AMERICA'S POV

The stars shine against the dark sky of the night. They give off the last light of the day, the most beautiful.

I pull my tiara off of my unruly auburn curls, praying that no one comes up here. There was no rule that I had to wear the tiara all the time but every time I took it off I got weird looks from everybody in the palace, especially my parents. I could guess that if they had it their way, I would wear the dumb thing to bed.

I set the tiara down beside me on the ledge and ran my fingers through my hair. It was soft and shiny and fell down my back in curls. The color of my hair was a problem though. It was a fiery red color that could stand out anywhere and I was often told I have a temper because of my red hair. There was no denying the temper but I doubt it is from the hair color. I guess it's in my genes. The genes that don't belong to my parents the genes that belong to a couple of strangers.

My mother, the Queen, was unable to give birth. I know she tried and tried even though she was told it wasn't possible, she wanted to make it possible. But when she reached the end of her twenties it was inevitable. She finally accepted the giving birth to her own child was not her reality. So she turned to surrogacy. She found a woman, a Five woman, and approached her. My mother then asked the woman if she would give her her child. It didn't matter the gender or what it looked like, just that she needed a child and would pay a big sum for it. The woman agreed, needing more money for her other two children. And then a year later I was born as Princess America of Illea. My parents weren't fans of the name but the woman who'd given birth to me, apparently, said that I was a fighter, like the country, and that America would be a fitting name.

I don't know the woman at all but I like to think she was a lovely woman, you'd have to be to let one of your children go. I know she had red hair, just like me, and that my mother adored her. I know my mother talks to the woman sometimes.

I chuckle a bit and pick the tiara back up and place it back onto my head. Time to go down there, to the report where 5 men will be announced.

Where I will hear the name of my future husband.

MAXON'S POV

I shush my siblings as we turn on the tv. It's friday which means one thing: The Report. Normally I would be unfazed and spend the hour that it is on up in my room looking back over the photos I've taken or reading a book but today is different. Today could be the day my life is changed. Today could be the day I get chosen to compete in The Selection

TWO WEEKS AGO

Kriss jumps up beside me, poking a tongue at my camera lens. I chuckle at her childishness.

"Come on. Kriss, it's only a photo," I tease. She scowls at me, snatching at my camera.

"Yeah but I don't like getting my picture taken," she argues, turning the camera to face me. She clicks a photo, the corners of my mouth lifting slightly."Plus I thought you were taking pictures of the scenery," she says, gesturing with her free hand to the gardens. I reach out for my camera back but she clicks another photo.

"Kriss give it back," I say. She holds it out of my reach. She looks beautiful with that playful smile on her face and her light blonde hair falling over her face. I admire her for a second. She seems to notice and her cheeks bloom red. I smirk and take her distraction to grab at the camera. I feel something slip out of my back pants pocket but assume that it's just some film or a prop.

I hold my camera close to my face as I look at the photos. In the photos of her, Kriss looks shy, vulnerable. The light hits her face perfectly, bringing out the gold flecks in her brown eyes. I smile down at the photo. Her lips are pursed but a smile escapes them still and her eyes hold a kind of playfulness that's hard to capture on camera.

I'm about to move to the next photo when I hear Kriss' voice ring out.

"'To the Screave household,'" she reads. I tense, knowing what she's reading. "'At the recent birthday of our lovely Princess America, we will be holding a Selection. Per the recent census, it has been discovered that you have a son in between the ages of 16 and 21. That makes them eligible to participate. If they wish, they can send their application to the closest town center. They will then be drawn to participate." Kriss looks up at me, tears pooling in her eyes. I rush forward capture her in my arms. She sobs against my chest.

"I didn't even know she was coming of age," Kriss sobs. I make soothing sounds to try and calm her down. She fits well against my chest. She's a perfect match for me, just as out parents always say. I run my hand over her hair. She pushes me back and a part of me feels rejected but a secret other part feels relieved.

Nothing Kriss and I have, I believe, has gotten past the point of friendship and maybe some what-ifs. I've always had a minor crush on her but I wouldn't call it love or even lust. I didn't like her that way. I liked that she was reliable and a great person. A great friend. But a part of me also wanted more. Some days I would stare at her lips and wonder what my lips would feel like against hers. Is that love? Is it desire?

"You weren't going to tell me," she accuses softly. She steps back. I open my mouth to say something but close it again. I wasn't planning on telling her. She'd rip out my eyeballs if she found out I was considering putting in an application. "Why?" she asks. She sounds helpless; she looks helpless. I sigh and put my hands on her shoulders.

"You have a strong opinion of where I belong and when," I explain slowly. She barely let me go to the market without her approval, she would never let me leave Columbia. "You would never give me the room to think about my options." Kriss makes a sound. I look down at my battered shoes.

"You're considering it," she says with disgust thick in her voice. She is suddenly in front of my pulling my chin up so I'm looking her in the eyes. "You're considering entering, throwing away everything we have." Her thumb nail digs into my chin but I don't say anything. I try to hold her stern gaze, try to not look like a coward.

