Project Marriage

Chapter 1

(picture is Marie)

I've always loved the smell of the rain. It's always been clean and fresh, so much different from the world. It seems like it can clean even the darkest of things, that's what I like to believe. I used to dream that one day a heavy rain will come and wash away all memories of war. We'll all go back how it was before, quietly arguing behind closed doors like civilized people instead of threatening to kill a man if they so much as fold their hands.

I used to wake up to the birds chirping and sunshine coming in through my window, now I just hear my parents fighting. If I'm lucky one of them will leave before I wake up or my best friend, Marie Washington, will call me to get me up. Those are the better days. Today, unfortunately, is not one of them.

"Grow up and take responsibility old man!" My mom screams as I come downstairs. That insult made no sense. Grow up old man? Really?

I grab some toast and orange juice before heading out the door to walk with Marie in the rain. "Bye mom, bye dad, morning," I mumble on my way out. I don't think that they even remember that they have a daughter. Hello? I'm Lauren Nicole Vaillor, your daughter. Nice to meet you.

"Lauren. Earth to Lauren!" Marie snaps me back to reality. Oopsie! I zoned out.

"Sorry, Marie. What?"

She sighs, "Honestly, get your head out of the clouds will you Angel?" I mock hurt at her language. Ever since the war, words like Angel and heaven are insults and bad language. According to our history teacher, Mr. Frum, calling someone an angel used to be a compliment. Psh, as if!

"I said, which school do you think will be picked for the marriage choosing today?"

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you all. Every year a school is picked to choose five girls and five boys to get married and bear at least one boy and one girl before they can divorce. It's to bring back up the population and the economy after our losses in the war, but honestly, I think it's just to torture us.

"I think," I say, "as long as it's far away from Springfield, Illinois I don't care."

Marie looks shocked. She's always wanted a little boy, her parents had a miscarriage when she was little and she always wonders what it would be like to have one around, "Why not?"

"Remember when Quinn High was chosen three years ago? It was so creepy! It was like an infestation of pregnant engaged women who just wanted the two kids to get it over with."

"I think it would be cool if Daniels is chosen," Marie says as we walk towards the school doors. This place is so boring! Everything is eggshell white except for the lockers, which are gray. Welcome to hell everyone! Have a nice day!

I sigh, giving up on trying to pull Marie towards sanity, "Well, we'll find out at third bell so let's get to class."

With that we both walk different ways. Her to Building A, and me to Building C.

The schools are now separated into three buildings: A, B, and C. The buildings categorize your future career goals.

Building A is for the creative Arts. Drawing, Dance, Acting, you know. Marie is set on being a wedding photographer, so she's a Light. Slang for a Creativity student.

Building B is for the Science and Math kids. The scientists and accountants basically. I don't know anyone in that building and frankly don't really want to know a Phial, or chemistry student.

Building C is focused on History, Language, and Grammar. These students want to be teachers and Doctors. I, for example, am going to be a lawyer. Our slang term is Pens. Yeah, real clever, I know.

The country made the building categories to limit conflict. Like what? Oh, you're a Doctor and I'm a dancer. Let's go to war again because I want my ankle to be broken forever! Seriously? We're kids, we're not that stupid.

Third period today we all gather in the auditorium to view the school choosing for the marriage. The president picks a school name out of this huge, spinning container and then the screen switches to the authorities showing up at the school. The names are chosen, the couples are picked, there are tears and cheering, then the screen goes black and we all go to lunch. Pretty much the highlight of the year. I hope I never get chosen, I'm seventeen. I can't get married and have kids yet. I just can't.

After History, Social Science, and Constitution Examination. We all gather in the auditorium for the choosing. The auditorium is this huge, round, red brick building with a glass dome as the roof. The inside is like all other auditoriums. Comfy theater seats, and a stage and projection screen up front.

When we walk in, I quickly find Marie and sit down next to her. By now we're both too nervous to talk so we just wait. After what seems like forever, the lights go down and the screen lights up. The president shows up on screen and, once again, explains what is going to happen. After what seems like forever, the container stops spinning and he reaches his hand into the bowl. He swirls around the names for a few moments before pulling his hand out with a single piece of paper in his grasp. We all lean forward as he unfolds the paper, we hold our breaths,

"Daniels High School."

-~-

I jinxed it. I must have. I told Marie that as long as the school wasn't around here I'd be happy then they choose our school.

Our Representative, a middle aged woman with glossy black hair and dark skin, walks up to the podium with two boxes. One labeled "Men" and the other labeled "Women". She lifts the mic to her lips and gives us an apologetic smile, "Let's get this over with," she says before reaching into the men's box. She pulls out five slips of paper and reads them aloud.
"Brian Henry."

"Shawn Zachariah."

"Xander Hanson."

"Jacob Blazer."

"Kole Washington."

I look at Marie. Kole is her brother. Her twin brother. Older by six minutes. He's in my building so I know him well enough to know how close they are. It certainly shows now. Her jaw is practically on the floor. Her blue eyes are wide and scared. Her pale skin looks paler. A breeze lets her strawberry blonde hair fall into her face and she lets it stay there. I tuck her hair behind her ear and hold her hand. She squeezes it to let me know that she's okay. Her eyes never leave Kole's figure as he walks on stage, but quickly turns her gaze back to the Representative as she turns towards the Women's box. All girls are either scared or excited now that they see their potential husbands. I almost roll my eyes but restrain myself as she starts reading names.
"Veronica Goinnes."
"Penelope Stare."
"Jet Willows."
"Ingrid Anloe."

The sighs of relief and shock almost make me miss the last one. Almost. But I still catch it. And at that moment my whole world comes crashing down all around me. I can't breath. The name the Representative spoke still rings in my ears like an alarm. A horrible, horrible, alarm.

"Lauren Vaillor."