her old life. Back to the quick interview, “I was taking a break to be with family but I’m back now better than ever.” with a few ads thrown in there for the money. 

The night of the announcement she laid in the bath. She normally hated how alone she was in her Angeles apartment, but being able to bathe in peace was a nice perk. She pulled up the count down for her own video and waited. She didn’t like to watch them until they were released. In the past she had tried to help with the editing process but she was apparently too much of a backseat driver. She just had to trust that Jack knew her vision and would stick to it. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyFiWkmkexI

She had decided to write this mostly due to her pure rage at Ethan, her director went a little off though making it into a whole scheming theme but overall she was satisfied. Next she switched to the channel with the selected announcement and waited. One named caught her eye ‘Emily Rose White’. She groaned and pulled up her phone, 

“You told her I was joining?”

“No that must have been actual luck, or she just wants to compete.” Carolyn responded. 

Violet huffed and buried herself deeper in her coat, her wide brown eyes darting every which way. It looked like it was trying to eat her and winning. Thea considered saying this out loud but bit her tongue. Just in case Violet was actually scared, she didn’t need to worry about a predatory parka . . . or anything else out in the woods that might have a similar appetite.

“Come on, Violet,” Thea slung an arm over her shoulder. “I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“And yet that doesn’t help.”

“It will be worth it?”

“Nope.”

“I’ve done crazier?”

“NO!” Violet exclaimed. “What?! What have you done that’s crazier than this?”

Thea remembered the day on the lake and decided not to mention it to Violet. It was the one secret she had managed never to tell her best friend. Thea had worst secrets that she had spilled with no hesitation, but that day on the lake seemed . . . hers. For Thea had discovered something that day that had terrified her and to say it out loud would make it too real.

Maybe she could tell Violet at some point; maybe when the day came that Thea didn’t think about it. But it was apparently not the day.              

“Nothing. Wrestling bears. Taking meth. Selling my soul to the guy in the alley across from my house.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I am hilarious. After a few decades of haunting me, you’ll see it.”

“Decades? I have wait that long?”

“Yeah, my humor’s like a fine wine. It needs time to reach its maximum flavor.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“I’m insulted that you think I can only be witty when I have an ulterior motive.” Thea clutched her chest, gasping in indignation. “How dare you, the most pesky judge on the planet –“

“You drama queen.”

But Violet was smiling and she was no longer drowning in her jacket. In fact, she was moving faster than Thea. Thea could feel the tension unwinding as Violet’s playful streak took over. Thea was glad because almost, for just a moment, she shared Violet’s fear. Being reckless was easier when no one else was in danger.

Thea kept up the banter. Most people believed Violet was shy, but she was one of the few people in their small city who could match Thea word for word.

With Violet as company, they were on Thea’s favorite ledge in no time. They managed to make a small little place for themselves, comfortable almost to a point of sleep, right before it began.

It started with a shimmer on the horizon, a wave of yellow and green light that kissed the sky. It reminded Thea of a heartbeat, rising steadily one step at a time until it was a curtain. The green rippled and danced, a flicker of pink whispering around the edges and disappearing just as quickly as it came. It was twisted, curling, chaotic, but beautiful.

So beautiful.

Thea wanted to keep it with her forever. Inspiration flared in her so brightly it nearly choked her. It was a familiar sensation.

“I want to make jewelry that feels like this,” she whispered to Violet. “So that I never have to be without it. I want to share it with everyone because it feels too big for just me.”

Violet sighed and poked Thea. “How can a wiseass like you be so ridiculously soft?”

“Natural talent,” Thea immediately replied. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Violet snorted. “So, this is your secret watch-the-lights hangout. Did you bring Natalie here?”

“Once,” Thea admitted. It felt like a long time ago, but it had only been a year since her only real relationship. It had lasted four months and then . . . everything happened. Thea had broken up with Natalie a week later. “She thought the lights were pretty, said my eyes were reflective, and we made out all night.”

“I agree with one and two, but three is a bit unlikely.”

“Why did I bring you out here again?”

After rolling her eyes, Violet asked, “Are you going to enter the Selection?”

Thea had seen the question coming. There was a reason Violet asked her then; because they both felt that pull. Staring at the incredible power of the Aurora borealis, they wanted . . . more. Thea felt is resonating inside her. She wanted out of her small town, out of the cold snow, out of her house, and out of her current life. There was an entire world out there, and she wanted all of it.

