The Selection Stories Collection

by Kiera Cass

  “Then go ahead and say anything.”

  He smirked. “Only if you will.”

  “Fine,” I answered, happy to play along.

  “Well, what do you want to know?”

  I wiped the wet hair from my forehead, starting with something important but impersonal. “Did you really not know about the diaries?”

  “No. But I’m up to speed now. Father made me read them all. If August had come two weeks ago, I would have thought he was lying about everything, but not anymore. It’s shocking, America. You only scratched the surface with what you read. I want to tell you about it, but I can’t yet.”

  “I understand.”

  He stared me down, determined. “How did the girls find out about you taking off my shirt?”

  I looked at the ground, hesitating. “We were watching the guards work out. I said you looked as good as any of them without your shirt on. It slipped out.”

  Maxon threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t be mad about that.”

  I smiled. “Have you ever brought anyone else up here?”

  He looked sad. “Olivia. One time, and that’s it.”

  I actually remembered that, come to think of it. He’d kissed her up here, and she’d told us all about it.

  “I kissed Kriss,” he blurted out, not looking at me. “Recently. For the first time. It seems only right that you should know.”

  He peeked down, and I gave him a small nod. If I hadn’t seen them kiss myself, if this had been how I found out, I might have broken down. And even though I already knew, it hurt to hear him say it.

  “I hate dating you this way.” I fidgeted, my dress getting heavy with water.

  “I know. It’s just how it is.”

  “Doesn’t make it fair.”

  He laughed. “When has anything in either of our lives ever been fair?”

  I gave him that. “I’m not supposed to tell you—and if you let on that you know, he’ll get worse, I’m sure—but . . . your father’s been saying things to me. He also took away the payments for my family. None of the other girls has them anymore, so I guess it looked bad anyway.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He looked out over the city. I was temporarily distracted by the way his shirt was sticking to his chest. “I don’t think there’s a way to undo that one, America.”

  “You don’t have to. I just wanted you to know it was happening. And I can handle it.”

  “You’re too tough for him. He doesn’t understand you.” He reached down for my hand, and I gave it to him freely.

  I tried to think of anything else I might want to know, but it mostly pertained to the other girls, and I didn’t want to bother with that. I was sure at this point I could guess close enough to the truth, and if I was wrong, I didn’t think I wanted that to ruin this.

  Maxon looked down at my wrist. “Do you . . .” He looked up at me, seeming to rethink his question. “Do you want to dance?”

  I nodded. “But I’m awful.”

  “We’ll go slow.”

  Maxon pulled me close, placing a hand on my waist. I put one hand in his and used the other to pick up my soaking dress. We swayed, barely moving. I settled my cheek on Maxon’s chest, he rested his chin on my head, and we spun to the music of the rain.

  As he made his grip on me a little bit tighter, it felt like all the bad had been erased and Maxon and I were stripped to the core of our relationship. We were friends who realized they didn’t want to be without each other. We were the other’s opposite in many ways but also so very similar. I couldn’t call our relationship fate, but it did seem bigger than anything I’d known before.

  I raised my face to Maxon’s, placing a hand on his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips, wet, met mine with a brush of heat. I felt both his hands wrap around my back, holding me to him as if he’d fall apart otherwise. While the rain pummeled the roof, the whole world went silent. It felt like there wasn’t enough of him, not enough skin or space or time.

  After all these months of trying to reconcile what I wanted and hoped for, I realized then—in this moment Maxon created just for us—that it would never make sense. All I could do was move forward and hope that whenever we drifted, we would somehow find a way back to each other.

  And we had to. Because . . . because . . .

  For as long as it took to get to this moment, when it came it was fast.

  I loved Maxon. For the first time, I could feel it solidly. I wasn’t keeping the feeling at a distance, holding on to Aspen and all the what-ifs that went along with him. I wasn’t walking into Maxon’s affections while keeping one foot out the door in case he let me down. I simply let it come.

  I loved him.

  I couldn’t pinpoint what made me so certain, but I knew it then, as surely as I knew my name or the color of the sky or any fact written in a book.

  Could he feel it, too?

  Maxon broke the kiss and looked at me. “You’re so pretty when you’re a mess.”

  I laughed nervously. “Thank you. For that and for the rain and for not giving up.”

  He ran his fingers along my cheek and nose and chin. “You’re worth it. I don’t think you get that. You’re worth it to me.”

  I felt as if my heart was on the edge of bursting, and I just wanted everything to end today. My world had settled onto a new axis, and it felt like the only way to handle how dizzy it made me was for us to finally be real. I felt certain now that it would come. It would have to. Soon.

  Maxon kissed the tip of my nose. “Let’s go get dry and watch a movie.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I carefully tucked my love for Maxon away in my heart, a little afraid of this feeling. Eventually, it would have to be shared, but for now it was my secret.

  I tried to wring out my dress in the little canopy where the door was, but it was hopeless. I was going to leave a little trail of water back to my room.

  “I vote for a comedy,” I said as we went down the stairs, Maxon leading the way.

