All rights to Kiera Cass

Chapter One- The Form

Yeah sure, the Prince is charming. And almost all girls fawn over him. And I guess that he is kind of cute.

But that's beside the point, I mean, I don't even really know him. And to go and fight for him in a contest? The whole Selection thing just sounds sickening.

I've seen The Prince on before. He has his father's blonde hair, and his mother's ice blue eyes. And he's very tall.

And he's exactly my age. I was born April 29, at 8:35 in the morning. He was born one minute later.

Funny right? I used to tell people this interesting fact and they used to theorize that we were siblings, but we look nothing alike. He has blonde hair, I have dark brown that lightens at the end. He has blue eyes, I have brown. He is very pale, I'm very tan.

So there's absolutely now way that we're related. None.

But that wouldn't matter anyways, I live far away from him. I live in a place that used to be known as Colorado.

I don't live with my family. I don't have one.

It was just me and my mother and father, and we were Fives, and I was age nine. We weren't too far down but then my mother got sick, really sick. And then a month later, she died.

Within a week, my father died of depression, and I was left alone at age ten.

We had some money, and that I saved. I fell down to being a Six. But you see, there are eight castes. And Eights are technically just homeless people. I was a Six for seven years.

One year later I fell to be a Seven. I had no where to go. So I went to the palace.

I got a job as a maid there, and I was out to clean up The Prince's room. It was a pretty big step.

One day, as I was cleaning, The Prince came back early. As I tried to run off before he saw me, he called out. We talked for a while, but I never told him my name. I never told him my caste. And I never told him when I left.

I had enough money to be a Five again, and I was fully content with that, so I left being a maid at the palace and came back to Colorado.

My first night home, I was robbed. Of everything.

The next day, a Selection form came in my mailbox. And hey, I've met The Prince before, why not?

And now I'm here, filling out the rest of my application at the Post Office.

"Right this way, ma'am," someone says.

I follow them to a room with white walls and a white stool.

"Sit on the stool, please," the person says again. I sit on the stool and look forward to a camera.

"Smile," I hear.

I try to think of my happiest thought, and I think of my conversations with The Prince. I beam.

"Thank you, next!" The photograph yells. I hop down off the stool and go back home.

And I wait for the results to come in a week later.