Imagine the second you're born, a consultant removes you from your mother's grasp and runs a battery of genetic and physiological tests on you. Thirty minutes later they give you a score out of one hundred which denotes your level of perfection. If your score is above eighty and you work hard to maintain that score you will have a charmed life; well fed, well-rewarded, spoiled. But fall below eighty and you're labelled Flawed, and life will not be so kind. Hannah is adopted by a Flawed family when her birth parents choose their social standing over their daughter and endures a life of struggle, hunger and service. One day Hannah is escorted to the regional government office and told that the Consultant who delivered her, who labelled her Flawed got it wrong! Now, she is being relocated back to her birth parents, to live as one of the Ninety-Five- all medically and legally judged as perfect. Entering this new life Hannah has an impossible decision to make which puts not only hers, but the lives of everyone she cares about at great risk. "The Numbered- where no one wants to be number one". Authors notes: -This is a first draft of my story and will be edited soon. -2013 Began writing Flawed -2015 Watty Winner/ Named changed to The Numbered -2016 Completed The Numbered -2019 Optioned by eOne for development into a TV show.

"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.