And the Selection could give her that. But her secrets were safe in St. George where no one questioned or wondered. They wouldn’t be with the media watching her every move.

Thea said, “The prince wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

“Well, that’s a given. But that doesn’t mean he has to stay that way.”

“What if he’s boring?”

“You’ll still get to watch one man try to keep up with thirty-five women. At least if he’s boring, that certainly won’t be. It will be a bloodbath of epic proportions.”

“There will be snobby people there.”

“And you’re worried about not fitting in.”

Thea swatted at Violet, earning a giggle from her. “Besides,” Violet choked out past her laughter, “The prince might surprise you.”

“And if he finds out about me, I’d be eliminated right away if not worst.”

“True,” Violet admitted quietly. “But . . . you’ll be out.”

The word struck a chord in both of them.

“Are you entering?” Thea whispered after a few seconds.

“Of course. I have nothing to lose.”

And you do.

But the words remained unspoken. After a few hours, Thea and Violet packed up their stuff and walked back home in silence. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Thea, but her mind was racing too fast to think about it. Violet let her think, but Thea knew she was there if she needed her.

When they reached Violet’s house, Violet hugged Thea despite her protest. “No matter what you decide, I’ll support you. But don’t be reckless.”

“I’m always reckless.”

“Not when it counts.”

Thea felt her heart tighten. But she didn’t let it peak through her smiling mask.

 The moment Thea walked in, Jack was thrust into her hands. The boy instantly began playing with her hair with his sticky fingers. She would have been upset except the little devil blinked up her with his dark eyes.

“I’ve got to run to work,” her father, Liam Silver, said after handing over her brother. He hadn’t bothered to brush his hair, and his clothes didn’t match. He looked how Thea felt, except more well rested. “Meet me there soon. We have to a lot of work to do today.”

Jack squealed and pulled on Thea’s hair. She sighed with resignation. “I need some time to get ready. Unless your goal was for both of us look like we crawled out from under a rock?”

Her father was already out the door.

Thea ground her teeth and resisted clenching her fists. Jack wouldn’t appreciate it.

Her mood wasn’t improved by the appearance of her grandmother. The old bag of bones clearly felt the same way, for she sneered at the sight of Thea. She always reminded Thea of some kind of reptile, slinking and hissing with venomous intent.

“Stop bringing filth into this house,” Georgia said. Thea knew she wasn’t talking about the dirt on the floor.

“Stop slowly dying on the carpet and get it over with.”

“You ungrateful-,” whatever she was about to say was forgotten when she remembered Jack was in the room. Thea was a little disappointed. She was curious what creative and inspiring insult her grandmother had thought of.

“Love you too, Grandmama.”

“Liam?” Isabelle called, creeping past Georgia. It took Thea a few seconds to recognize her. Her blonde hair had recently been cut and dyed black for a reason she wouldn’t say. Thea thought it was because it made her look fiercer. She couldn’t really blame Isabelle for it, considering being five feet tall did not make an intimidating police officer.

After walking in on Georgia and Thea’s stare down, Isabelle sighed. Her expression was the one that she arrested criminals with. “Thea, stop being a smartass and feed Jack. Your form is on the table. Georgia, either go to your room or start making breakfast.”

Georgia chose the coward’s way and made her way to her room. Isabelle muttered, “Then it’s up to me to cook.”

Thea dramatically groaned. “I’d rather eat a rock from the backyard. It’d be more editable.”

“So you’d rather cook?”

“Burnt toast, please.”

Isabelle shook her head, clearly wishing Thea had indeed agreed. But they made their way to the kitchen.

“Did your father leave?” Isabelle asked.

“Yup. Told me I had to hurry to the store.” Thea found the form among the stack of papers. It was the most official statement their family had ever received. And Jack had already spilled food on it. He was like a destructive force of nature. Nothing would be spared.

“Are you considering it?” Isabelle asked. Her voice was neutral, but Thea could hear the undercurrent of interest.

“What if I was?”

Isabelle didn’t respond right away. Thea focused on taking care of Jack. It wasn’t until Jack had been fed, changed, and was quietly playing with his toys that Isabelle joined Thea on the couch. “I’m sure you’ve already considered the dangers.”

“Just a little.” For two weeks straight . . .

