After finding out that I had willingly filled out the papers, Tiffany had insisted on primping me for the photographs. I had removed the makeup and returned the dress and heels as soon as it was finished. I hoped that I wasn't chosen, no matter how good the money was.
Life went on for a little while as normal. In fact, I'd forgotten about the Selection completely until Tiffany strutted into my work.
Seeing lanky, glamorous Tiffany strutting through the cramped, oil-smeared garage where I worked was quite the sight. Everyone paused their work to watch her pass. When she stopped at my station, several sets of eyes focused on us. She smiled brightly at me like it was completely normal for a Two in bright fuchsia heels to casually meander into a garage that smelled of rotting garbage, expired oil, and sweat. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Hi?"
"Hello. Did you watch the Report last night?"
"No," I said. "I was working."
She smiled triumphantly. "I thought so," she said. "Well, I won't spoil the surprise for you too much, but I will say that you're staying with Marcus and I for the next two or three weeks."
I stood up slowly, my joints and muscles protesting. Her heels made her an inch or so taller than me. "Why?"
"I'll explain when you come home." She winked at me and then turned and left, ponytail swishing behind her.
From the station across the aisle, a woman called Marine and her granddaughter, Shayla, both shot me confused looks. Shayla raised an eyebrow at me, arms folded over her chest. I shrugged at her and knelt back down, grabbing my wrench. Her look said it all: this better not interfere with our job.
☼
It happened to be that this thing did, in fact, interfere with our job. I'd suspected it would when one of the Sixes that worked for Tiffany sat a small chocolate cake in front of me after we had finished our dinner. I raised an eyebrow at my mother, Tiffany, and Marcus. "Chocolate cake? What's the occasion?" It wasn't uncommon for a Two to eat chocolate, but it was uncommon for one to waste it on someone below a Two.
My mother smiled nervously at Tiffany. It was Marcus that slid the envelope across the table to me. "We received a phone call today and this. Both were for you."
Sure enough, my name was written in thick, curving letters above Tiffany and Marcus's address. It was the same thick paper that had hidden my application for the Selection. Dread filled me as I pried it open with my nail.
It was worse than I had expected--an acceptance. I had been chosen to be a Selected. Me.
At a time that most girls would have burst into tears of joy, I burst into hysterical, borderline-psychotic laughter. I set the letter on the table and laughed, even with Tiffany and Marcus staring at me in confusion, even with my mother looking at me as though she'd expected this response and had hoped that it would be different. I wiped the tears from my eyes and said, "That was a good joke, but really, what's going on?"
"It isn't a joke, Cassiana." My mother sighed, glancing between myself and Tiffany. "They'll be here next week to prepare you for Angeles. We've notified your employer."
"We need that money—"
"—you can't be covered in oil when the people from the Palace come—"
"—but what about my job, Mom? You know, the one that I fought hard for?" I cocked an eyebrow at her. "What about that? I can't just leave everyone—"
"They'll have to survive without you," my mother said firmly. "You applied and you were chosen, Cassiana. Now you need to go through with this."
I let out an angry huff, thinking again of the dollar amount on the applicantion. "Fine. But only for the money."
☼
Shayla and Caddie had taken over for me, but even with those two and Conner taking charge, I still worried. I was pacing "my" room in the middle of the night the day before the people from Angeles would show, and I was scared shitless by a knock on my door.
It was Tiffany, dressed in leggings and a worn shirt. It was the least fancy clothing I'd ever seen her in. She entered slowly. "I heard you up," she said quietly. "Can't sleep?"
"Not even a little," I said. "I'm too awake."
"Me too." I could hear the smile in her voice. "I was about to go down to make hot chocolate and popcorn. Want to come down and talk about it?"
I don't know why I followed Tiffany down to the kitchen, or why I helped her make two mugs of hot chocolate and a bowl of popcorn, but I did. We sat at the table with the bowl between us, carefully blowing on our hot chocolate. She stirred hers with her spoon, head tilted down, outlined in a faint golden glow from the light above the stove. "So, what's bothering you?" I was quiet for a little while, so she filled the space. "Is it that job of yours?"
"Yeah," I said.
