The Selection Stories Collection

by Kiera Cass

  “You will be. It’ll take time, but you’ll be okay.”

  I nodded. But then I started thinking about Dad again, and I didn’t want to cry now. I took a deep breath and moved on.

  “It seems wrong that I’m the lowest caste left in the Selection,” I whispered back to him. “Look at Lucy. She’s as pretty and sweet and smart as half of the girls who were in that pool of thirty-five, but this is the best she’ll ever have. A few hours in a borrowed dress. It’s not right.”

  Aspen shook his head. “I’ve gotten to know all your maids pretty well over the last few months, and she’s a really special girl.”

  Suddenly a promise I’d made came back to me.

  “Speaking of my maids, I need to talk to you about something,” I said, dropping my voice.

  Aspen stiffened. “Oh?”

  “I know this is awkward, but I need to say it all the same.”

  He swallowed. “Okay.”

  I bashfully looked him in the eye. “Would you ever consider Anne?”

  His expression was strange, as if he was simultaneously relieved and amused. “Anne?” he whispered incredulously. “Why her?”

  “I think she likes you. And she’s a really sweet girl,” I said, trying to hide the depth of Anne’s feelings but build her up at the same time.

  He shook his head. “I know you want me to think about the possibility of other people, but she’s not at all the kind of girl I’d want to be with. She’s so . . . rigid.”

  I shrugged. “I thought Maxon was like that until I got to know him. Besides, I think she’s had it rough.”

  “So? Lucy’s had it rough, and look at her,” he said, nodding his head toward her laughing reflection.

  I took a guess. “Did she tell you how she ended up at the palace?”

  He nodded. “I’ve always hated the castes, Mer; you know that. But I’d never heard of them being manipulated that way, to acquire slaves.”

  I sighed, looking over at May and Lucy, this stolen moment of joy in the middle of sorrow.

  “Prepare yourself for words you thought you’d never hear,” Aspen warned, and I looked up at him, waiting. “I’m actually really glad Maxon met you.”

  I coughed out something close to a laugh.

  “I know, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes but smiling. “But I don’t think he would have ever stopped to wonder about the lower castes if it wasn’t for you. I think just you being there has changed things.”

  We looked at each other for a moment. I remembered our conversation in the tree house, when he urged me to sign up for the Selection, hoping I’d have a chance for something better. I didn’t know yet if I’d gotten something better for myself—it was still hard to tell—but the thought of maybe giving something better to everyone else in Illéa . . . that possibility meant more to me than I could say.

  “I’m proud of you, America,” Aspen said, looking from me to the girls by the mirror. “Really proud.” He moved into the hallway, back to his rounds. “Your father would be, too.”

  CHAPTER 25

  THE NEXT DAY WAS ANOTHER sentence of house arrest. From time to time, I’d hear the floor creak, and I’d turn my head, thinking that Dad would walk out of the garage, paint in his hair like always. But knowing that wasn’t going to happen didn’t feel as bad when I could hear May’s voice or smell Astra’s baby powder. The house felt full, and that was enough for now—its own kind of comfort.

  I’d decided Lucy shouldn’t wear her uniform while she was here, and after a little protesting, I wiggled her into some of my old clothes that were too small for me but too big for May. Since Mom was busy distracting herself by cooking and serving everyone and I’d decided to tone down my look to sit around the house, Lucy’s main job was to play with May and Gerad, a task she took on happily.

  We were all gathered in the living room, busying ourselves in our own ways. I had a book in hand, and Kota was hogging the television, reminding me of Celeste. I smiled, betting she was doing exactly that now.

  Lucy, May, and Gerad were playing a card game on the floor, each one laughing when they won a round. Kenna was propped up against James on the couch, and baby Astra was finishing a bottle in his arms. It was easy to see the exhaustion in his face, but also the absolute pride in his beautiful wife and daughter.

