Hey! It's lilythemermaid and AcademicGirl here. We're so excited for you to read our new collab on this shared account, NinjaBallerina, and we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoy writing it!

There are two POV's in this story. The first, Ruthie, is written by AcademicGirl, and Violet is written by lilythemermaid.

We've been working on this story for a while now, and we're so excited to finally share it with you! Let us know what you think in the reviews!

xoxo, Lily

Love ya!- AcademicGirl


Ruthie:

Magic doesn't exist. Or at least it shouldn't.

Yet it does. In fictional novels, in fantasy literary works of art. It exists in our surroundings, in our lives. Coincidences and deja vus aren't opportune moments. That time you met your best friend? Call it fate, but I call it magic. Maybe magic isn't the way we picture it to be, like moving pictures you can jump into or sparks shooting out of a wand. But there certainly is magic in this world.

The library is a pretty magical place. The happiest place on Earth is the library, not Disney World. It's an alternate way to live. New people to meet and love. Although, real people aren't too shabby either. My best friend Violet is pretty much the person who keeps me sane. We both love to read, and reading isn't a hobby to us; it's a lifestyle. We go to the library everyday to return a book we read together, and today, we're returning The Selection by Kiera Cass (all three books; we had to get all three at once).

The trilogy is poignant, romantic...I don't quite know what made me pull it out of the bookshelf. The cover is exquisite, but the story itself...I can't quite explain how I feel. It lacked the big, sesquipedalian words I look forward to, but somehow I just cannot describe why I love the book so much.

I think it it's because the characters are so realistic (maybe not the names; America Singer?). That it's not fictional, or "magical". The love story definitely is something from a fairytale book, with two boys vying for one girl's heart. Especially when the prince is so absolutely lovable. If he would just be real, my entire life would be fulfilled knowing that Prince Maxon Schreave exists.

Violet and I enter the library, walking to the counter to return the books.

"I don't even want to return it," I whine, reluctantly giving the three books to the lady (short hair, beady eyes, average librarian who tells you to shut up).

She laughs. "You never want to return books."

"See, I don't want to return the book, but at the same time, I don't want to buy it." I read too quickly, and sometimes it's just a waste for me to buy something that I'll keep in mind for maybe a few weeks. But The Selection…

It's different. It's not a book quoted for its metaphors, or even its characters. I think I've wanted to kill America Singer more times than I've craved chocolate (and that's a lot of times).

Violet and I go to the YA fiction bookshelves, and inevitably, I see another copy of The Selection.

"Hey, Vi, should I borrow this again?" I ask, holding up the book so she sees the cover.

"If you don't, I will!" she replies. I laugh, and she points behind me. "Look at that."

Both of us are photographers, so we're both almost obligated to admire the beautiful painting of a yellow-walled structure. Lush gardens surround the building, and it looks so realistic that I swear the uniformed men around the perimeter are moving.

"It's really pretty," I mumble. There seems to be a tiny tear, a ripple on the surface, but it's probably my contact lenses acting up again. I blink a few times, and it adjusts itself.

And yet.

It still seems like its moving.

"Vi, come look at this," I say, beckoning her over. She puts down the book she has in her hands (If I Stay by Gayle Forman) and walks to me.

"Ruthie, there's nothing…" She squints at it, and I know that I'm not the only one seeing it.

Inadvertently, she and I touch the painting at the same time (we always do that kind of stuff; it's so cliche sometimes).

I'm expecting to feel the raised brush strokes on my fingertips, but instead I feel a rough wall. I blink again and suddenly there's sunlight. The confusion hits me like ice water, and I feel so blinded by the unanticipated light. I blink a few times and decide to retire my contact lenses (I've used these for a month anyway). I take them out and throw them to the ground. Maybe it's actually obstructing my vision rather than clarifying it. Now, everything is hazy, like someone dropped a veil of fog over the field of sunlight.

I still see Vi's brown hair, though, but not exactly her face. I take my glasses, which I always keep in my pocket for times like these, and put them on.

Violet is frowning. There's something horribly wrong, and panic and confusion are written all over her face.

"Ruthie," she says, pausing to rub her eyes. "Where are we?"

High, yellow stucco walls. A circle driveway surrounding a fountain. Guards everywhere.

There is no way in hell this is the library anymore.

I look at my right hand, the knuckles white from clenching the hardbound novel so tightly. The spine glistens in the rays of light, and I can't think of anything else to say.

It somewhat makes sense in my head, now that I know I'm holding The Selection, but still.

This isn't real. It's a dream.

"Ruthie," Violet says again, more impatient this time.

"Vi," I say, swallowing. "I think we're in the book."


Violet

I, Violet Simons, am quite notorious for daydreaming. In the middle of history class, during the middle of a conversation, pretty much anytime, anyplace. I can't help my mind from drifting off to someplace more interesting than where I actually am. (I can't tell you the number of times I've daydreamed about Maxon Schreave. Sigh.)

But I can always snap out of it.

I stare at the huge palace in front of me, and will myself to make it vanish. I squeeze my eyes shut, and open them again. Nothing. I pinch my arm, but the palace stands in front of me, unmoving.

"This isn't happening," I whisper to myself, forgetting that Ruthie can still hear me. "We can't be-"

"Standing in front of the Illéan palace?" she finishes. I glance at Ruthie, and her look of disbelief mirrors mine.

"What are you two doing out here?" an unfamiliar voice suddenly joins our conversation. I turn around quickly, my dark brown hair whirling around my face. I impatiently push it out of my eyes and stare at a guard who can't be any older than I am.

"This has got to be some kind of crazy cosplay," I mutter to Ruthie. The guard's uniform has an official Illéan emblem on it. She snickers behind her hand.

"Excuse me?" The guard raises an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I reply quickly. "We're just, uh, wondering…"

"How to get to the closest town or city," Ruthie quips. "We're lost."

The guard's eyes narrow. "You don't know where you are?"

"Well, we have a guess…" I give him an apologetic smile. He rolls his eyes.

"Downtown Angeles is about a half an hour walk from the palace." I glance at Ruthie. Angeles. Well, I guess that confirms it. This isn't a dream. We're actually in the world of The Selection.

"Thanks," I mutter. The guard gives us one last glare before returning to his stiff position, his eyes fixed on the palace in front of him.

I turn to Ruthie, who's still gawking at the huge palace grounds laid out before us. I grab her arm and pull her down the pathway that the guard pointed us in.

When we finally are out of earshot of the surrounding guards, Ruthie turns to me and we stop. We take one look at each other, and burst out into laughter.

"This is crazy," I gasp out.

"Completely," she agrees. "What now?"

I take a second to think about it. Sure, the most logical thing to do would be to figure out how we got her, and how to get back home. But I just landed in the world of The Selection with my best friend. There is no way I'm going to waste this opportunity.

"Well, downtown Angeles is only a half an hour walk from here," I remind her with a grin.

A half an hour later, Ruthie and I finally reach a city-like landscape. I'm starting to get sweaty from the Angeles heat, and desperate to find some AC somewhere.

"Ruthie, where do you think we could -"

"Vi."

"Find some water, or maybe some air-conditioning, I'm literally about to pass out from the-"

"Vi. Do you see that?" She's pointing at a giant billboard, and I suddenly freeze in the middle of my sentence, walking a few steps towards the advertisement.

The billboard's plain and simple, with only the words The Selection written in curling, fancy lettering. Underneath there's a description of how to enter, but the only thing I notice is Maxon Schreave's name printed on the bottom.

I look over my shoulder back at Ruthie, and we share a mischievous, knowing look.

We are so finding a way to enter the Selection.