“Do you even want it? Him? The crown?”

“No,” Thea responded quickly, as she always did. But then she thought about it. “Maybe. I want to get out of here. More than anything.”

Isabelle took Thea’s hand. “Alright, then you’ll get out. If you’re chosen, then you’ll be a Three, you’ll get out of St. George, and you’ll go to the palace. You’ll be free of here. 

“But what about after that, Thea? When the media starts poking around? And you’ll be competing to be queen. You’ll meet the prince. You might fall in love. It’s not just the freedom. It’s everything. It’s responsibility.”

Trust Isabelle to lay it on thick. Thea asked, “What’s it like to be a Two?”

There was no one else she could ask that question. There were very few high numbers in their city, and none that Thea was closer to than Isabelle. Although it was unlikely Isabelle would ever give up her caste to marry Liam, she was more Thea’s family than Georgia. 

And certainly Thea never planned to be anything more than a four.

“More respect,” Isabelle replied. Thea understood.

“If I did go, you’d take care of Jack?”

“Me and Georgia. And Liam when he’s not too busy.”

“Oh, I feel so much better.”

Isabelle slung an arm over her shoulders and ruffled her already messy hair. “Yes, Thea. We will take care of Jack.”

Thea nodded and went to the table where the filthy form was. “I want it.”

Isabelle chuckled behind her. “Then do it. But if you do, it will be dangerous. You’re safe here. You won’t be there.”

Isabelle kissed the back of her head and finished making breakfast.

Thea stared down at the form and remembered that day on the lake.

When she had been six-years-old, she had been exploring and had seen something. After all these years, she still had no idea what it had been, probably a bird or squirrel. But it had fascinated her six-year-old-self, who had promptly chased after it.

And her entire world had become a single sound. A crack that shook the earth. Thea had wondered out onto a lake and had taken one wrong step. The ice beneath her feet had cracked and webbed, splitting the air. The ground had lurched beneath her, and Thea would never forget those precious seconds afterward where everything had stood still. The wind and cold vanished. Time became a distant thing. No animals could be heard over the thundering of her heart.

And Thea had been tempted. Even at such a tender age, she had felt the need to go further. The distant shore had gleamed like a jewel, calling to her like a siren. Faced between possible death or not knowing, Thea had nearly chosen the latter.

But she had turned away and managed to crawl her way back to safety.

Thea hadn’t ventured out on that lake since. For she knew, just as she knew that the sun would rise and the world would spin, that if it happened again, she wouldn’t have the strength to turn away a second time.

“Keep moving forward. Never slow down. Never stop. Never look back.”

Thea felt that same way staring at the form. Laid out before her in neat cursive were those same cracks in the ice. With just a bit of pressure, they would shatter, and Thea would find herself drowning in a ruthless sea.

She signed the form:

"Whatcha doing Emmy?” he asked, peeking over my shoulder. I looked over at him and smiled, his eager expression impossible to get annoyed at.

"Sorting through the portraits I did for the Keller family." He gently reached out to flip through the photos, smiling when he came across their youngest daughter, a pretty redhead.

"I like her hair, she's pretty." I laughed, thinking of how he thought every girl his age was pretty. Nolan had always been a sweetheart, making him popular among the other little girls in our neighborhood.

"Her name's Hazel, she was sweet. Her whole family was actually, they're Threes." He nodded at my words, before getting bored again and hopping on my bed, looking at my wall of pictures next to him.

"Who are Threes?" a voice asked from the doorway, but I recognized Isaiah's deep voice, so I didn't look up from what I was doing.

"A family I shot yesterday," I answered. I heard him walk in and plop down on my bed, Nolan's giggles joining him as Isaiah probably scooped him up.

They had been a genuinely kind family, and it showed through their portraits. They had two daughters, Cleo the older one at 15 and Hazel 8 like Nolan, sweet and bubbly girls who I had fun photographing. Their parents were so in love and happy that it was easy to take gorgeous of the pair of them, especially when the whole family was together. I didn’t need to do much editing, but I was doing a third run through to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

"Hey Em?" another voice called and I sighed, wondering if I could ever get any work done with so many brothers around.

"Yeah?" I asked, looking up at Declan, his tall frame filling my doorway.

