The Spare: Prince Osten's Selection

Chapter 3

It was a few days after my birthday, and I was heading toward the Harrisburg Province Services Office to turn in my Selection application. If you had told me a week ago I would have willingly decided to do this, I would have told you that you were crazy.

I told Mom and Dad first on my birthday that I wanted to enter my name into the lottery to be considered for The Selection. Mom was thrilled and had gushed about what a wonderful princess I would make, and Dad had laughed and joked I probably would be running the country on my own within a week of arriving at the palace. 

I had always been ambitious and someone who liked to be in charge or the one organizing everything, and along with these qualities, I could occasionally be a bit bossy. When I was eight, I had decided I wanted to organize a romantic dinner for my parent's anniversary. While they had been downstairs running the store, I had organized and ordered my sisters like a general organizing her troops. Despite how young we all were, I had been determined to create the most romantic dinner ever. I had gotten some pasta to cook from the back of our small pantry and a small stub of a candle from the back of a closet for ambiance remembering seeing in a movie on television that candles were romantic. I had ordered Gemma to draw romantic pictures to add to said ambiance and told Ilsa to clean up the kitchen. 

Things had been going well until I started cooking the pasta. I wasn't allowed  to use the stove, but I had figured Mom and Dad  would overlook that when they saw their beautiful dinner. As I was too small to reach the dial on our gas stove, I had stand on a chair to reach. I had watched Mom cook enough to convince myself I knew what I was doing. I put a pot on the stove, dumped all the pasta in, and turned on the gas. I knew I had to wait just about 10-15 minutes before it was ready so I had gone to check on how the ambiance was coming along. A few minutes later, I began to smell an odd burning smell, and the fire alarm going off. I ran into the kitchen and saw the pasta was burning. I turned off the stove quickly but not  before Mom and Dad ran upstairs and caught me in the act. 

"Zara! What have you done?" Mom had shouted as Dad quickly opened windows to air out our small upstairs apartment. I had immediately burst into tears and explained I was trying to surprise them for their anniversary. Mom's angry face had softened a bit then, and she had come over to embrace me, explaining she appreciated my kind thought and love but that I needed to listen to her when she told me not to do something like touch the stove. The next day,  I had learned how to properly cook pasta with water, but I remember being so embarrassed and sad, not just that my present had been ruined, but that I had messed up. I had been and still was a bit of a perfectionist, and I hated the idea of making a mistake. It was a story I like to laugh about ten years later, but I still could feel the pain from disappointing myself and my parents.

I hoped that if I wasn't picked for The Selection that I wouldn't feel that way. I never did well with not succeeding. I had graduated at the top of the class last May at the Harrisburg public secondary school and had taken part in every extra curricular activity I  could in addition to working at the store. I knew I was a good candidate for university, but I would never  be able to go without the funds. Government aid and scholarships for university were getting better but  nearly  were  non-existent, and because our family was not so destitute  that I could not make a living in some other way, no one would sponsor me to go. I had thought of succumbing and going to my grandfather for help, but I hated him too much and was too proud to do that. I knew how much it would hurt my parents too.

So, The Selection seemed, at least at the moment, to be my only option. This was why I wanted  to get my application in early. I knew it probably wouldn't help my chances, but maybe turning it in early would  look good to the Palace. It was a hot day, and I had heard they were taking pictures of everyone who applied so I had tried my best to comb out and smooth my blonde curls before leaving the house.  We couldn't afford fancy smoothing hair products like richer families, and I normally didn't care  very much about things  like that. However, I knew it was important to look presentable. I had dressed in my best dress I had gotten for graduation, it was a springy and flowy green dress that  had a design of pink flowers all over. Mom had said it was  a good choice because it would bring out my eyes in the picture. As no one would be looking at my feet, I had picked  a pair of plain nude flats that were easy for  walking quickly to the Services Office. I didn't realize it, but I was clutching my new locket the whole walk over.