  It was almost as if nothing had changed. Then I’d see Aspen out of the corner of my eye in his uniform, standing watch over us, and remember that, in reality, nothing would ever be the same.

  I heard Mom sniffling before I saw her coming down the hall. I turned my head and watched her walk toward us, holding a handful of envelopes.

  “How are you feeling, Mom?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” She swallowed, forcing herself not to cry again.

  It was strange. There had been so many times when I had doubted Mom’s devotion to Dad. I’d never caught the glimpses of affection between them that I’d seen in other couples. Even Aspen, when everything was on the verge of being real but still very much a secret, showed me he loved me more than Mom did Dad.

  But I could tell that this was more than the worry of raising May and Gerad alone getting to her, or stress over money. Her husband was gone, and nothing would ever make that right.

  “Kota, could you turn off the TV for a minute? And Lucy, honey, could you take May and Gerad into America’s room? I have some things to discuss with the others,” she said quietly.

  “Of course, ma’am,” Lucy replied, and turned to May and Gerad. “Let’s go then.”

  May didn’t look happy about being excluded from whatever was going on, but she chose not to put up a fight. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Mom’s heavy demeanor or her love for Lucy, but either way I was glad.

  Once they were gone, Mom turned to the rest of us. “You know your father’s condition was something that ran in the family. I think he could tell he only had a little time left, because about three years ago, he sat down and started writing these letters to you, to all of you.” She looked down to the envelopes in her hands.

  “He made me promise that if anything ever happened, I’d give them to you. I have ones for May and Gerad, but I’m not sure they’re old enough. I haven’t read them or anything. They were meant for you, so . . . I thought this would be a nice time to read them. This is Kenna’s,” she said, handing over a letter. “Kota.” He sat up straighter and took his. Mom walked over to me. “And America.”

  I took my letter, unsure whether I wanted to open it or not. These were my last words from my father, the good-bye I thought I’d lost. I ran my hand over my name on the envelope, thinking of my father dashing the pen across it. He dotted the i in my name with some kind of squiggle. I smiled to myself, trying to guess what made him decide to do that and not caring at the same time. Maybe he knew I’d need to smile.

  But then I looked at it closer. That little mark had been added later. The ink on my name had mostly faded, but that scribble was darker, fresher than the rest.

  I flipped over the envelope. The seal had been broken and taped back together.

  I glanced over to Kenna and Kota, who were both diving into the words. They seemed engrossed, so they hadn’t known that these existed before this moment. That meant either Mom was lying and had read mine or Dad had opened this again.

  That was all it took for me to decide I had to know what he’d left for me. I carefully picked at the retaped seal and pulled open the envelope.

  There was a letter on faded paper and then a short, quick note on bright white paper. I wanted to read the short note, but I was afraid I wouldn’t understand it without reading the long one first. I pulled out the letter and took in Dad’s words in the sunlight by the window.

  America,

  My sweet girl. I’m having a hard time even starting this letter because I feel like there’s so much to tell you. Though I love all my children equally, you have a special place in my heart. Kenna and May both lean on your mother, Kota is so ind
ependent that Gerad is drawn to him, but you have always come to me. When you scraped your knees or were picked on by the upper kids, my arms were always the ones you wanted. It means the world to me to know that, at least for one of my children, I was their rock.

  But even if you didn’t love me the way that you do, without any sort of worry or restraint, I’d still be incredibly proud of you. You’re coming into your own as a musician, and the sounds of you playing your violin or just singing around the house are the loveliest, most soothing sounds in all the world. I wish I could give you a better stage, America. You deserve so much more than standing in the shadows at stuffy parties. I keep hoping you’ll be one of the lucky ones, the breakouts. I think Kota has a chance at it, too. He’s gifted at what he does. But I feel like Kota would fight for it, and I’m not sure you have that instinct in you. You were never a cutthroat kind of girl, the way some of the other lowers can be. And that’s part of why I love you, too.

