The Elite

Thinking about Maxon and Aspen and the diary and the girls was too much right now. Protocol was black-and-white. The steps for proposing a law were orderly. These were things I could master.

Silvia looked at me, still slightly stunned, before she broke into a huge smile. Embracing me, she cried out, “Oh, this will be wonderful. Finally one of you understands how important this is!” She held me at arm’s length. “When do you want to start?”

“Now?”

She was bursting with delight. “Let me go get some books.”

I dove into her studies, so grateful for the words and facts and statistics she crammed into my head. If I wasn’t with Silvia, I was reading up on something she’d assigned me as I spent countless hours in the Women’s Room, all but tuning out the other girls.

I worked, and I was excited about the next time the five of us had a joint class.

When that time came, Silvia started by asking us what we were passionate about. I scribbled down my family, music, and then, as if the word demanded to be written, justice.

“The reason I ask is because the queen is typically in charge of a committee of some kind, something that benefits the country. Queen Amberly, for example, began a program for training families to take care of their mentally and physically infirmed members. So many get deposited in the streets once the families can no longer deal with them, and the amount of Eights grows to an unmanageable number. The statistics over the last ten years have proven that her program has helped keep the numbers lower, thus keeping the general population safer.”

“Are we supposed to come up with a program like that?” Elise asked, sounding nervous.

“Yes, that will be your new project,” Silvia said. “On the Capital Report in two weeks’ time, you’ll be asked to present your idea and propose how you might start it.”

Natalie made a little squeak of a sound, and Celeste rolled her eyes. Kriss looked like she was already dreaming something up. Her instant enthusiasm made me nervous.

I remembered Maxon talking about an upcoming elimination. I felt like Kriss and I were at a slight advantage, but still.

“Is this really helpful?” Celeste asked. “I’d rather learn about something we’ll actually use.”

I could tell that beneath her concerned tone, she was either bored with this idea already or intimidated by it.

Silvia looked appalled. “You will use this! Whoever becomes the new princess will be in charge of a philanthropy project.”

Celeste muttered something under her breath and started fiddling with a pen. I hated that she wanted the position with none of the responsibility.

I’d make a better princess than she would, I thought. And in that moment I realized there was some truth to that. I didn’t have her connections or Kriss’s poise, but at least I cared. And wasn’t that worth something?

For the first time in a while, I felt a true shot of enthusiasm course through me. Here was a project that would allow me to show off the one thing that separated me from the others. I was determined to pour myself into this and hopefully produce something that might genuinely make a difference. Maybe I’d still lose in the long run; maybe I wouldn’t even want to win. But I would be as close to a princess as I possibly could, and I would make my peace with the Selection.

It was hopeless. Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a single idea for my philanthropy project. I thought and read and thought some more. I asked my maids, but they had no ideas. I would have sought out Aspen, but I hadn’t heard from him in days. I guessed he was being extracautious with Maxon home.

What was worse was that Kriss was clearly deep into her presentation. She skipped hours of time in the Women’s Room to go read; and when she was present, she had her nose in a book or was scribbling notes furiously.

Damn.

When Friday came, I felt like dying as I suddenly realized I only had a week left and no prospects on the horizon. During the Report, Gavril set up the structure for the next show, explaining that there would be a few brief announcements and then the rest of the evening would be dedicated to our presentations.

A light sweat broke out on my forehead.

I caught Maxon looking at me. He reached up and tugged his ear, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t quite want to say yes, but I didn’t want to just brush him off. I pulled on my ear, and he looked relieved.

I fidgeted while I waited for him to show up, twiddling the ends of my hair and pacing around my room.

Maxon’s knock was brief before he let himself in the way he used to. I stood, feeling I needed to be a bit more formal than usual. I could tell that I was being ridiculous, but I felt completely unable to stop it at the same time.

“How are you?” he asked, crossing the room.

“Honestly? Nervous.”

“It’s because I’m so good-looking, isn’t it?”

I laughed at the sympathetic face he made. “I should avert my eyes,” I said, playing along. “Actually, it’s mostly about that philanthropy project.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting at my table. “You could run your presentation by me if you like. Kriss did.”

I felt deflated. Of course she was done. “I don’t even have an idea yet,” I confessed, sitting across from him.

“Ah. Yes, I can see how that would be stressful.”

I gave him a look as if to say he had no idea.

“What’s important to you? There has to be something that really touches you that the others might miss.” Maxon leaned back in the chair comfortably, one hand on the table.

How was he so at ease? Couldn’t he see how on edge I was?

“I’ve been thinking all week, and nothing’s come to mind.”

He laughed quietly. “I would have thought that you’d have the easiest time. You’ve seen more hardships in your life than the other four combined.”

“Exactly, but I’ve never known how to change any of it. That’s the problem.” I stared at the table, remembering Carolina with perfect clarity. “I can see it all … the Sevens who get injured doing their labor-heavy jobs and are suddenly downgraded to Eights because they can’t work anymore. The girls who walk the streets on the edge of curfew, wandering into the beds of lonely men for practically anything. The kids who never have enough—enough food, enough heat, enough love—because their parents are working themselves to death. I can remember my worst days like they’re nothing. But coming up with a feasible way to do anything about it?” I shook my head. “What could I possibly say?”