The Selection (Is A Modelling Competition)✔️

Chapter 2: Meeting Everyone

A/N: Picture is not mine. I don't know whose, but NOT MINE. Just a little friendly disclaimer.

The plane was huge. And I've never ridden on a plane before, let alone first class, but it was enormous.

You could fit my entire house in there,  that was how big it was. Of course, my house wasn't that big, but still. A friggin' plane.

Honestly, didn't these rich people have anything better to spend their money on?

"Hi!" I looked up from the blank notebook I was leafing through, which was specially printed with sheet-music-paper, eight-stave. It was one of the most precious things I owned. The speaker was a perky blonde girl who looked familiar. "I'm Marlee Tames, from Kent. You're..."

"I'm America Singer. From Carolina," I managed a smile at her bubbly personality, feeling plain and quiet. I steeled myself. What did I care? I'd never asked to be in this competition anyways.

"Oh, cool! We're practically neighbours, then." She smiled at me, drumming her fingers on her knees. Like mine, I noticed, her nails were unpolished. It made me feel slightly better about my status. "What were you?"

"I- uh, what do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"Before you came here! Like, are you a student, did you work?" She was looking at me curiously. I felt, once again, self-conscious. Then I reminded myself that I didn't care or want to be here.

"Oh, I... I was a musician. I taught people piano and violin on the side, but I played at galas and things like that," I replied.

I surveyed her discreetly, in the way I'd gotten used to doing, since I grew up too near the poverty line, and May liked to point out people's designer bags and shoes and painted nails, the same as her favourite movie star's. Marlee had on makeup (mascara and a hint of blush) and perfume, some light, floral scent that meant she had time and money to care about that kind of thing; her bag was designer, but -as the May in me reared her head- last season's and a little worn-out; the top she had on looked new, bought just for the occasion. She was middle-class, veering towards upper.

"Oh, cool! I work at my parent's restaurant, but I'm hoping to go into business or something. I haven't really decided yet." She leaned in closer and whispered, "I hear one of the girls is already a model. Her name's Colette or Celeste or something."

"Already a model? Is that even allowed?" I said, my voice incredulous. She would have an edge on over the rest of us.

"Well, apparently she just started, and she's done some work for that lingerie store, Amberly's Secret, and they offered her a contract but she turned them down to come here instead." Marlee replied.

"She could've been an Amberly's Secret model and she turned it down? Why would she do that? Wouldn't it be easier just to take the contract?" From what little I knew, modelling contracts were hard to get and probably paid exceptionally well.

"I read about it in some magazine; apparently they interviewed her and she said she wanted something more challenging." Marlee tucked her hair behind her ear, as if already worrying about the competition. I understood, sort of. For most of the girls, this was the opportunity of a lifetime. For me, it was an opportunity I didn't want.

Especially now that Celeste or Colette or the almost-an-Amberly's-Secret model had arrived. She was holding up the plane, and I told her as much when she appeared on the plane, looking - to Marlee and the other girl, Ashley, a polite, reserved blonde - intimidatingly glamorous in oversize sunglasses and a belted wraparound coat, saying in an anything-but-regretful tone, "Sorry. My fans wanted to wish me luck. Not that I need it, of course."

Marlee snorted, then fell silent.

I sighed. If all the girls were like this, then I couldn't wait to be eliminated.