The Unexpected Expected

Part 1: Chapter 4

May's POV

I missed America. I missed her voice floating around the house, I missed her red hair flashing in the sun, I missed her constant rebellion with the world, I missed her deep blue eyes, I missed my sister. I just wish I could be close with her again. This was one of the many reasons why I was crouching in the treehouse, my back pressed uncomfortably against the wall, imagining America sitting across from me.

"May, you need to work on your painting," my mother's voice drifted in the wind across the yard. I sighed. I wasn't inspired when America wasn't around. She was the motivation behind each stroke of the paintbrush, each swirl of the sky, each blade of too-green grass. Without her personality and spirit, my paintings were dull and bland.

Sometimes I used dad to motivate me, but recently he's been spending more and more time in his room, his half-finished paintings left untouched. I've had to work double time to provide for the family and to fill the waiting orders.

"Coming, mom!" I yelled from inside the treehouse, the words echoing around the small space. I quickly scaled down the rungs of the ladder two at a time. I did not  want mom yelling at me again tonight. That's another reason I wanted America to come home: she was mother's favorite person to yell at since she was the oldest still living in the house.

Walking through the backdoor, I quickly shrugged of my thin coat and left my muddy shoes by the mat. Grabbing a hair tie sitting in a bowl by the door, I quickly tied my hair up into a messy bun before slowly walking down the hallway looking at each painting as I went.

Even though I've seen each painting many time before, I loved taking my time observing each one, picking up details I never noticed before. Whenever I found something new, I always felt a rush of pride that I had noticed something that a normal passerby probably did not. Today, I noticed that in the third picture, the mermaid lying on the mountain of rocks had America's eyes.

Dad did that sometimes. He would add my hair or Gerad's smile in the painting, a little subtle touch that proved this work was his. I loved doing this also in my work, but it never did look quiet as recognizable as dad's. I remember once trying to mix the exact color of America's eyes and I ended up spending a week just mixing all the shades of blue we had together. To this day, I still don't know how dad made the characteristics scream the person's name.

"May Rose Singer! Get in the studio immediately!" My mother's shrill voice pierced through my thoughts.

I sighed and hurried down the hallway. When I passed the sitting room, I saw mom's soap opera on. I rolled my eyes as I heard the protagonists confront each other about something. But as soon as the tensions seemed to rise to the climax, it was interrupted by the Illean symbol. Walking over to the couch, mom didn't protest as I slid onto the open seat next to her.

As the Illean symbol transitioned to the King's face, my brother and father appeared in the doorway of the sitting room with questioning frowns on their face. I shrugged, not sure why the King was broadcasting in the middle of the day.

"As you may have already gathered, this is not the normal weekly Report announcement. This, my people, is an announcement I had always hoped I never would've had to make. It is in great sadness that I announce the death of Crown Prince Maxon Calix Schreave and Lady America Amelie Singer. They're death will be missed by all," he paused for a moment in respect for the fallen, but my world was spinning. America was dead? "Tomorrow night on the weekly Report, Queen Amberly will announce the winner of the Selection to all of you. The winning lady, Lady Celeste, Lady Elise, or Lady Kriss, will be your next queen," he paused once again. "Thank you for your time. Our condolences to the Singer household," King Clarkson nodded once at the camera before the Illean symbol was played again. The TV flickered before returning back to mom's soap opera.

Nobody moved to turn off the TV. We all sat in silence, staring at the figures in the show as they cry out in anguish at the death of the Princess. Oh cruel coincidences, why this opera at this time right after that announcement?

We sat in silence for the rest of the day, gently holding onto one another. We didn't move when the phone rang or when a knock sounded at the door, we just sat in silence praying that wherever America was now, she was happy and with Maxon.

*-*

America's POV

"They're not answering the door," I said after knocking for a fifth time. I knew they were home because the lights were on upstairs and I could see the TV on in the sitting room window.

"Maybe they can't hear you over the TV?" Maxon supplied, trying to comfort my suspicions.

I glanced at him in disbelief. The TV couldn't be that loud. Turning to him, I said, "Normally I won't do this, but I want to make sure they're okay."

"Do what?" He asked as I turned my back to him. Reaching down, I picked up the mat and felt around for the small key that my parents left in case of an emergency. My hand brushing against the cold medal, I quickly grabbed it and inserted it into the keyhole. "America? Are you breaking into your house?" I only replied with a glare.

When the door swung open, my heart began to beat out of my chest. I listened for the sounds of life inside the house, but hearing nothing, I motioned for Maxon to follow behind me.

Creeping first to my father's studio, the lights were all off and the moon peering through the cracked window cast strange shadows across half-finished pieces of art. Checking in each room, Maxon and I continued looking for my family but couldn't find them. Where were they?

Motioning to Maxon, I pointed at the sitting room, the only room we hadn't checked yet. Nodding gravely, he allowed me to pass him and lead the charge.

"Is anyone in here?" I whispered.

My only reply was my father's double take, my mother's wide eyes, Gerad's confusion written on his face, and May's shrill shriek as Maxon and I walked in front of the TV.

"What?" I asked. "Was the show really that important that you couldn't answer the door?"