"Liam called, he was wondering if you could take pictures of the girls later this week." My oldest brother Liam had just had twin girls a few weeks ago, April and Audrey, and wanted to remember every single moment. It was sweet, but I had already taken portraits of them twice, and he was getting a little crazy about all of it.

"I'll call him back tomorrow," I told him, putting the pictures away, figuring I wasn't going to get much work done with all of my brothers together. I swiveled my chair around, watching Declan walk over and sit down next to Isaiah, reading over some sheet music in his hand. My bed wasn't very big, so they were all pretty cramped together leaving no room for me.

"What's wrong Em? Can't focus with my amazing presence?" Isaiah asked with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes, "More like your annoying one."

The grin slipped off his face and he stuck his tongue out at me.

"Real mature, Iz,” Declan said, only making Isaiah flick Declan on the ear. Declan simply ignored him, used to his ways.

This was how it usually went when we were together, Isaiah saying something dumb and one of us talking back at him, Nolan happily listening in the background. We all doted on him though, being the surprise baby of the family. Especially since my dad had died when I was 13, we tried our best to somehow make up for that in whatever way we could. My heart skipped a beat when I thought of my dad again, but I ignored it, trying not to dwell on it for too long.

Suddenly Isaiah stood up and put Nolan on his shoulders, belting out a show tune as he spun around the room with him. I smiled as I watched them. However annoying my twin could be, he was the sweetest big brother.

I noticed my mom pop her head in my room, no doubt drawn by the noise and grinning when she saw the sight of us. I could see paint on her nose and covering the front of an old button up, a usual sight for her.

"Declan honey, would you mind helping me with the shopping tomorrow? I need to finish up this project for the Clarkes," she asked. He looked up from his sheet music at her, his eyes unfocused. This was how he usually got a few days before a performance, practicing nonstop and generally unable to talk to for a few minutes without losing his attention to his music again. It paid off in the end. He was one of the most talented pianists in our province, for a Five.

“Sorry mom, can’t. I’m playing tomorrow night and I need to get this one section down,” he answered, looking back down at his music once again.

“Emmalyn, how about you?” she walked further into the room, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms.

I nodded, “Sure mom, that’s fine.” She smiled gratefully before leaving, going to finish her painting.

This was how it went during the week, mom would do the shopping on Mondays and we’d try to help out depending on the jobs we had or how busy we were preparing for a job. The rest of the week would follow the same pattern, jobs or preparing for them. I would hang out with my best friends Layla and Jake if we all had the chance, Isaiah joining in since Layla was his girlfriend. Then when Sunday came, the cycle would repeat again like always, sprinkled in with some visits from Liam when he could come over. I didn’t usually mind it, too busy to think about anything else, but sometimes I just wished for something… more.

I didn’t have time to think about it much longer when Isaiah threw a pillow at me, resulting in another Atwood family pillow fight to erase any thoughts of my silly dreams.

Except, of course, fate had a funny way of throwing things back in my face when the letter came in the mail a few days later.

"To the House of Atwood..." I muttered to myself, sighing as I scanned the rest of the paper. I had forgotten that the prince turning 19 meant his Selection beginning soon. It seemed too much that I had been thinking about finally doing something more with my life and then this letter popping up.

No. No no no. I refuse to subject myself to that.

I shook my head and stuffed the letter away in my bag, trying to forget about it as I headed out the front door to go on another shoot a few streets over. Thankfully it was warming up now that it was spring, so I only needed a light jacket. Baffin was cold and snowy most of the year, making for miserable winters, but beautiful scenic photography in the mountains where we lived. That, at least, was a plus for living here. But I still longed for warmer days, to visit a beach, and to not have to wear a snow jacket six months out of the year.

I erased those thoughts out of my head as I reached the Hart’s house, readying myself for dealing with one of the snobbier Two families in our town.

To my annoyance, I couldn’t get the stupid letter out of my head days later. It didn’t help that the Report was broadcasting it every chance they got, and every girl in town was talking about it.

I was muttering to myself as I tried to organize my desk drawer unsuccessfully (anything to keep my mind off the Selection) before finally slamming it shut and falling back onto my bed with a groan.

“Someone’s happy today,” I heard from my doorway. I didn’t bother to look or get up, knowing Jake’s voice anywhere. Layla’s voice joined his with a “Leave her alone!” before coming over to lay down next to me.

