The Selection (Is A Modelling Competition)✔️

Chapter 8: (Photo) Shoot (Myself)

"Now, ladies, it's time for the first photo shoot video blog of the Schreave-Monarchy Modelling Competition!" Sylvia announced, all too brightly. "Please wait here while I make some final arrangements. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves."

"Photo shoot video blog?" Marlee asked me, raising a thin blond eyebrow. They were, I now noticed, freshly tweezed.

"Do you think they have a YouTube account too?" I whispered back.

"Probably, since they made all of us subscribe to it the second we got here." Marlee frowned as Sylvia herded us into rows, barking orders at people to clear out the racks of clothing.

"Really?" I was surprised; I didn't remember doing that. "I didn't have to."

"Maybe that's because you're Maxon's favourite," a simpering voice suggested. It was Celeste, looking as irritatingly flawless as ever. A scowl marred her pretty face. "Makes a girl wonder what you did to make that happen."

Anger rose in my chest, but Marlee beat me to saying anything. She whirled around to face her. "What do you think you're suggesting, Celeste? You don't know anything. Maxon and America are just friends. Not that you'd know, seeing as you don't have any. Just because it's what you would do doesn't mean everyone has as much class as you do."

When Celeste huffed and stalked away with an audible click-click of stilettos, I turned to face the blonde. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know." Marlee smiled at me. "But I wanted to. You're my friend."

:::

"Thank God that's over," I murmured to Kriss Ambers.

She looked like she was of the same mind, and that thought was confirmed when she said, "I don't think Celeste feels the same way. Camera hog."

"One more minute of that and I was going to shoot myself," I joked.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, my dear," said a voice from behind me—Maxon.

Seeing the look on my face, he amended. "America."

"Hi, Maxon," Kriss greeted him.

"Hello, my dear," Maxon said, giving her a dazzling smile.

They chatted for a few moments, and both Maxon and Kriss did their best to include me in the conversation, but it made me feel uncomfortable to watch.

I excused myself after a moment, and went to my room. It was free time now for two hours, before dinner, and I wanted to work on a letter to May or Aspen.

When I got there, a letter was sitting on the desk. I immediately recognized the handwriting as May's excited curlicue-laden scrawl. In my excitement, I nearly tore open the envelope and the letter itself.

Dear America,

I have some good news and bad news.

The good news is that the money you're sending home is really helping us out, and Mom seems less stressed. Gerad still misses you, though, and he keeps bugging me to play soccer and collect bugs (ew, gross!) with him. I did play soccer with him a couple times (and I beat him, no matter what he says).

And... Now the bad news. It's Aspen-related. I saw him with Brenna Butler at the movies! He had his arm around her. Maybe it's probably nothing, but I think you should ask him anyways.

Don't worry too much, don't change too much (except maybe your style; you could stand to wear something other than denim once in a while), and don't forget us when you get crowned Illea's Next Top Model! (You know what I mean.)

Love,

May and Gerad

P.S. May never beat me at soccer. Not even once.

I smiled at the letter, all the while trying to sort out the strange feelings inside me.