Kenna was hard to hug over her pregnant belly, but we managed. James, who I really didn’t know that well, hugged me, too. Then it was Gerad.
“Be a good boy, okay? Try the piano. I’ll bet you’re amazing. I expect to hear it all when I come home.”
Gerad just nodded, abruptly sad. He threw his tiny arms around me.
“I love you, America.”
“I love you, too. Don’t be sad. I’ll be home soon.”
He nodded again, but crossed his arms to pout. I’d had no idea he’d take my leaving this way. It was the exact opposite of May. She was bouncing on her toes, absolutely giddy.
“Oh, America, you’re going to be the princess! I know it!”
“Oh, hush! I’d rather be an Eight and stay with you any day. Just be good for me, and work hard.”
She nodded and bounced some more, and then it was time for Dad, who was close to tears.
“Daddy! Don’t cry.” I fell into his arms.
“Listen to me, kitten. Win or lose, you’ll always be a princess to me.”
“Oh, Daddy.” I finally started to cry. That was all it took to unleash the fear, the sadness, the worry, the nerves—the one sentence that meant none of it mattered.
If I came back used and unwanted, he’d still be proud of me.
It was too much to bear, to be loved that much. I’d be surrounded by scores of guards at the palace, but I couldn’t imagine a place safer than my father’s arms. I pulled away and turned to hug Mom.
“Do whatever they tell you. Try to stop sulking and be happy. Behave. Smile. Keep us posted. Oh! I just knew you’d turn out to be special.”
It was meant to be sweet, but it wasn’t what I needed to hear. I wished she could have said that I was already something special to her, like I was to my father. But I guessed she would never stop wanting more for me, more from me. Maybe that’s what mothers did.
“Lady America, are you ready?” Mitsy asked. My face was away from the crowd, and I quickly wiped away my tears.
“Yes. All ready.”
My bag was waiting in the shiny white car. This was it. I started to walk to the edge of the stage to the stairs.
“Mer!”
I turned. I’d know that voice anywhere.
“America!”
I searched and found Aspen’s flailing arms. He was pushing the crowd aside, people protesting at his not-so-gentle shoves.
Our eyes met.
He stopped and stared. I couldn’t read his face. Worry? Regret? Whatever it was, it was too late. I shook my head. I was done with Aspen’s games.
“This way, Lady America,” Mitsy instructed from the bottom of the stairs. I gave myself a quick second to absorb my new name.
“Good-bye, sweetheart,” my mother called.
And I was led away.
I WAS THE FIRST ONE to the airport, and I was beyond terrified. The giddy excitement of the crowd had faded, and now I was faced with the horrific experience of flying. I would be traveling with three other Selected girls, and I tried to get control of my nerves. I really didn’t want to have a panic attack in front of them.
I’d already memorized the names, faces, and castes of all the Selected. It started as a therapeutic exercise, something to calm me down. I did the same thing with memorizing scales and bits of trivia. Originally, I had been looking for friendly faces, girls I might want to spend time with while I was there. I’d never really had a friend. I’d spent most of my childhood playing with Kenna and Kota. Mom did all my schooling, and she was the only person I worked with. When the older siblings moved on, I dedicated myself to May and Gerad. And Aspen …
But Aspen and I were never just friends. From the moment I became truly aware of him, I was in love with him.
Now he was holding some other girl’s hand.
Thank goodness I was alone. I couldn’t have handled the tears in front of the other girls. It ached. I ached. And there was nothing I could do.
How in the hell did I get here? A month ago, I was sure of everything in my life, and now any little piece of familiarity was gone. New home, new caste, new life. All because of a stupid piece of paper and a picture. I wanted to sit and cry, to mourn for everything I’d lost.
I wondered if any of the others girls were sad today. I imagined that everyone except for me was celebrating. And I at least needed to look like I was too, because everyone would be watching.
I braced myself for all that was coming, and I made myself be brave. As for everything I was leaving behind, I decided I’d do just that: leave him behind. The palace would be my sanctuary. I’d never think or say his name again. He wasn’t allowed to come with me there—my own rule for this little adventure.
No more.
Good-bye, Aspen.
About half an hour later, two girls in white shirts and black pants just like mine walked through the doors with their own aides hauling their bags. They were both smiling, confirming my thought that I was the only one of the Selected who might be depressed today.
It was time to follow through on my promise. I put on a smile and stood to shake their hands.
“Hi,” I said brightly. “I’m America.”
“I know!” said the girl on the right. She was a blonde with brown eyes. I recognized her immediately as Marlee Tames of Kent. A Four. She didn’t bother with my extended hand; she moved in for an immediate hug.
“Oh!” I exhaled. I hadn’t expected that. Though Marlee was one of the girls whose faces seemed genuine and friendly, Mom had been telling me for the last week to look at these girls as enemies, and her offensive thinking had leaked into my own. So here I was expecting at the very best a cordial welcome from the girls who were prepared to fight me to the death for someone I didn’t want. Instead I was embraced.
“I’m Marlee and this is Ashley.” Yes, Ashley Brouillette of Allens, Three. She had blond hair, too, but much lighter than Marlee’s. And her eyes were very blue, which looked delicate in her peaceful face. She seemed fragile next to Marlee.
They were both from the North; I guessed that was why they came together. Ashley gave a neat little wave and smiled, but that was it. I wasn’t sure if she was shy or if she was already trying to figure us out. Maybe it was that she was a Three by birth and knew to behave better.
“I love your hair!” Marlee gushed. “I wish I’d been born with red hair. It makes you look so alive. I hear that people with red hair have bad tempers. Is that true?”
Despite my rotten day, Marlee’s manner was so vivacious that my smile grew wider. “I don’t think so. I mean, I can have a bad temper at times, but my sister is a redhead, and she’s as sweet as can be.”
With that we settled into an easy conversation about what got us mad and what always fixed our moods. Marlee liked movies, and so did I, though I rarely got to see them. We talked about actors who were unbearably attractive, which seemed strange since we were off to be Maxon’s pack of girlfriends. Ashley giggled every once in a while but never more than that. If she was asked a direct question, she’d give a brief answer and go back to her guarded smile.
Marlee and I got along easily, and it gave me hope that maybe I’d come out of this with a friend to show for it. Though we talked for probably half an hour, the time flew by. We wouldn’t have stopped talking except for the distinct