The Selection (Is A Modelling Competition)✔️

Chapter 18: I Just Won't Say I'm In Like

After dinner was the part of the day I was dreading: dancing.

It wasn't that I was a terrible dancer - despite my tendency to step on the feet of whoever my poor dance partner was - or that I was worried about embarrassing myself on live TV (Maxon had assured me that this part of the competition wouldn't be filmed) but despite spending a month at this competition, where tensions ran high and emotions were mostly negative, nostalgia hit me like a wave.

The last time I had danced at a party was with Aspen, at our first dance on Fern Tally's birthday with the radio playing some ballad pop song by a boy band May swooned over and his arms around me, Aspen looking down at me like there was nothing that made him happier, prouder, than having me in my arms with the world watching.

Now, I was sulky despite the festive air of Halloween, by myself in a corner with some champagne, watching Dad spin May in her cute wedding dress around the floor and all the other girls laughing and having a good time: Celeste as a peacock, flirting with anyone she could get her hands on, Elise, in her elaborate headdress and costume, dancing with her father, Kriss and Natalie twirling around in their matching themed dresses (Natalie was spring and Kriss was fall), Marlee in a white, angelic gown, waltzing with a cheerful-looking photographer who I was pretty sure was named Carter.

The classical song ended, string instruments coming to a stop, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see a flash of blonde hair heading towards me. I smoothed out my dress; it was black and fluttery, with a butterfly-styled mask to match. I turned, expecting to see Marlee with her face flushed from laughter and intoxication, telling me to come join her, but instead it was Maxon.

"America," he greeted. "Why aren't you joining the rest of the girls?"

What could I say? For some reason, I didn't feel like admitting that I missed Aspen, wanted to leave him in the past, back home in Carolina, which felt a thousand miles away. "I don't know why... but even with my family here, I just feel a little homesick."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He paused, then, almost shyly, suggested, "Would you care to dance with me? Maybe it'll take your mind off of it."

I hesitated, but what was the harm in agreeing? He'd danced with everyone else, so no one could accuse Maxon of playing favourites, and he was here, handsome in his costume (he was a pirate, complete with scraggly stubble and a bandana, just as at ease as he was in a well-tailored suit) and looking at me with a light in his brown eyes that made it very hard to say no. "Why not?"'

Was that relief in his eyes, behind pleasant surprise? I didn't get the chance to figure it out as he spun me into his arms, the warmth of his body touching mine in the places where women spritzed on perfume; heat spiked at my wrists, at my bare throat, behind one ear when he carefully tucked away a flyaway red strand. He smelled delightful, clean and fresh and simple - but none of this felt simple.

It felt like any move I made could spiral into some mess, some disaster, and I held my breath, letting him guide me smoothly across the dance floor. He seemed to notice I was tense, and, as we waltzed near Marlee and Carter, asked, "Something wrong, my - America?"

I shook my head, heavy earrings brushing against my neck, and answered him. "No, nothing at all."

The answer seemed to satisfy him, and I thought I heard Maxon humming along with the music, horribly out of tune. It made me relax as the dance went on, and I spotted May next to the desserts table, eyes wide and giving me a thumbs up. My father was next to her, and I felt a strange hope in my chest, a wish that Dad would like Maxon. It wasn't like he had any reason not to, but he'd always been an outspoken advocate against large corporations such as Schreave Cosmetics for not treating their employees well. What if he held that against Maxon?

I shook my head. It was ridiculous. I wasn't dating him; we were just friends, and so what if his breath was tickling my bare shoulder and his wheezy laugh was contagious and he had muscled arms that I could feel through his costume as he held me close? None of it meant anything.

Did it?

Hey guys! Sorry for the late update!