  “I vote for action.”

  “Well, you just said I was worth it, so I think I’m going to win this one.”

  Maxon laughed. “Nicely done.”

  He chuckled again as he pushed on the panel that led us back into the parlor only to stop dead in his tracks a second later.

  I peeked over his shoulder to see King Clarkson standing there, looking as irritated as ever.

  “I’m assuming this was your idea,” he said to Maxon.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” he demanded.

  “Father, there are no rebels waiting on the roof,” Maxon countered, trying to sound rational but looking a bit ridiculous in his dripping clothes.

  “One well-aimed bullet is all it would take, Maxon.” He let the words hang in the air. “You know we’re stretched tight, sending guards to watch the girls’ homes. And dozens of those who’ve been sent have gone AWOL. We’re vulnerable.” He glared past his son at me. “And why is it that when anything happens these days, she’s got her hands all over it?”

  We stood there, silent, knowing there was nothing we could say anyway.

  “Get cleaned up,” the king ordered. “You have work to do.”

  “But I—”

  A single look from his father told Maxon that any plans he’d had for the day were done.

  “Very well,” he said, caving.

  King Clarkson took Maxon’s arm and pushed him away, leaving me behind. Over his shoulder, Maxon mouthed the word Sorry, and I gave him a little smile.

  I wasn’t afraid of the king. Or the rebels. I knew how much Maxon meant to me, and I was sure that it was all going to work, somehow.

  CHAPTER 11

  AFTER ENDURING MARY’S SILENT SMIRK as she made me back up, I went to the Women’s Room, happy the rain was still coming down. It would always mean something special to me now.

  But while Maxon and I could escape for a little while, once we were out of our
bubble, the tension of the ultimatum the rebels had placed on the Elite was thick. All the girls were distracted and anxious.

  Celeste wordlessly painted her nails at a nearby table, and I could see the slight tremor in her hand from time to time. I watched as she cleaned up her mistakes and tried to carry on. Elise held a book in her hands, but her eyes were trained on the window, lost in the downpour. None of us could quite manage to finish even the smallest task.

  “How do you think it’s going out there?” Kriss asked me, her hand paused over the needlepoint pillow she was working on.

  “I don’t know,” I answered quietly. “It doesn’t seem like they’d threaten something huge and then do nothing.” I was penciling out a melody I’d had in my head on some sheet music. I hadn’t written anything original in nearly six months. There wasn’t much point to it. At parties, people preferred the classics.

  “Do you think they’re hiding the number of deaths from us?” she wondered.

  “It’s possible. If we leave, they win.”

  Kriss did another stitch. “I’m going to stay no matter what.” Something about the way she said it seemed to be directed specifically at me. Like I needed to know she wasn’t giving up on Maxon.

  “Same here,” I promised.

  The next day was much of the same, though I’d never been disappointed to see the sun shine before. The worry was so heavy that it was all we could do to stay put. I ached to run, to put some of the energy into something.

  After lunch, our return to the Women’s Room was staggered. Elise was reading as I sat with my sheet music, but Kriss and Celeste were missing. Maybe ten minutes later, Kriss walked in with full arms. She sat down with drawing paper and a collection of colored pencils.

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Whatever keeps me busy.”

  She sat for a long time with a red pencil in her hand, hovering over the paper.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she finally said. “I know that people are in danger, but I love him. I don’t want to leave.”

  “The king won’t let anyone die,” Elise offered comfortingly.

  “But people already have died.” Kriss wasn’t argumentative, only worried. “I just need to think about something else.”

  “I bet Silvia would have work for us,” I offered.

  Kriss gave a single chuckle. “I’m not that desperate.” She put the tip of the pencil down, making a smooth curve across the page. It was a start. “Everything will be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  I rubbed my eyes, looking at my music. I needed to switch things up.

  “I’m going to hop over to one of the libraries. I’ll be right back.”

  Elise and Kriss each gave me a cursory nod as they attempted to focus on their tasks, and I stood to leave.

  I wandered down the hall to one of the rooms on the far end of the floor. There were a few books on those shelves I’d been wanting to read. The door of the parlor swung open quietly, and I realized I wasn’t alone. Someone was crying.

  I searched for the source and found Celeste, hugging her knees to her chest, sitting on the wide perch of a windowsill. I felt immediately awkward. Celeste did not cry. Up until this moment, I hadn’t even been sure she was capable.

  The only thing to do was leave, but as she wiped her eyes, she caught sight of me.

  “Ugh!” she whined. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I was looking for a book.”

  “Well, get it and go. You get everything you want anyway.”

  I stood there blankly for a moment, confused by her words. She heaved a sigh and pushed herself up from her seat. Snatching one of her many magazines, she flung the glossy pages at me, and I caught it clumsily.

  “See for yourself. Your little speech on the Report pushed you over the top. They love you.” Her voice was angry, accusing. As if I’d planned this all along.

