The Selection: but less competitive, more wholesome

To Be Competitors

My eyes opened to the sound of a gentle knock at the door, and I called for them to come in as I unrolled my sausage self and groaned to my feet, reaching for the shoes I'd left tucked under the bed.

"Oh no, miss," Mary corrected me. "That's a day dress. You'll need a longer dress for supper."

"All right, then."

Mary saw to my zipper before I could stretch for it—no longer receiving the military injections, my muscles were slimming down, but I still wasn't as flexible as I'd been as an acrobat.

Before she could peel the dress down over my shoulders, I caught it. "Uh—I forgot to ask. But, are you three all right with scars? The one on my stomach bothers some people."

Anne laid out a forest green dress on the bed I'd left rumpled, and came to assist. "Not to worry, miss. It's been mentioned."

My brow furrowed, and I let the dress drop. Anne took my hand as I stepped out of it, though as far as balance went, I'd lost nothing of my twisting and leaping days. "Oh. Really?"

Lucy laid a pair of green flats before me, but out of stepping reach, so I knew they weren't for me to put on just yet. "They do try to match the maids to people they think they'd complement well. It was discretely mentioned that if anyone was squeamish about such things, they'd not be a good match for you."

I shrugged, and stepped into the next dress. "All right, then."

I suspected they were keeping me in flats because of my height, though when the herd of us met in the hall—gathered by Silvia—I saw that Celeste had no such problem. Well, she was rather more slender than I was. She didn't look like she could physically break anyone. Though emotionally, I wouldn't put that skill out of her reach just yet.

Marlee wove through the group and linked her arm with mine. "Can you believe these outfits?" she gushed, keeping her voice down.

I agreed that I did quite like the texture of this one. And my hands had been polished enough that they didn't catch on the soft fabric.

Silvia led us down to the Women's Room again—not the dining room, as I'd expected.

The mirrors, screens, chairs, and cabinets had been cleared out, leaving soft armchairs and couches in floral patterns, and tea tables with shapely legs in their place. Silvia indicated with an open hand that we should choose our places, and went to the television, turning it on for the Report.

Half-true announcements, as always. They only deserved half my attention.

We were gifted to a half hour rundown of our departures from our home provinces. The announcer, Gavril Fadaye, was savvy enough to drop a few polite lines for each one of us as we were shown. I hadn't even noticed there were cameras present.

"And Marlee Tames of Kent was all bubbles as she departed today, singing the national anthem with her send-off band." Marlee looked wonderful and personable on screen and I smiled for her. I'd never been able to mimic that sort of fizzy delight, and I squeezed her hand, smiling down at her.

"Also traveling with Miss Tames was Kira Leaper, one of only three Fives who made it into the Selection." At least they'd chosen footage when I didn't have my blank soldier face on—my default, these days, when stressed. I thought it made me look like a tree.

But then they showed footage of me at the airport, spotting the child, and crouching before her. I sank in my couch. I didn't want this made out as more than it was. Anyone else with my training would have done the same.

They cut to a shot of me with the girl on my shoulders, clapping and chanting, and the crowd bouncing in unison to do the same, like waves around me. "--Miss Leaper noticed an unattended child and, in mere minutes, managed to reunite her with her mother in a crowd of thousands. An impressive feat!"