Matching Shadows

Summary: Basically a TID take on Ally Condie's Matched. For those of you who haven't read Matched. . . Tessa Gray lives in a futuristic world where, at 16, each teen is Matched with their soulmate—someone who's perfect for them in every way. When Tessa is Matched, she finds herself torn between loyalty and faith, allure and adventure. In the end, it boils down to a war. . . Which Match will she choose? And with the rising battlefield, who knows if Tessa will survive?

Matching Angels will not necessarily follow the plotline of Matched. FYI. Just saying so y'all can't come and flame me for it.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Matched or TID.

Chapter One: Golden Doubts


"Oh, Theresa," gushes my mother in an almost falsely enthusiastic tone, "it's lovely!"

Lovely. Huh. I scowl darkly at my reflection in the mirror as the mirror expands so I can see myself from every angle. . . just what I want. It's a day before my Matching banquet, and I'm torn between bored to tears or emotionally unstable. The thing is, in my world, girls and boys are all Matched together (sort of like. . . forcibly put together with your supposed soulmate by the government). I haven't the slightest clue who my Match is. But then again, does it really matter? Do I really, truly care? Nooooo. If I had it my way, I'd be left to my thoughts in my family's great library with everything classic and a cup of tea. But I just turned sixteen, so I get to be stuck together with my "soulmate." Theresa Gray doesn't have a soulmate. Unless it's a book. Then you've got my interest.

But my father, Richard Gray, works in the government, so naturally, I have no choice about whether or not I'm ready to be Matched. I secretly think he knows who my Match is—he just won't tell me. And my mother, Elizabeth Gray, is no help. She's thrown herself into dress shopping for the perfect Matching banquet dress, dragging me to expensive couture shops run by the government. And then there's me: a mess of sulky gray eyes and brown hair, plain in every way. The only reason I tolerate this. . . torture is because it's my duty. It is Theresa Gray's duty to get Matched and follow the system. According to my father, I have a great destiny. Whatever.

But all the same, as I stare at myself in the mirror, I feel a small prickle of excitement. It's my Matching banquet. Tomorrow night, I will be Matched with. . . my partner, I guess.

"What do you think, Theresa?"

"Fine," slips automatically past my mouth. "I mean, it's fine. The dress is fine."

A frown creases my mother's brow. I gulp. "Do you like it?"

I gaze almost wistfully at the pretty golden number. The hem brushes my knees and adds actual color to my monochrome skin tone of pale, pale, and paler. It makes it look like there's a happy flush in my cheeks. And at least it's relatively simple and extremely flattering, unlike the heavy, drape-like bloodred one my mother dragged out of the salesperson. . . And that water-stain purple one. . . And the sensible vomit-green dress. I like the golden gown. I'll admit that much.

"I like it," I declare, fiddling with the hem. What I'd give for a nice book to bury my face in right now. . .

My mother looks like I've just performed twenty perfect pirouettes, executed a flip, and announced I have a desire to tear my clothes to shreds with a butcher's knife. "Really, Theresa?"

I sigh out, "Would I lie to you?"

A squeal erupts from my mother, stunning my eardrums into oblivion. Um, ow! The next thing I know, she's catapulted out of her chair and flung her arms around my neck. I find myself on the receiving end of a strangling embrace. A strangling awkward embrace.

"Um. . . calm down, Mother," I mumble, gingerly patting her on the back. "I'm all right. The dress is pretty."

"Oh, Theresa!" cuts me off in a wail. I wince. Ears. Rescue. Please. A sniffle ensures. Is she. . . crying? She is. Holy mother in heaven. "It's just. . . y-you're so grown up! And. . ."

My mother withdraws from me, still sniffling and rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She smiles a watery smile at me. "Go and change back into your clothes. We'll get the gold dress."

As I'm putting my street clothing back on, I feel a slight tinge of guilt. My parents probably think I'm thrilled to death with my impending Matching banquet, buying the bloody dress for me, and the shoes. . . And then there's my best friends, James Carstairs and Sophia Collins, who are genuinely excited for the Matching to begin. Sophie's really been all pumped up about being Matched by calling me at every minute and pouncing on me in the schoolyard to gossip frequently about what our Matches will be like. Jem, on the other hand, is more reserved, but I can tell he's happy to be Matched. They'll be shining in happiness at the banquet. And then there'll be me, the sullen shadow who publicly dumps her Match in favor of a library. Sounds about right, actually. Too right.

