The Selection - Aarmau

Chapter One

Aphmau Shalashaska wasn't one for royalty. She detested the royal family, and with them, Illea.

Illea was one of those places where if you didn't make enough money, you were miserable. Like any capitalist country, except it was impossible to make more money.

She was of caste 6, living in Calgary, with her mother. A single woman. Her father left them when Aphmau was 4, and ended up becoming a 3. Her whole life, her mother worked as a waitress, and Aphmau jumped into the profession at 15.

Now she was 17, and daily, she worked her ass off as a waitress, being berated by 4s and 3s that came into the restaurant she worked at, Ramona's.

The owner, Theodore, had named the establishment after his wife, Ramona, and they ran it together. They were good people to work for, but the job was hard for what it was worth.

Day in and day out, Aphmau's hands grew pruny from wiping down countertop coffee spills and tables, covered in ketchup and crumbs from small children and arrogant old men.

Her nails were ragged, chewed down to her fingers, hands burned from hot coffee pots and plates. It didn't even feel worth it some days.

For the most part, it wasn't anywhere near enough for them. Enough to feed the two of them? Sure, but barely. For what it was worth, it felt useless, to work so hard for so little. But, she knew she needed to help her mother.

Sylvannah Shalashaska had worked harder than anyone to pull herself out of the 7s to the 6s when she was Aphmau's age, but didn't get any further up after she had her daughter.

The day of reckoning was a day in September. Aphmau came home from her shift, hair a mess, falling out of the bun it was tied into, greasy from days without a shower. Water cost too much to run everyday, or even every other day.

She slipped off her worn flats, and untied her apron. She walked to the kitchen to greet her mother after seeing her shoes in the front area of their small house.

Sylvannah was boiling water on the stove for tea, and sitting on the kitchen table, was an open envelope, and a letter, with the mark of the royal family in Angeles.

Aphmau wanted to throw up when she read it. It was about the Selection. The son of the Lycan family was of age for his own, and of course Illea knew she was eligible.

She could read her mother's expression, it wanted her opinion, but also was hopeful that Aphmau would say yes.

Aphmau threw down the letter, watching it flutter back down to the worn and old table. She looked at her mother, her expression a 'no', before walking upstairs to her bedroom.

She knew conversations about it would be inevitable. At home, at work, especially at work, she knew Ramona and Theo would be asking. Travis would too.

Travis Valkrum was her very best friend when she moved to Calgary with her mother, they met when they were both 10, and now, 7 years later, the pair of them were closer than ever.

Not in a romantic way, Travis was only a friend of hers, and Aphmau wasn't very interested in a relationship regardless.

...

At supper, she helped her mother with dicing vegetables for the salad, something they were most grateful for.

Aphmau didn't like salad, but the fact that they could afford it at all made it worthwhile.

When they sat for dinner, she poured the tea, and Aphmau put a lemon slice in her. Across the table, on the corner, the letter for the Selection taunted her.

She picked up the chicken leg on her plate, picking off the pimply, squishy skin. Something that always annoyed her mother.

She ate, and after they were both done, she expected her mother to leave the room, for Aphmau to do the dishes. Aphmau did them of course, standing up with their plates and cups, scrubbing them with an old sponge until they shined like new.

For how old everything in their house was, their plates always looked expensive and new. They were China, passed down from generation to generation for years, dating back to before Illea. When they would've been several other countries.

That was according to the old history books her mother kept, they were getting worn to the point that the text had faded, but the pictures were maps of the countries that once were. Before the war, before everything.

She placed the plates back in the cupboard delicately, and then her mother spoke up. "Would you even think about it?"

"About what?" Aphmau asks.

"The Selection."

"Why would I? Isn't entering that lottery kind of pointless?" Aphmau says, disgruntled.

She hears Sylvannah sigh, and the rustling of the letter. "You could be the girl that represents Calgary, that represents 6s everywhere. Don't you want that?"

"Honestly? No. I don't even want a chance with that guy."

"But he's cute, you must admit. No? I feel like he would like you."

"Why would he like me?" Aphmau asks, closing her eyes to try and control the anger.

"You're a beautiful girl, Aphmau."

Aphmau looks at her hands, wrinkly from the water running over them to do dishes. "Have you seen me? Do we need to take you to an optometrist?"

Sylvannah mutters under her breath frustratedly. "Don't do that. You know you're beautiful. You have to. I can't tell you how many boys have come by here looking to take you on a date. "

"This is selfish. You not doing this, is selfish, when it could make our life better. The money, the caste, it would change everything."

"Would it? Would it really?" Aphmau asks, mocking her mother.

Sylvannah doesn't entertain her with another word, not wanting to deal with the fight. She just walks out of the kitchen, and to the living room.

"It's not like I'd be picked for it anyways, Mom."

"So you won't even try?" she says, voice quiet from the living room.

Aphmau was stubborn, she didn't think about it anymore, walking up to her bedroom. It didn't take her long to fall asleep.