The Second Choice: A Selection Story

Chapter Two

I remember school picture days. Dressing up in my very best, making sure there was no dust or dirt on my face from a cleaning job earlier that week. They were always stressful for me. I figured it could be the one day that I wasn't picked on for my hideous clothes or messy hair. Still, the Twos, who had no problem on school picture day, made fun of me for the rags I called my formal clothes. Being a Six, you just can't avoid it.

This picture day seems a lot different. Thousands of girls will be there, and only thirty five will win a slot to fight for the prince's heart. Or just for the crown. I could imagine that happening- girls going to the palace who just want to be a princess and could care less about the prince. I don't care for either.

"Emmi!" someone calls from one of the bedrooms. Probably Cece. I walk down the hallway, where Cece is grinning and has her hand on my mom's doorknob.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, running up to her. "You can't... disturb Mom."

"She will want to wish you good luck and tell you that you look beautiful!"

My mom doesn't even know I've signed up for the Selection. She would probably kill me if she found out; she would assume I'm just trying to get away from the house.

"No, sweetie, she just wants to sleep right now." I grab her hand and start to pull her away from the door, but she struggles out of my grasp and runs in the room.

"Shit," I mutter, sighing and following her into the room. I will not let her get hurt because of me.

When I walk in, I stifle a gasp. Her room is trashed. What happened last night? Of course, she's passed out, so she probably got drunk and wrecked the place. I swallow hard and slowly walk over to stand beside Cece.

"Mommy!" she exclaims, as if she is blind and can't see anything that's going on. "Look at Emmi! She's going to get her picture taken for the-"

I quickly put my hand over her mouth. "Shh," I say quietly.

Cece continues to shake her until she starts to stir and groans.

I didn't notice the broken beer bottle until she swings it at Cece; fortunately, she misses, and the bottle hits me in the stomach. I make a strange noise. But I'm used to it, so the pain is dull. It cut into my dress; a rather large gash. And I'm bleeding.

I'll stitch up the dress and wrap my stomach. No big deal.

"Cece!" I exclaim urgently. Her, Graham, and Anthony, the three youngest children have never experienced this, and I don't want her to. This hardened me, and Emilia, Cassidy, and Jackson. She's so innocent; I don't want that to happen to her. "Get out of here. Now!"

Tears stream down her face. She squeezes my hand and runs out, probably going to get my oldest brother, Jackson, who is still three years younger than me, or maybe even Emilia. I'm the weakest of the older children. It's pretty sad.

"What the hell are you wearing?" my mom yells, throwing her beer bottle at the wall... and denting it.

"M-my best dress," I say quietly. I clear my throat and try again. "My best dress."

She's given me the stutters. When my father, my real father, was still around, she was the happiest woman in the world. And I was the happiest child. But now she's cold and hard. When she first started abusing me, I developed stuttering. I've gained enough control over it that I'm usually fine, but in her presence, they never fail to come back.

She snorts. "Really? Your best dress?" She laughs.

I nod, my fists clenching. I've never stood up to her. Maybe today is the day. "It's the only thing you've given me since you started hating me."