I stride out of the dressing room and promptly smack into the girl waiting outside. She stumbles backwards and drops the pretty blue dress she used to be holding before I plowed into her like a steamroller.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, horrified. How very ladylike of me. "God, I'm so sorry!"

I fetch the dress up from the floor and hand it to the girl, who brushes long, dark hair out of her face with a mischievous grin. "Eh, no harm done. Both me and the dress are intact. Match banquet on Sunday?"

"Yes," I grumble, forgetting myself and inject a dose of fake "Omigosh!" into my voice. "Er. . . yes! I'm super excited, how about you?"

"Oh, beyond," gasps the girl. She looks as if she's about to hyperventilate, she's so excited. "I just can't decide on the dress, you know? Mother says she'll try and buy as many as she can, but I really don't know. . . Know the feeling?"

And just like that, I know just who this girl is. She belongs to one of the higher-ups. The wealthiest families in Society, who can manipulate the government officials and think they're the shit. I wonder which family this girl is in. These families don't bother with the oh-so stupid public school. They go to a fancy private one for wealthies only. Oooh. I personally dislike the wealthy families. Hating other people isn't very nice, so I've settled for "strong disliking." My family is one of the poorer ones, so we're constantly mocked my them. It's annoying, and really dumb.

"Um. . ." I frantically search the shop for my harebrained mother, interrupting the girl in mid-babble. It was a rude move, but I did it anyways. "Sorry, there's my mother, I've got to go."

The girl's expression turns a bit crestfallen. "Oh. See you at the banquet then!" She runs off, yelling something about bird-watching. Okay. . . ?

I slap a hand up to my forehead. Why did I ever consider thinking I was ready for this again?


I wake up the following morning feeling out of sorts with my bad mood only fueled by the glimmering gold fabric hanging inside my closet. In a mere nine hours or so, I'll officially be Matched with a stranger. I want to cry. Except Theresa Gray doesn't cry. Ever.

So I mechanically drag myself out of bed and go through the motions of being normal and all. When I arrive at the school, I spot Jem and Sophie from quite a ways away. Jem always stands out with his dark hair and dark gold eyes with a tilt to them. Sophie is leaping about in a frenzy, her dark curls flying everywhere and her bright eyes alive and glittering. I swallow a laugh as Jem accidentally gets a mouthful of hair. Ew, but hilarious to watch!

"Tessa's here!" squeaks Sophie, and then she's on me, asking a million questions a minute. I spit hair out of my mouth (it was exactly as disgusting as it sounds), laugh, and tell Sophie to calm down.

"But. . . !" Sophie looks like a kid deprived of Christmas. "We're being Matched, Theresa Gray!"

"Not everyone wants to be," Jem chuckles from my left, but his words hold a different sort of solemnity. I tilt my head back, scrutinizing his features for an answer.

"Are you talking about yourself?" I ask evenly. Sophie calms for a moment, watching us carefully.

Jem shrugs elegantly as he adjusts his grip on a textbook. "I have no problems with this Matching. But it's obvious there are other people who don't feel my drift. And Sophie's, of course."

Sophie looks downright overjoyed. And then it hits me. . . Sophie's in love with Jem. How didn't I notice before? Anytime he speaks her name, talks to her, laughs at her ridiculous jokes. . . And then the way she lights up like a lightbulb. I hope to the heavens that Sophie and Jem are Matched.

"How did you. . . ?" I whisper in a small voice. I don't want to let the Officials hear, especially considering there are several of them hovering right by the doors we're passing through.

Jem shrugs again, a glint in his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about, Tessa. I'm sure you'll be Matched with someone perfect."

How is he so sure of every freaking thing? "I hope so," I mutter as we part ways to our first classes of the day.

I leave the schoolyard amid the squeals of girls and nervousness of the guys. Jessamine Lovelace and Camille Belcourt, who're both blonde and pretty, are yelping about their dresses and their inevitably hot Matches. The two Lightwood brothers are talking in fast, low voices in the corner of the schoolyard. I feel restless and unsettled. Anxious. My palms are already sweating, and I try and wipe the frown off my face.

