Hey guys! I know I should be writing This is It, but I really just wanted to get this out in the open. As the summary suggests, America did not sign up for the Selection and Maxon, at this point in the story, has selected a wife.

The morning was bursting and bright, a beautiful, summer day in Carolina when I stepped out of the warm house. Mom wanted me to go to the market, pick out a few, cheap vegetables for stew later that night and "try to be quick about it," she said. The garden in front of my home was erupting in pastels and pinks, roses and gardenias and every kind of flower imaginable. In the springtime, ever since she was a little girl, May would enjoy planting flowers. Every time I wasn't helping mother and father with a gig, I would assist her; it was a bonding experience that I cherished and the gorgeous blooms were evidence of our devotion.

"And don't forget," Mom yelled from the front, kitchen window. "We need bread. Just one loaf—don't overdue it." I knew what she meant by that. Don't spend too much money, we had to make this count for the rest of the month, or until we had another gig. Business had been good this month, almost two or three gigs a week, but this week and the weeks to come looked slow. May was old enough to help out, now, so when she wasn't being homeschooled, she would.

"Okay!" I called back, excited to finally leave the house. I had been shut in all week, except for gigs, and I was eager to see the outside. She shut the small window and continued to cook.

The market was only a short walking distance from my home and I loved to see my neighbor's houses. To see if they changed in any memorable way, if my neighbors were out and about, and if they were even still there. So many people moved nowadays, it made me nervous for my own future. I passed by Samuel Wilson's house—a usually booming place, always filled with laughter and chatter. Today, there was a "For Sale" sign on the brown lawn and the house was completely dark. Shocked, I mentally told myself to ask mom or dad about that when I got home.

The smell of cooked pig mixed with the aroma of grilled asparagus intertwined with the scent of mignonettes made me aware that I had finally arrived at the market place. It was busy, busier than it should have been on a mid-morning Tuesday and I was extremely confused. People were supposed to be at home or even worse: working.

"What's all this about?" I questioned the closest person to me: some unfamiliar man with a short, white beard and glassy blue eyes. He seemed nice and when he answered he was exceptionally helpful.

"Don't you read the news or somethin'?" I shook my head "no." We stopped owning a TV when the electricity bill was too much to pay. That was around the time I was five. And the newspapers were always nowhere to be found when I woke up in the morning. "The royals are in town." Quizzically, I looked at him and he chuckled. "You do know about the royals, right?"

"Of course," I sighed. "The king, Clarkson, his wife, Amberly, and their son…" The name slipped my mind—I hadn't heard it since I was maybe three. Crowds and crowds of people began to form at the end of the aisle.

"Maxon. Prince Maxon. Well, with the war in New Asia over with, The King's started a peace tour. And the Prince finally picked a wife. They plan to stay a month in each province. The King's gonna try to fix the economy personally while also teaching his son about the people." He said while also handing me a newspaper article. On the paper, there were words in black bold lettering, "Kings Peace Tour in Carolina scheduled to arrive today and stay for the month of June." Long title, she thought.

"All month, you say?" I asked, throwing the paper back to the man. "Shouldn't they be, oh, I don't know, running the country?"

The man shrugged and turned his back: the bursting crowd was beginning to disperse. The royals had passed this section of the marketplace on their way to their estate in the middle of town. It was a sprawling, somewhat extravagant and indulgent abandoned mansion. The royals had not visited since, from what I had heard growing up, before the royal wedding more than twenty years prior. They kept the staff, although they were barely paid, to keep the place looking presentable. No one visited, and no one was even allowed to stand in front of it for more than a few minutes. It was an abandoned example of how the royals didn't care about the poor people of Carolina. How they would much rather stay behind their Angeles walls and try to drown out the suffering of their people.

It was strange that now, after so long, they were here, in this tiny province, offering peace and love. If they were offering money, than it would be another issue.

I wasn't angry, just bitter. Bitter that a person whose only purpose in life was to love the country neglected it in times of need. And now, only after we had fought in a war that the poor people had won, did they show the slightest interest.

All right, maybe I was a little angry.

Finding the items that my mother had wanted me to was no hard issue. It was trying to haggle for simple items: items that would support my family and keep them from starvation for at least another week. The market-workers were almost as bad off as my family. They had a steadier career, but what they were paid wasn't much. They didn't want to lose money as much as I didn't want to spend it.

I was haggling with a man I had known all of my life. Stanley was a family friend, but when it came to his business, he could be a bit of a stickler. His prices were concrete, and don't even dare steal. He was on the city council, so he knew the rules and he was definitely one to punish the perpetrator. I had just bought the bread, enough for dinner for the next week, when a stranger walked up to the kiosk and stood next to me.

He was an ordinary boy, with blonde hair and brown eyes. He looked smug and insensitive, but people in Carolina had hard and abrasive exteriors. Too much heartbreak. He smiled kindly to me, however, when our eyes locked. He looked shocked. I brushed it off, maybe he was looking at something behind me? He was wearing ordinary clothes but his posture and the look of his hands told me that he came from money. No one here had clean, un-calloused hands. Even I, who only played instruments, sang, and danced, had hard hands. He twirled an apple between his hands than took a bite and walked off.

"Oh no," repeated as much in my mind as "Was he an idiot?" Did he not understand how the marketplace worked? And of all the people, he had to steal in front of Stanley.