  You’re good, America. You’d be surprised at how rare that is in this world. I’m not saying you’re perfect; having dealt with some of your temper tantrums, I know that’s far from the truth! But you’re kind, and you ache for things to be fair. You’re good, and I suspect you see things in this world that no one else sees, not even me.

  And I wish I could tell you how much I see.

  As I’ve been writing these letters to your brothers and sisters, I’ve felt the need to pass on wisdom. I see in them, even in little Gerad, the things in their personalities that could make every year more difficult if they don’t make the effort to fight against the hardness in life. I don’t quite feel that urge with you.

  I sense that you won’t let the world push you into a life you don’t want. Maybe I’m wrong, so let me at least say this: fight, America. You might not want to fight for the things that most others would fight for, like money or notoriety, but fight all the same. Whatever it is that you want, America, go after it with all that you have in you.

  If you can do that, if you can keep from letting fear make you settle for second best, then I can’t ask for anything more from you as a parent. Live your life. Be as happy as you can be, let go of the things that don’t matter, and fight.

  I love you, kitten. So much that I can’t find the words to say it. I could paint it maybe, but I can’t fit a canvas in this envelope. Even then it would never do you justice. I love you beyond paint, beyond melodies, beyond words. And I hope you will always feel that, even when I’m not around to tell you so.

  Love, Dad

  I wasn’t sure at what point I had started crying, but it was hard to make out the last of the letter. I wished so badly I’d had a chance to tell him I loved him the same way. And for a minute there, I could feel it, that warmth of absolute acceptance.

  I looked up and saw that Kenna was crying, too, still trying to make her way through the letter. Kota looked confused as he flipped past the pages, seeming to go over them again.

  Turning away, I pulled out the little note, hoping it wasn’t nearly as touching as his letter. I wasn’t sure I could take any more of that today.

  America,

  I’m sorry. When we visited, I went to your room and found Illéa’s diary. You didn’t tell me it was there; I just figured it out. If there’s any trouble from this, the blame is mine. And I’m sure there will be repercussions because of who I am and because of who I told. I hate to betray you that way, but trust that I did it hoping that your future and everyone else’s could be better.

  Look unto the North Star,

  Your everlasting guide.

  Let truth, honor, all that’s right,

  Be always by your side.

  Love you,

  Shalom

  I stood there for several minutes, trying to riddle this out. Repercussions? Who he was and who he had told? And what was with that poem?

  Slowly, August’s words came back to me, that my display on the Report wasn’t how they knew the diaries existed and how they knew more of what was inside than I’d exposed. . . .

  Who I am . . . who I told . . . look unto the North Star . . .

  I stared at Dad’s signature and remembered the way he signed the letters he’d sent me at the palace. I always thought the way he wrote his o’s looked funny. They were eight-point stars: North Stars.

  The scribble over the i in my name. Did he want it to mean something to me, too? Did it already mean something because we’d talked to August and Georgia?

  August and Georgia! His compass: eight points. The designs on her jacket weren’t flowers at all. Both different but absolutely stars. The boy Kriss got at the Convicting. That wasn’t a cross on his neck.

  This was how they identified their own.

  My father was a Northern rebel.

  I felt as if I’d seen the star in other places. Maybe walking in the market or even in the palace. Had this been staring me in the face for years?

  Stricken, I looked up; Aspen was waiting there, his eyes holding questions he couldn’t ask aloud.

  My dad was a rebel. A half-destroyed history book hidden in his room, friends at his funeral I knew nothing about . . . a daughter named America. If I’d paid attention at all, I would have seen it years ago.

  “That’s it?” Kota asked, sounding offended. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  I turned away from Aspen, focusing on Kota.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom asked, coming back into the room with some tea.

  “Dad’s letter. He left me this house. What am I supposed to do with this dump?” He stood up, gripping the pages in his hand.

  “Kota, Dad wrote that before you moved out,” Kenna explained, still emotional. “He was trying to provide for you.”

