Something Else - a Selection Fanfiction

one

THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE DAY,  Claire ran back and forth from the mailbox, searching expectantly for the cream-colored letter that she knew would eventually turn up inside. It was kind of annoying, actually, especially because I was the one who was going to receive the form for the Selection, not her. But that's just how she was - my biggest fan since the beginning. Especially when it came to the fact that I, Anna Grace, was seventeen, and at nineteen, Prince Carson was holding a Selection to find his wife. 

When the letter finally came, Claire ran through the house screaming with it before shoving it in my hands. "Please please please please please sign up, Anna! You'd be such a great princess!" 

I put down my paintbrush and examine my half-completed canvas before responding. My energetic little sister had interrupted me right in the middle of a brushstroke, and now the red that was supposed to be subtly incorporated into the sunset I was painting was bleeding across the entire painting. 

Damn it all. Painting had never been my strong suit, but at seventeen it was still the thing I was best at. I couldn't carry a note to save my life, couldn't play any instruments (my hands couldn't put up with the abuse) and dancing? Forget it. The one time I'd tried I'd ended up in a heap on the floor. 

Claire's incessant nagging pulls me from my thoughts. "Anna!"

"I'd never get chosen," I say. Maybe sticking to the facts rather than explaining my weariness for all things pink and sparkly will make her realize that I could never, ever be queen. 

"Anything's possible!" Claire says, her eyes wide. Too many triumph-against-all-odds movies have convinced her that if you want it bad enough, you can achieve anything. 

The truth is too painful for her little twelve-year-old brain, so I nod in affirmation. "Anything's possible, Claire, but I don't want to sign up."

"Why?"My little sister plops on my bed, her voice shaking the way it does when she's about to cry. 

I drop my paintbrush (leaving a red spot on the floor that I know my mom's going to give me hell for later) and rush over to her. "Because. I don't like the prince and I don't like being away from you." 

She ignores the compliment and dives into my first claim. "But you don't even know the prince! You have to give him a shot." 

I roll my eyes. From what I've seen of Prince Carson, there's little to like. Sure, he's somewhat handsome, but from what I've seen on The Illea Capital Report, he's aloof and condescending. And though being surrounded by luxury in the palace would be nice, how would I be able to go back to our cramped home? We were Fives, after all. 

Lost in my thoughts yet again, Claire snaps her fingers in front of my face. I try to come up with an answer that'll please both her and me and fail. "I'm sorry, Claire, but some things are just not meant to be. There are some people who you shouldn't give chances to." 

&

When Mom gets home later, Claire tells her about my refusal to fill out the Selection form. She purses her lips and agrees with me. 

"Everything about it would give us no advantages. I'm sorry, dear, but Prince Carson doesn't seem like a nice fellow, so you wouldn't find love. The money would be nice, sure, but you being away from home and not selling paintings would cancel it out. You'll probably never be chosen. And even the caste change wouldn't do much good because it wouldn't bring in money."

Caste change? "Wait," I say. "What caste change?" 

Mom rolls her eyes - I guess it runs in the family. "All Selected girls who are Fours or under become Threes upon being chosen. You'd have to give up painting and become a teacher or writer instead." 

Fireworks go off in my head. There is a way out. I know I wasn't put on this earth to sing, dance, or make art. But writing? That sounds okay. And helping Mom homeschool Claire over the summer was fun. The words bubble out of me before I can fully comprehend what I'm doing. I'm driving yet another rift between my mother and I. I'm putting my hope into something that will probably never happen. 

I'm making Claire happy in a world where she has nothing to look forward to. 

"I'm putting my name in." 

Mom stares at me, her eyes narrowed. "No."

"Yes, and you can't stop me." 

That's how it is with my mother and I. We speak in statements, not questions. Anything good between us was gone a long time ago. Now, it's just shouted arguments and cold stares. 

"Anna," she says, exasperated, "did you not just hear what I said? Nothing good can come out of this." 

Yes, I think, except the rest of my life teaching. 

Instead of responding, I march upstairs, followed by an awed Claire. She watches while I fill out my form. 

hello, and welcome to my first selection fanfic! please comment and vote if you enjoyed. next chapter should be up soon.