"I have to do it," I say lamely. She wouldn't understand why. She'd think my reasoning was stupid. She was a Three after all.

"Why? Is someone forcing you?" she asks, panic now in her voice. I shake my head slowly and explain.

"Being a Five is all I have." I run my fingers through my blonde hair. People often thought we were siblings, Kriss and I. We both have blonde hair and brown eyes and we're almost always together. I would think we were twins too if I didn't know better. "I will never be anything else. I will always be a photographer, always living on the verge of starvation. My wife and children will be starving and I will have to watch their miserable faces. I can't be anything else. Sure, I could be a singer or painter, maybe even put my piano playing to the test, but I will always be a Five. Nothing else." I pause and take a breath. I shake my head and smile sadly. "I don't belong here. I am meant to be something more than a photographer from Columbia. I am meant to do things." Tears stream down Kriss' face. I want to hold her in my arms again, tell her it's going to be okay but she needs to hear this. "I have to see what happens. I can't just let an opportunity like this. I want to take a chance. If something happens it does and if it doesn't that's fine too. I just can't live with the fact that I could've." I stop there. Kriss stares at me for a minutes longer in silence.

"Well I hope that when you have to stay here and get married to a boring girl from Columbia, I'm not here to see you fall apart," she says. "Because right here, right now, I've warned you. This is my goodbye despite what happens. I don't know this Maxon Screave you've become." Then she walks away. Her back straight and hair swinging behind her.

And I don't rush after her and beg her to rethink anything. I don't tell her I'll change my mind or anything. I watch as she walks away from me, for good. I watch as my closest friend leave me behind.

I shake my head and focus on the screen as it turns on. My siblings sit behind me, Lisa and Leslie argueing up a storm and baby John screaming his head off. I sigh and turn the volume up. My mother sits, passed out on the couch and my father is in the kitchen, probably drinking himself into oblivion.

I tell them to be quiet one more time as Gavril Fadaye appears on the screen. Queen Amberly, King Clarkson and Princess America sit in the stands behind him. America looks nervous, rubbing her sweating hands against her green dress. The dress isn't the nicest and doesn't suit her but her dress color doesn't matter. She bites her lip furiously and moves her hands up to twirl her red locks furiously. She's beautiful, there's no denying that, but it isn't a secret that she has a fiery temper and gets furiously angry when people speak to her about her surrogacy birth. The whole surrogacy situation isn't spoken about much, or at least the truth isn't. Rumors say that the King got sick of his wife and had an affair with the woman who gave birth to the Princess. Now whenever she's asked about it she says rude things or puts her fingers over the cameras. She's also been known to yell or just plain argue with anyone. The footage is frightening sometimes but nothing about her outbursts has been reported in over two years. Hopefully she's changed.

"Tonight people of Illea," Gavril starts, "Is a very important Report." He grins from eye to eye. His suit is a dark blue today. It almost matches the Princess' eyes. I smile at the thought that I picked that up. "Tonight 35 men will be chosen to participate in the Princess' Selection." His voice booms as he says it and in the background, barely visible, the Princess flinches at the volume of his voice. I fight the urge to laugh at her very un-proper behaviour. She must be nervous.

"Any words?" Gavril asks the royals. The King and Queen shake their heads but the Princess just stares intently at the floor.

Names start getting called but I can't focus Gavril's words because I'm glued to the Princess's face, her reaction. At each name her face pales more, and her hands begin to shake at the 24th name. I feel sorry for her. Maybe she's not the tempermental brat I grew up getting told about. No one else seems to notice her silent breakdown and I can't notice anything else.

Well until Caesar calls out my name and my photo pops up onto the screen. My blonde hair tossed over my forehead, my brown eyes, my smile. Leslie jumps on my back and Lisa screams. I can even hear baby John clapping in the back. My eyes travel to America who stares at the screen absently. Her hands no longer shake and she doesn't look as broken as before. But somehow the vacant expression she holds is worse than her silent breakdown.

Vacant means she's already broken.

My face broke her.

Hey guys. How'd you like it? I loved writing it.
So a few things that you will notice are weird/different.

-I will be switching POV's between Maxon and America sometimes in the same chapter. I know but I like doing that sorry. At least I am telling you I will be switching. I read a book once and you had to assume. It was hard. But then again it was in 3rd person so it was still easier.

-Maxon's last name is still Screave! I know wow. His parents are America's 'parents' yet he has the same last name. That is because I have changed the Royal last name to Williams. DA DA! (Jazz hands). I cannot change Maxon's last name. He cannot be anyone but Maxon Screave so his last name stays even though his family changes.

-America my dear, is a surrogate baby?! I know! It's different but I still wanted her to be a singer at heart. I can't take away that part of her so yeah. She is a surrogate baby!

Don't forget to comment, favorite and follow this story so you know when a new chapter is coming. This is just a casual fun work so for now I won't have a specific update day. Maybe once I get more readers. So yeah.

HAPPY READING!