She smiled. "I'd been wondering who the leader is. I guess you were the mastermind?"
I shrugged. "More or less. Some friends are taking over to make up for my absence."
She still didn't look up at me. "Give them my phone number and my first name. Tell them that if they need any financial assistance, I'm willing to provide it."
"That's not necessary," I insisted.
"It is. Someone needs to support the good guys around here." She smiled slowly, the grin mischievous. I hadn't thought that a Two would be capable of a look as dark and violent as the one that had taken over her face. "Tell them that I can get them whatever they need, no questions asked. And don't worry too much while you're in Angeles."
☼
I was so disgustingly bored by the events of the next few weeks (it felt like years) that I'll spare myself the trouble of describing them, but if it were a dialogue sequence, it would go something like this:
"You're so thin! And pretty! Oh wait, you're an Eight and you were starving, sorry."
"You have to take these vitamins. You have no say in this."
"What do you mean we'll have to force heels onto your dead body? We need you alive!"
"Dresses aren't that bad. Yes, I am a man. Yes, I do have a right to tell you that they aren't that bad. Now shut up and put it on."
Personally, my favorite part was every time they just about scalped me while trying to "brush" my hair. I was not very happy.
People seemed content enough when I left. No one really knew who I was, but I saw a few eyebrows go up when they found out that I was an Eight, not a Seven or a Six or a Five or a Four like they had thought. A few people looked quite displeased with this information. Luckily, I wasn't sticking around long enough to find out exactly how displeased they were.
There were four other girls that were getting on the plane with me. I asked none of them for their names, castes, ages, or favorite colors. I was somewhere between I really don't care and shit, I'm about to climb onto a flying hunk of metal that shouldn't be able to fly. They probably thought that I was stuck up, or rude, or just a generally shitty person. They probably didn't realize that if I wasn't getting paid, I definitely would not have been on that goddamn plane.
I was busy trying not to kiss the ground or puke after getting off of the plane several hours later, and I was so shocked by the crowd of people and the cameras that I probably came close to fainting. Probably. The girl behind me walked right into my shoulder as she passed me, and she turned back and shot me an apologetic look. I thought that she apologized, but I honestly can't remember. I stumbled forward, probably paler than a piece of paper (not that I already wasn't) and definitely looking like I had never been on a plane in my life and never wanted to get on one again.
There was a little girl off to one side, in the crowd. She was blonde, tiny, and wearing a dirty pink dress and old, worn black shoes that were probably once shiny. Her front two teeth were missing, and her blonde hair was in two braids, which bounced as she jumped up and down. I couldn't hear what she was yelling, but her eyes lit up when I looked at her. The other girls moved easily through the crowd, probably shaking hands and kissing babies; I went straight for the little girl.
I knelt in front of her, trying to get close to her height, but she was so small that even when kneeling, I was too tall. There was a little boy beside her, his overalls stained and his dark hair messy. They looked nothing alike. He had dirt smudged over his face. He had his arms folded over his chest and stood protectively by her.
She beamed at me. "Hello," she said. "I'm Shaylee. You're my favorite."
I smiled. "Hi, Shaylee. I'm Cassiana. Am I really your favorite?"
She nodded quickly. "You remind me of my mommy!" She explained. "You're pretty, and tall, and you're an Eight too!"
I tilted my head to the side, looking at the little girl. "You're an Eight?"
She shook her head. "My mommy is. I live with Orion and his parents, right Ri?"
The boy bobbed his head once in reply.
She looked up at me with her big eyes and said, "You'll win, won't you? You're the best of the group."
"I'll try my best." I promised.
"Pinky promise?" She held out her little finger.
I linked my little finger with hers. "Pinky promise."
One of the other girls—or maybe it was someone that worked for the Ones?—called my name. I turned towards the direction that the voice had come from, and then I looked back at Shaylee and Orion. "I have to go now," I told her, "but maybe I'll see you again."
She grinned. "I hope so. Good luck!" She and Orion turned and started pushing through the legs of the adults.
When I reached the other girls, one of them looked at me curiously but said nothing. I remained silent and braced myself for more hair brushes and makeup tools.