The Selection (The Selection #1)(10)

“Yes. A mother couldn’t ask for a better son. He’s supportive, and he works so hard.”

“He’s going to make some girl very happy one day,” my mother said. She was only half into the conversation as she continued to size up the competition.

Mrs. Leger took a quick look around. “Between you and me, I think he might already have someone in mind.”

I froze. I didn’t know if I should comment or not, unsure if either response would give me away.

“What’s she like?” my mother asked. Even when she was planning my marriage to a complete stranger, she still had time for gossip.

“I’m not sure! I haven’t actually met her. And I’m only guessing that he’s seeing someone, but he seems happier lately,” she replied, beaming.

Lately? We’d been meeting for nearly two years. Why only lately?

“He hums,” Celia offered.

“Yeah, he sings, too,” Kamber agreed.

“He sings?” I exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah,” they chorused.

“Then he’s definitely seeing someone!” my mother chimed in. “I wonder who she is.”

“You’ve got me. But I’m guessing she must be a wonderful girl. These last few months he’s been working hard—harder than usual. And he’s been putting money away. I think he must be trying to save up to get married.”

I couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped. Lucky me, they all attributed it to the general excitement of the news.

“And I couldn’t be more pleased,” she continued. “Even if he’s not ready to tell us who she is, I love her already. He’s smiling, and he just seems satisfied. It’s been hard since we lost Herrick, and Aspen’s taken so much on himself. Any girl who makes him this happy is already a daughter to me.”

“She’d be a lucky girl! Your Aspen is a wonderful boy,” Mom replied.

I couldn’t believe it. Here his family was, trying to make ends meet, and he was putting away money for me! I didn’t know whether to scold him or kiss him. I just… I had no words.

He really was going to ask me to marry him!

It was all I could think about. Aspen, Aspen, Aspen. I went through the line, signed at the window to confirm that everything on my form was true, and took my picture. I sat in the chair, flipped my hair once or twice to give it some life, and turned to face the photographer.

I don’t think any girl in all of Illéa could have been smiling more than me.





CHAPTER 4



IT WAS FRIDAY, SO THE Illéa Capital Report would be on at eight. We weren’t exactly obligated to watch, but it was unwise to miss it. Even Eights—the homeless, the wandering—would find a store or a church where they could see the Report. And with the Selection coming up, the Report was more than a semi-requirement. Everyone wanted to know what was happening in that department.

“Do you think they’ll announce the winners tonight?” May asked, stuffing mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“No, dear. Everyone who’s eligible still has nine days to submit their applications. It’ll probably be two more weeks until we know.” Mom’s voice was the calmest it had been in years. She was completely at ease, pleased to have gotten something she really wanted.

“Aw! I can’t stand the wait,” May complained.

She couldn’t stand the wait? It was my name in the pot!

“Your mother tells me you had quite a long wait in line.” I was surprised Dad wanted in on this conversation.

“Yeah,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting that many girls. I don’t know why they’re giving people nine more days; I swear everyone in the province has already gone in.”

Dad chuckled. “Did you have fun gauging the competition?”

“Didn’t bother,” I said honestly. “I left that to Mom.”

She nodded in agreement. “I did, I did. I couldn’t help it. But I think America looked good. Polished but natural. You are so beautiful, honey. If they really are looking through instead of picking at random, you have an even better chance than I thought.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “There was that girl who had on so much red lipstick she looked like she was bleeding. Maybe the prince likes that kind of thing.”

Everyone laughed, and Mom and I continued to regale them with commentary on the outfits we’d noticed. May drank it all in, and Gerad just sat smiling between bites of dinner. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as long as Gerad had been able to really understand the world around him, things had been stressful in our house.

At eight we all piled into the living room—Dad in his chair, May next to Mom on the couch with Gerad on her lap, and me on the floor all stretched out—and turned the TV to the public access channel. It was the one channel you didn’t have to pay to have, so even the Eights could get it if they had a TV.

The anthem played. Maybe it’s silly, but I always loved our national anthem. It was one of my favorite songs to sing.

The picture of the royal family came into view. Standing at a podium was King Clarkson. His advisers, who had updates on infrastructure and some environmental concerns, were seated to one side, and the camera cut to show them. It looked like there would be several announcements tonight. On the left of the screen, the queen and Prince Maxon sat in their typical cluster of thronelike seats and elegant clothes, looking regal and important.