just fall | ✓

6.

Aquia was so excited with my story–from meeting the princes the night before to our brief conversation that morning–that she struggled with keeping her voice down. She ate the strawberry tarts while I picked at a chocolate filled croissant. I wasn't nearly as hungry as she seemed to be, though she spent several moments carefully examining her food as if checking for poison.

"Do you read much?" Aquia asked as she examined what had to be her fifth strawberry tart.

"Not exactly," I told her. "I used to. I loved old history books."

"History books of the banned sort?" She asked curiously.

"Perhaps."

She grinned. "You'll love the books I brought with me." She leaned a bit closer. "Old fairytale books. They're practically ancient. A little religious allegory and a whole lotta magic."

I shook my head at her, trying not to smile. "You're joking."

"Of course not. You really think that we're all goody two-shoes?"

"I wouldn't have pinned you as the type."

"Exactly why I get away with it."

"You'll like it so much because the princes remind me an awful lot of the characters in it." She smiled. "I'll have to sneak you the first one later."

I shrugged. "Okay," then I glanced at her. "What's it like, being a Three?"

She sighed. "Not nearly as great and wonderful as you'd expect. Mom came from a family of farmers, but Dad's family's in the real estate business, so we kind of stuck with that. My brother and sister now work for Dad's agency, and they all want me to do it too, but I'd rather be a baker. Of course, whenever I say baker, people assume I mean like, head chef. But what about you? What's it like, being an Eight?"

"Awful," I replied. "Have you ever been dumpster diving?" She shook her head. "I don't recommend it. The food might barely be stale, but that doesn't mean that the shit hanging off of it doesn't make it barely edible."

She shuddered. "I'm sorry. No offense, but you don't really seem to be handicapped, and I'm pretty sure you're not a drug addict, so...why are you an Eight, exactly?"

I smiled a little in spite of myself. "My dad was born an Eight. My grandfather had supposedly been this brilliant scientist and inventor, but he had a bad accident, so he was kicked down to an Eight. My dad was only four or five, but he and my grandmother had to go with him. So my dad grew up on the streets, but he and my grandmother lied about their caste to get jobs to support themselves. Then he met my mom when he was twenty. She was a Two, and he was pretending to be a Six, but she fell in love with him. She gave up everything to marry him, and then they had me. My dad died when I was ten in a construction accident, and he'd always worked several jobs to keep my mom and I from having to work. She went to work until I was old enough, and then we both worked."

"That's terrible." She looked genuinely horrified. "Haven't you gotten enough money yet to move up, though?"

"We've been trying for years, so maybe this was a blessing in disguise," I said. "The night before I received the paperwork for the Selection, someone broke into our stash and stole all of our money. We'd only needed one more of my paychecks before we could've bought up to being Sevens."

"Oh, God," Aquia said, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not all that bad. Sure, it's a lot of hard work, but I've enjoyed it. I think I'd go crazy, sitting around and looking pretty all day."

Aquia laughed. "It's not as bad as it sounds. Sometimes, if you're lucky, one of the Sixes will bring you chocolate."

I laughed too. "Well, that's nice, I suppose."