just fall | ✓

5.

When I cracked my eyes open the next morning, my neck was stiff and there were three women in my room.

I jolted awake. There were three women in my room. I tried to move backwards, but unfortunately, I was as far backwards as I could go. There was a bed behind me. I was a complete idiot.

They were smiling and called me "Miss", and introduced themselves as Jasmine, Opal, and Glory. They didn't speak much to me directly, but they chattered on to each other as they did my hair and my makeup and helped me get dressed. That was weird. Like thanks, but I think I can pull on a goddamn dress...until I saw all the buttons and lacings on the back and decided that I most certainly could not have handled it.

They were nice enough, and they worked quickly, and they sent me on my way. I was dressed in dark green. It was a pretty dress, I supposed, but I didn't exactly do pretty. But they'd seemed so happy that I thanked them and accepted it.

The other girls were waiting in the hall. I stood at the back as we made our way down to breakfast, and noticed a mischievous redhead moving back towards me. She grinned at me and stuck out her hand. "Aquia Dashnell. Sonage."

I shook her hand. "Cassiana Lowes. Kent."

"Right. The one that met some important people last night." I must've looked surprised because she added, "You weren't the only one doing some late night exploring. I might be a Three, but it gets tragically stuffy in those rooms." She sarcastically fanned her face a little and winked. "Between you and me? You can have them. Rumor has it that this Selection isn't even for Alexander. Some people are saying that he doesn't want a wife."

"So he wants a husband?"

"Try a life of celibacy." She smirked and shook her head. "Not like I care, anyway. I've already got someone at home. I'm just here for the food. I've heard Angeles is the best place to go for food." At my look, she explained that she was a baker, the first in her family. She didn't care about marrying a prince; she only cared about figuring out how to make the infamous Angeles strawberry tarts.

"Someone at home?"

Aquia smiled dreamily and sighed. "Yeah. They're wonderful. They have this nice smile and this cute laugh and–" she stopped suddenly.

"What?"

Her smile was full of self-deprecation. "Nothing."

"You can tell me."

She shrugged. "We broke up yesterday. We had a fight. They were mad that I decided to go off to the Selection. They always had a jealousy issue..."

"That sucks. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Andy always was a shithead. They'll be writing me letters next week, begging me to come back." She glanced at me. "So...what are you here for?"

"Money," I said. "I'm an Eight."

"Ohhhhh. Rightrightright. The Eight." She laughed humorlessly. "Sorry. I'm awful."

"Well, you haven't stuck up your nose or abandoned me yet, so I don't think you're all that awful."

This smile wasn't the pageant smile that she'd been giving me so far. This one was crooked, revealing imperfect teeth and small fissures in her lipstick. Something about her smile told me that I'd made a friend through nonviolent means.

☼

We were taught a bit of etiquette before breakfast, in a room with small metal tables. They sat high off the ground, and had matching chairs to go with them. They were black metal, with a floral pattern, and I was reminded of the chipped outdoor tables at the café. I was suddenly hit by homesickness. I wondered how everyone was doing. Were they okay? Were they alive? I had no way of knowing.