“Well aren’t you the perceptive one,” I retorted, not really in the mood to deal with his sarcasm. I heard him walk across the floor to lay down on my other side and I sighed. The silence was heavy as they both waited for me to say something, knowing I wasn’t usually this crabby.

“Sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about this stupid Selection!” I explained, throwing my hands up in the air in frustration before letting them fall on my face.

“Mind explaining to us why? I didn’t peg you for one of those fanatics who wants to be queen, Em,” Jake questioned. Well, that much he was right about.

Layla grabbed both of my hands and moved them off my face, forcing to me look at her pointed expression. I sat up and leaned against the wall, Jake and Layla following my lead and forming a little circle on my bed.

“It’s just… I know it’s dumb, basically parading girls around for the royal family and the public’s enjoyment, especially the Prince’s. But I can’t help but think that maybe this could actually be something great,” I admitted, fiddling with my hands.

Jake raised an eyebrow, “How could it be great? You just pointed out everything that's wrong with it.”

I rolled my eyes, “I know, Jacoby.” He scowled while I smirked, knowing he hated it when we called him by his actual name.

“I keep thinking that if I stay there long enough, imagine what it could do for my family. The exposure I would get, it could mean huge changes for us. And really… we need it. Desperately,” I explained. My mom had been claiming we were fine with money, we would get through it, but I could see how much she had been struggling to make ends meet lately. Even if the older four of us contributed as best we could, it wasn’t always enough. I knew we had all been saving some of our own earnings privately, Declan to move out and have a life of his own, Isaiah was planning to propose to Layla on our 18th birthday, and me? I wasn’t sure exactly what I was saving for, but it was something big, I knew that much.

“Do you really want to put yourself through all of that? You know some of those Twos and Threes can be brutal,” Layla asked, her blue eyes worried.

“You know I have no problem handling myself if I needed to,” I pointed out, remembering all the little girls who had bullied me when we were young and how I had handled myself just fine. With Baffin snowy most of the year, it left the other girls with some pretty creative ways for other girls to mess with me.

I had been mouthy when I was a kid, not knowing when to not pick a fight if someone provoked me, but as I grew older I learned. Now, I was friendly with practically everyone I met.

But if I needed to, I had no problem defending myself if the situation called for it.

“Trust me, Em, we know,” Layla agreed with a laugh. Jake didn’t say anything, eyebrows furrowed.

“Jake?” I asked, nudging his foot with mine.

He peered at me with a wary look, “We know you can deal with those girls just fine, but the prince? I mean, he’s the whole point you’d be going. You’d what, pretend to like him for however long you need to leave?”

“No. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to be honest. And if anyone asks, I’m doing this for more opportunities than what being a Five can offer. They can take that however they will, but we know why I’m doing this, and that’s what matters,” I assured them.

“And if he’s an absolute ass? What about then?” Jake persisted, but I he was only looking out for me. We had started dating right before my 16th birthday, only to break up almost a year later when we realized that being friends was actually a better alternative for our relationship. Since then, he had been even more protective than when we had been dating.

“He’s still just a guy, regardless of him being royal. Obviously I won’t get myself killed for treason or anything like that,” I added with a laugh, getting only a smile from Layla. “I can still handle myself with Dominic, no matter what it is,” I said firmly.

They still looked skeptical so I grabbed one of their hands with my own.

“I also need to do this for myself. Maybe being in Angeles will give me something I never even dreamed I could have, and I’m willing to take that chance,” I admitted, my voice soft.

Layla sighed before squeezing my hand with a small smile, “Then, I support you. We both do.”

Jake smirked, “Well maybe I don’t.” Layla rolled her eyes and kicked his leg, resulting in a muttered swear from him and a laugh from me.

“Besides, I might not even be Selected. So this could all be for nothing,” I offered, figuring that all this talk and anxiety would most likely turn into nothing. But still… there was that small flicker of hope that drove me to fill out the application that night with Layla and Jake beside me. We laughed and joked about my answers, while I cringed at how bland I sounded.

I guess that’s how every girl might sound on paper.

They left before curfew hit, but not before giving me a tight hug, wishing me the best when I turned in my application the next day. I wouldn’t tell my family anything, not until I knew it would even be real. There was no need to get their hopes up.

So when I sat down on a chair before a camera in the Provinces Office, I smiled as genuinely as I could, picturing the faces of my family, and how if this turned out the way I thought it would, nothing would be the same from here on out.