Don't Run Away

Chapter 3.

The walk to the province office is painfully slow. And silent. I'm assuming my mom knows I don't want to address the topic of the Selection, but you can tell she's itching to talk about it.

"So... did you ever fill out a Selection application?" I ask her, trying to get a conversation started.

"Actually no, when King Louis was holding his Selection, my heart was already elsewhere." My mom replies, clearly excited to talk about romance and boys.

Of course, my mom met my dad at a young age and fell head over heels, my mom seems like someone who would totally do that.

My mom's face sports a sly grin,

"Have you found anyone that makes your heart flutter?"

Ew. She did not just say that. Heart flutter? Even if I did find someone, I would never say that my heart was fluttering.

"Uhm, no not really, all the boys at my school are pretty gross," I respond awkwardly.

"Yeah, I felt the same way till I met your dad. But don't worry, you'll meet someone. You are easily the most gorgeous girl in the neighborhood."

Such a heartfelt compliment. Except for the fact that I am probably 1 of 3 girls in my entire neighborhood.

I just awkwardly nod and don't say anything else.

~*~

I swear we are about a quarter-mile away from the province office when the line of girls starts. I might not have a lot of girls in my neighborhood, but there are plenty of girls in my province.

"Well, I guess everyone else decided to turn in their papers today!" My mom says in a lame attempt at a joke.

"Yeah..." Looking at how long the line is, makes me think about all this time I'm wasting standing in line could be wasted on a nice run instead. Ugh seriously.

I notice a couple of girls from my school in line with their papers and realize how underdressed I am. Sure, a couple of the girls are wearing jeans and tee shirts, but the majority are wearing nice blouses, dresses, and tights. And that's not even all, some of the girl's makeup is piled three meters tall on top of their faces. My mom seems to notice that I'm quite underdressed as well, so in a feeble attempt to make me look nicer, she applies lip gloss to my lips, takes my hair out of its ponytail, and braids it down my back.

"Thanks" I mutter, with all the sincerity I can muster.

After what feels like a decade, we are about 10 girls away from the province office. For some odd reason, 4 different girls have given me dirty looks while I was standing in line. I don't know why. If anything they should be giving the girl in front of me a dirty look. She packed with her a hand mirror, and she won't refrain from checking her reflection every 10 freaking seconds. Oh and that's not all, she also doused herself in perfume, which has singed all my nose hairs off.

Jeez, I'm being kind of a bitch right now, maybe I would be good at gossiping and drinking tea all day in ballgowns. Or maybe I'm just super irritated. I wonder why.

We FINALLY get up to the office, and I wonder why it took so long for the girls in front of me to turn in their application because all you have to do is hand them your letter, and then get your picture taken, easy-peasy. I hand the receptionist my application and then walk over to the stool in front of the camera. I don't bother adjusting my hair or anything, but oh, don't worry, my mother swoops in to re-adjust my braid and smear some more lip gloss on me. I refrain from rolling my eyes. I put on my biggest smile, and look directly at the camera. The photographer snaps my photo and I'm free to go.

The second I stand up from the stool, I feel a great weight lifted from my shoulders. Now I don't have anything to worry about, well except for Friday when they draw the names.

~*~

When my mother and I get back home, dinner is ready to eat. I made the mistake of assuming that once I turned in my letter, my mom won't bother obsessing over the Selection or the prince anymore. Boy, was I wrong.

Dinner moves impossibly slow. All my mom can seem to talk about is what an amazing princess I would be. I keep stuffing my mouth full of food so I won't have to respond. I end up doing a lot of nodding and humming.

I fall onto my bed and huff out a big breath. Finally. Peace and quiet.

Not even two seconds later I hear a knock at my door. You have to be kidding me. I open my door to find none other than my mother standing on the other side.

"I went out on the town earlier today and picked this up for you." My mom hands me a glossy magazine.

"I thought it was fitting since you are super excited about the Selection," She says with tons of excitement in her voice.

I normally would laugh, but she seems so proud of her gift idea, and I feel guilty.

"Thanks, I-uh really appreciate it."

She smiles and shuts my door.

Am I really that good at acting? Either I am, or my mother is totally oblivious to the fact that I am NOT jumping for joy at the thought of the Selection.

I sit back down on my bed and turn over the magazine.

My jaw practically falls to the floor.

It's Prince Stephan Normandy.

Now, let me make myself clear, it is true that I think all the guys at my school are pretty gross. Because they are, that is a fact. I have only had a crush once, it was in the 1st grade, and he ended up moving away.

I totally forgot what the prince had looked like. All I remember was a lanky little boy.

Prince Stephan Normandy looks good. He looks better than good. No wonder so many girls wanted to fill out that application. He's easily the most attractive guy in all of Illea.

He has this smooth light brown skin, and curly, impossibly perfect, jet-black hair. And his eyes. His eyes are the exact color of the caramel that my mom makes on Christmas eve. His eyes are practically perfect.

Oh. My. God. Did I just hard-core obsess over a boy? Do I have a crush on the crown prince of Illea? I cannot have a crush on the crown prince of Illea, I can't distract myself with the issue of boys, when I could be worrying about more important things.

Like becoming the best female athlete in Illea.

You know what? Maybe some sleep with help me rid my mind of him. I shove the magazine behind my bookshelf, no doubt creasing it. And get into bed.

My mother's Christmas eve caramel is all that's on my mind when I close my eyes.