The Selection (Is A Modelling Competition)✔️

Chapter 5: Moonlight and Flowers (And All That Jazz)

"So, why are you here? Shouldn't you be sleeping, like the rest of the girls?" He winced, suddenly.  I wondered why. "I mean- sorry, I don't mean to be rude, or creepy or anything..."

"No, it's fine." I interrupted him. "I just.. I guess I'm already homesick."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow and scooted closer to me on the wooden seat of the bench. I was awkwardly aware of how little I was wearing, my pale legs appearing more so in the moonlight. At least I had shaved.

"Where are you from?" He was saying.

I blinked. "Oh, I'm from Carolina."

"There are some really nice national parks there, aren't there?" He asked. "Sorry, but would you mind telling me your name before it gets awkward to ask?"

I thought it already was awkward, but I was glad he didn't think so. "I'm America Singer. And you?"

"Ma-" He was interrupted by a shout.

"Maxon!" An angry man in a well-tailored business suit strode over to us, disrupting the quiet of the garden. "Maxon Calix Schreave, where on earth were you?"

"You're Maxon?" I looked at him accusingly. "As in, Maxon Schreave the photographer that we're not supposed to meet until tomorrow?"

"Yes." He looked tired, but amused. "Yes, you could put it like that."

I shook my head. "I'm going to bed. "

"Wait!" He pulled free from the man- who was now coldly calm. "I'm sorry. Could you please not tell anyone about this? It's against protocol, and-"

"There's nothing to tell." I could feel myself getting tired, now, and sighed. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Maxon Schreave."

"Good night, America Singer." There was still that weary tone in his voice, accompanied by an undercurrent of laughter.

As I left, I could have sworn I heard shouting. But all there was for me to do was collapse into my bed.

:::

The next morning, the only thing that felt harder to move than my body was the bed's sheets. Their heavy silk material was too comfortable for me to want to do anything other than sleep.

But I could see an immaculately kept garden illuminated in the sunlight beyond my window, and it reminded me of my brief collision with Maxon last night. I wanted to see him, if only to make sure he was all right. The man had sounded very upset with him.

I shook my head. Why did I care? He was just a stranger. A rule-breaking stranger who liked photography and was world-famous in the fashion industry and worried that he about being rude to random girls he'd just met.

Finally forcing myself out of bed, I looked for an outfit to wear. The closet was full of clothes Cindy, my stylist, had picked out yesterday, and I rifled through the choices.

There was denim, silk, flannel, lace, in black, blue, pale pink, emerald green. I pulled out a turquoise dress that had a lace collar, pairing it with a denim jacket. There were, for all the denim, not one pair of jeans in there. I guess future models didn't wear pants.

Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out a small box that contained the songbird necklace my dad had given me, and clasped it around my neck. The presence of the piece of jewelry was comforting, and I gripped the charm between my fingers as if it could transport me home. It didn't. Picking up the pin that we had been given upon arrival, I ran my thumb across the engraved surface before putting it on.

As I went to the adjoining bathroom in the room - it still felt strange, calling all this opulence my room - I thought about how much May would love this. How she would pick a much better outfit than the one I was wearing now, and look much better in it too. She's have tried out the hot tub in the bathroom already, probably filling it with bubble bath. If she were here, she would be beyond ecstatic, and I would be content stuffing myself with pizza and playing soccer with Gerad.

But she wasn't, I reminded myself. I was, and there was no amount of moping that could change it.

I got ready, and went to see what the day had in store for me.