  I turned the magazine right side up, finding half of the page full of pictures of the four remaining girls with a graph beside our photos. Above the image, an elegant headline asked Who do YOU want as Queen? Next to my face, a wide line shot out, showing thirty-nine percent of the people were pulling for me. It wasn’t as high as I thought it should be for whoever won. but it was much higher than the others!

  Quotes from those polled edged the graph, saying that Celeste was positively regal, though she was in third. Elise was so poised, it said, but she also only had eight percent of the population pulling for her. By my picture were opinions that made me want to cry.

  “Lady America is just like the queen. She’s a fighter. It’s more than wanting her; we need her!”

  I stared at the words. “Is . . . is this real?”

  Celeste snatched back the magazine. “Of course it’s real. So go ahead, marry him or whatever. Be princess. Everyone will love it. The sad little Five gets a crown.”

  She started walking away, her sour mood ruining the most incredible news I’d gotten during the entirety of the Selection.

  “You know, I don’t even see why this matters so much to you. Some very happy Two is going to marry you anyway. And you’re still going to be famous when this is over,” I accused.

  “As a has-been, America.”

  “You’re a model, for goodness’ sake!” I yelled. “You’ve got everything.”

  “But for how long?” she shot back. Then quieter. “How long?”

  “What do you mean?” I said, my voice becoming softer. “Celeste, you’re beautiful. You’re a Two for the rest of your life.”

  She was shaking her head before I was even done speaking. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever felt trapped by your caste? Yes, I’m a model. I can’t sing. I can’t act. So when my face isn’t good enough anymore, they’re going to forget all about me. I’ve got maybe five years left, ten if I’m lucky.”

  She stared at me. “You’ve spent your whole life in the background. I can see you miss it sometimes. Well, I’ve spent mine in the spotlight. Maybe it’s a stupid fear to you, but it’s real for me: I don’t want to lose it.”

  “That makes sense, actually.”

  “Yeah?” she dabbed under her eyes, gazing out the window.

  I walked over and stood beside her. “Yeah. But, Celeste, did you ever even like him?”

  She tilted her head to the side, thinking. “He’s cute. And a great kisser,” she added with a smile.

  I grinned back. “I know.”

  “I know you do. That was a serious blow to my plan, when I found out how far you two had gone. I thought I had him in the palm of my hand, making him dream about the possibility of more.”

  “That’s no way to get to someone’s heart.”

  “I didn’t need his heart,” she confessed. “I just needed him to want me enough to keep me. Fine, it’s not love. I need the fame more than I need the love.”

  For the first time, she wasn’t my enemy. I understood that now. Yes, she was conniving when it came to the competition, but that was her being desperate. She simply felt she had to intimidate us out of something that most of us wanted but that she felt she needed.

  “First of all, you do need the love. Everyone does. And it’s okay to want that right along with the fame.”

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t interrupt.

  “Second of all, the Celeste Newsome I know doesn’t need a man to get fame.”

  She laughed out loud at that. “I have been a bit vicious,” she said, more playful than ashamed.

  “You ripped my dress!”

  “Well, at the time I needed it!”

  And suddenly all of it was funny. All the arguing, the wicked faces, the little tricks—they felt like a really long joke. We stood there for a minute, laughing over the past few months, and I found myself wanting to look after her the way I did Marlee.

  Surprisingly, her laughter faded away quickly, and she averted her eyes as she spoke.

  “I’ve done so many things, America. Horrible, shameful thing
s. Part of it was not reacting well to the stress of this, but mostly it was because I was ready to do anything to get that crown, to get to Maxon.”

  I was a little shocked as I watched my hand rise up to pat her on the shoulder.

  “Honestly,” I started, “I don’t think you need Maxon to get anything you want out of life. You’ve got the drive, the talent; and probably, most importantly, you’ve got the ability. Half of the country would give anything to have what you have.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s not that I’m completely unaware of how lucky I am. It’s just hard to accept the possibility of . . . I don’t know, being less.”

  “Then don’t accept it.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t stand a chance, did I? It’s been you the whole time.”

  “Not only me,” I admitted. “Kriss. She’s at the top, too.”

  “Do you need me to break her leg? I could make it happen.” She chuckled to herself. “I’m kidding.”

  “You want to come back with me? It’s hard to sit through the days right now, and you do add a little something to the mix.”

  “Not right now. I don’t want the others to know I was crying.” She gave me a pleading look.

  “Not a word, I promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was a tense pause, as if one of us ought to say more. It felt significant, this moment of finally, truly seeing Celeste. I wasn’t sure if I could let go of everything she’d done to me, but at least I understood now. There was nothing to add, so I gave her a little wave and left.

  Only once I closed the door did I realize that I’d forgotten to grab a book. And then I thought of the glossy chart with my smiling face and the huge number beside it. I’d have to tug my ear at dinner. Maxon needed to know about this. I hoped that maybe if he knew how the people felt about me, it would raise his feelings a little closer to the surface.

  As I reached the corner to turn toward the Women’s Room, a familiar face reminded me that I had even bigger plans to think about right now. I’d told Maxon that I’d find us a way to get to August, and I felt certain our only shot was coming my way.