  “Well, he failed then, didn’t he? When have we ever not been hungry? This house sure as hell wouldn’t have changed things. I did that for myself.” Kota threw the papers across the room, and they flitted to the floor haphazardly.

  Running his fingers through his hair, he huffed out a sigh. “Do we have any liquor in this place? Aspen, go get me a drink,” he demanded, not even looking in Aspen’s direction.

  I turned and saw Aspen’s face as a thousand emotions flickered across it: irritation, sympathy, pride, acceptance. He started toward the kitchen.

  “Stop!” I commanded. Aspen paused.

  Kota looked up, frustrated. “That’s what he does, America.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I spat. “You might have forgotten, but Aspen’s a Two now. It would do you better to get him something to drink. Not just for his status, but for everything he’s been doing for all of us.”

  A sly smirk fell across Kota’s face. “Huh. Does Maxon know? Does he know this is still going on?” he asked, waving a lazy finger between the two of us.

  My heart stopped beating.

  “What would he do, you think? The caning thing’s been done, and lots of people say that girl didn’t get it bad enough for what she did.” Kota placed his satisfied hands on his hips, staring us down.

  I couldn’t speak. Aspen didn’t either, and I wondered if our silence was helping us or condemning us.

  Finally Mom broke the silence. “Is it true?”

  I needed to think; I needed to find the right way to explain this. Or a way to fight it, because really, it wasn’t true . . . not anymore.

  “Aspen, go check on Lucy,” I said. He started walking until Kota protested.

  “No, he stays!”

  I lost it. “I say he goes! Now sit!”

  The tone in my voice, unlike anything I had ever heard before, startled everyone. Mom plopped down immediately, shocked. Aspen made his way down the hall, and Kota slowly, begrudgingly sat as well.

  I tried to focus.

  “Yes, before the Selection, I was dating Aspen. We were planning on telling everyone once we saved up the money to get married. Before I left, we broke it off, and then I met Maxon. I care about Maxon, and even though Aspen is with me a lot, nothing is happening there.” Anymore, I am
ended in my head.

  Then I turned to Kota. “If you think, even for a second, you can twist my past into something and try to blackmail me with it, think again. You once asked if I told Maxon about you, and I did. He knows exactly what a spineless, ungrateful jackass you are.”

  Kota pressed his lips together, ready to boil over. I spoke quickly.

  “And you should know that he adores me,” I said grandly. “If you think he’d take your word over mine, you might be surprised by how quickly my suggestion of putting a cane to your hands would happen if I chose to make it so. You want to test me?”

  He clenched his fists, clearly debating. If I was right and his hands got injured, that would be the end of his career.

  “Good,” I said. “And if I hear you say another unkind word about Dad, I might do it anyway. You were damn lucky to have a father who loved you so much. He left you the house, and he could have taken it away after you left, but he didn’t. He still had hope for you, which is more than I can say.”

  I stormed off, heading into my room and slamming the door. I’d forgotten that Gerad, May, Lucy, and Aspen would be waiting for me there.

  “You were dating Aspen?” May asked.

  I gasped.

  “You were a little loud,” Aspen said.

  I looked to Lucy. There were tears in her eyes. I didn’t want to make her keep another secret, and clearly it pained her to think about it. She was so honest and loyal, how could I ask her to choose between me and the family she was sworn to serve?

  “I’ll tell Maxon when we go back,” I said to Aspen. “I thought I was protecting you, I thought I was protecting myself, but all I’ve been doing is lying. And if Kota knows, then maybe other people do. I want to be the one to tell him.”

  CHAPTER 26

  I SPENT THE REST of the day hiding in my room. I didn’t want to see Kota’s accusing face or deal with Mom’s questions. The worst was Lucy. She looked so sad to find out that I’d kept this secret from her. I didn’t even want her serving me, and it seemed she was mostly fine with helping Mom however she could or playing with May.