The One: Maxon

Chapter 13

No POV

Before America met up with Maxon

Saturday morning was a drag. Since her date with Maxon earlier in the week, Celeste had hardly seen him. None of the girls had, to her knowledge. He was always so busy, running off to meetings or following his father down every hall and into every conference room. The butlers revealed their platters, the sweet and salty aroma filling the air immediately. Everyone began filling their plates as usual and Celeste was envious. It was harder to count the calories while living in the palace because they had almost every meal together, but she could still control her portions. One doesn't become a famous model by eating whatever she wants. Celeste filled a small part of her plate with grapes and one slice of whole grain toast while most people had delicious fruit tarts on their plates. Her mouth watered at the sight as she bit into her dry toast.

"Celeste, you should try the tarts. They're fantastic," said Kriss to her right. Celeste eyed her up and down.

"Some of us would like to remain the same size as when we first arrived here, but thanks," She said snidely. Kriss's cheeks flushed and she dropped the tongs she was holding to grab her second tart. Her face fell and she went silent. Celeste immediately felt horrible for saying that. There was no reason for her to say such a thing and yet she couldn't help herself. She couldn't ever let her face fall in a place like this. They would eat her alive.

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It was already late afternoon and Celeste had done nothing productive. She tried to study those papers Silvia had given them, but it was no use. She sat in the Women's room watching everyone else looking content. She lazily picked up a magazine nearby and began to read. Two paragraphs in and she was dashing out of the Women's room and looking for an empty corner. There was a corner in a library furthest from everyone else and she curled herself into a ball and began to cry. A few minutes later, Celeste noticed someone standing in front of her as she wiped her eyes. America stood still, her eyes wide at the sight of her.

"Ugh," she groaned harshly turning her face away. "What do you want?"

"I was...I was just looking for a book," she mumbled and fidgeted her hands, unsure of what to do with them.

"Well then get it and get lost," she snapped. "You get everything you want anyway." America looked confused, her brows furrowed. Celeste glanced at her and rolled her eyes. She flung the magazine toward America, not caring if she caught it or not. America barely caught it and opened it up to read. It described every single thing America had done in the Selection up to this point, giving her hype for it. She was concerned before that she was the least liked by the people, but according to this magazine she was way off mark. She had shot to the top in a matter of days.

"' Lady America Singer, our star. She's just like the queen; a fighter. We don't just want her, we need her!' They love you," Celeste recited bitterly. She felt completely hopeless. Sure, she might be a conniving, manipulative bitch who didn't care how she got to the top, but that was the only was she knew how to live. Her whole life, she had this pressure. It wasn't a pressure to be perfect, it was a pressure to be in the spotlight. If that meant making drunk mistakes to make it on the paper or showing off her body to eyes of wealthy photographers that would put her on the front covers, than that was what was expected.

"Is this real?" said America, her mouth open in shock. Celeste glared at her.

"Of course it's real," she huffed. "Go ahead. Be princess, we would all love it so much," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sad little five gets the crown...be a great headline." It was America's turn to glare at her.

"I don't know why this bothers you," she said snippily. "You're a two. After this you'll marry some famous person and live a rich, happy life."

"As a has been," Celeste retorted. America fumed.