The Selection (Is A Modelling Competition)✔️

Chapter 6: The Competition

A/N: Shoutout to EclipticMoon55555 for spotting the really embarrassing error in last chapter! And for being an awesome reader, and for all the votes. Quick question: anyone else as excited for The Crown as I am?

Slipped discreetly under the door of my room was a cream envelope, containing an itinerary for the day. It was a detailed schedule, beginning with 9:00 AM, Breakfast. Afterwards, at 10:30 AM, there was Makeup Tutorial, and then a Trial Run Photo Shoot at 11:10 AM, and followed by Lunch at 12:00 and a Etiquette Lesson. The last one confused me; we were models, not debutantes.

If I had thought yesterday was bad, today was going far worse.

But the food was delicious so far. During breakfast, all the models were being formally introduced to Maxon. There had been far too many options for me to even contemplate eating even a quarter of them. Fortunately, I just wanted to put one of the choices on my expensive-looking scallop-edged, gold-inlaid plate: the strawberry tarts. Their pastry crusts were flaky, the strawberries warm with a hint of gooey dark chocolate, dusted with a light sprinkling of powdered sugar. May, I thought, would love them. I, myself, would marry them.

"Enjoying the food?" Maxon asked me.  He had ambled over from talking to Celeste, looking halfway between dazed and dazzled.

I nodded before swallowing, a forkful of strawberry tart en route to my mouth. I set my fork down, and answered him. "I didn't even want to come here, but I think I'll stay just for the food."

"Honestly?" His eyebrows drew together endearingly. "Well, if you don't want to be here, I suppose I could send you home; the first round of eliminations is today."

"But I think I could get used to this place. The strawberry tarts are divine," I told him.

"My father likes them as well," he informed me.

"I have a sister who would cry if she tasted these." I swallowed the last of my pastry.

"Would you bet on that?" Maxon asked, leaning closer and resting his elbows on the table. The sound of girls' voices rose, and I could only imagine what they were saying. He had been talking to me longer than anybody else.

"I would," I said, lifting my chin.

"I do like bets." He said, before striking up a conversation with Marlee, who was sitting next to me and gave me a quizzical look.

I shrugged at her: I knew as much as she did.

After breakfast, we -the girls and Sylvia, minus Maxon- headed down a hallway to an airy, spacious room, with large windows, several balconies, and billowing white drapes. The floors were pale, the colour of sand; the ceiling was high and arched, with a mosaic of blue and green tiles that was reminiscent of the ocean. On the walls without windows were cream-and-mint damask wallpaper, and it was velvety to the touch.

"Oh, wow," Marlee whispered to me. "It's amazing."

"Since we haven't had a chance to go over any rules, I shall now lay out the ground rules for you before our activity. Number one, smoking, drinking that I don't know about, or drugs will get you immediately expelled from this program. Number two, any violence or rude language used against another participant will have us reevaluating the length of your stay in this competition. Number three, curfew is at eleven-thirty on weekdays, and one on weekends. Number four, while you are a participant in this competition, you will work with no other photographers, makeup artists, magazines, or stylists over than the ones we have here. Number five, the breaking of any of this rules will have you suspended from the competition for two weeks, or disqualified from the competition." Sylvia puts her hands on her hips and skims her gaze over each of us like she was trying to figure out who would be the first to break the rules.

I was considering breaking them myself.