The Selection

Chapter 4

This story/plot belongs to Kiera Cass

𒊹︎︎︎ᴥ︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎

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 Y/n 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 Jungkook  sat in their typical cluster of thronelike seats and elegant clothes, looking regal and important

  “There’s your boyfriend, Y/n,” May announced, and everyone laughed.

 I looked closely at Jungkook. I guess he was handsome in his own way. Not at all like Taehyung though. His hair was a  brownish color, and his eyes were brown. He kind of looked like summertime, which I guess was attractive to some people. His hair was cropped and neatly done, and his black suit was perfectly fitted to him.