"Nervous?" Sophie asks sympathetically and I manage a nod. No way in the seventh circle of hell is my lunch coming up the way it went down. She pats my back gently. "No need to worry, Tessa. Honestly, you'll be fine. Besides, I'll see you just a bit later, hmmm?"

"What?" I croak out, my fingers fumbling for Hard Times in my bag. "Oh. Right. The banquet. I remember." Stop speaking in one- and two-word sentences, Tessa! I scold myself. Poor Sophie is no doubt thinking I'm mentally inept with my talking capabilities.

Sophie gives me an odd look. "No, I'm coming over to your house. . . Remember? Your dad is driving us both to the Matching banquet."

"Father never said anything about that." Hard Times is nowhere to be found. Hamlet will have to do. Besides. . . Hamlet's fate was indefinitely worse than mine, wasn't it? I'd rather be Matched than be in a complete mess of family politics and see my father's ghost.

"Why don't you just call him your dad?" Sophie says around the hard candy in her mouth. "Besides, you could just take your pill for anxiety, Tessa."

I think of the little round pills in their neat places inside my nightstand drawer. "No, I don't want to." If I'm going to be Matched, I might as well do it without any government pills. I think back to Sophie's first question: Why don't you just call him your dad? "I can't call him my. . . dad, Sophie." The word feels so foreign and strange coming out of my mouth.

"Why not?" Sophie inquires as I retie her hair ribbon in a valiant attempt at distracting her. "You don't have to tell me, sorry."

"No, it's fine," I murmur reassuringly. The thing is, it's complicated. When I was little, I decided that the word "dad" sounded fun and easygoing while the word "father" sounded absolutely upright and strict. As I grew older, I began to realize that my dad wasn't all fun and games. Eventually he decided his work took priority over everything, even his family. I could hate him for it; I know I could. Even though hate is so ugly. Instead, I chose to call him "Father." Not dad, not anything associated with being cool and nice. "It's just complicated, Sophie," I finally answer after a minute of comfortable silence.

Sophie bobs her head in understanding, and, sensing I would like a topic change, wonders, "Who d'you think I'll be Matched with? I hope it's not someone unkind."

"Sophie, your Match is perfect for you. You're anything but unkind, so it's impossible for you to get an unkind Match," I tell her, and Sophie beams. The happiness in her hazel eyes is enough to overpower the scar stretching across her cheek.

"Do you think they'll. . ." Sophie trails off, flushing. Sophie's family is so poor that she used to work as a parlor maid a while ago. When the boy in the house she worked at disfigured her pretty face because she rejected his advances, she quit. I just wish she'd slapped him.

"Sophie, don't dwell on that," I say sternly. "It's the Matching banquet today! Don't think of sad things; the Officials don't like that."

Sophie brightens visibly. "You're right, Tessa." She waves as we split off down the crossroads of our streets. "See you later!"

"Bye!" I yell. In spite of myself, I can't help but dread the mess waiting for me at home.


My mother is crying again.

In between fits of waterworks are the occasional "Theresa, you're so beautiful" or "My little girl is growing up!" I wish I could let a tear or two escape, but my father is in the corner of the room with his stupid monocle and watchful vision. So instead I stare at my dress in the mirror.

The gold looks perfect, really! I smooth the bodice anxiously; slipping on the pair of heels Mother went out and bought for me. I specifically told her I wasn't wearing heels (I'm already tall and ungraceful enough) but she persisted, and here I am, trying in vain not to fall on my face in black stilettos. Ouch.

Sophie bursts in, a jacket over her dark green gown. The green brings out her eyes and her scar almost disappears. And as she begins to braid my hair, I feel a little numb. Numb and terrified, with a stomach going around and around like a ship in the ocean.

The faster this night is over, the better.


There's people everywhere.

My stomach hurls with nerves as I observe the rushing crowds of people, most of them sixteen and waiting for their Matching to begin. Some are twitchy and anxious, while a small percentage like Jessamine Lovelace are flocking around in clouds of beauty and squeals about their Matching. My insides are squirming around and erupting into butterflies, but I try not to let it play out on my face.

Sophie catches my arm as I stumble, awkwardly tall, in my uncomfortable heels. She shoots me a small smile, rapidly scanning the area. "Careful, Tes—Theresa."

My parents are standing right behind us, and they (my father especially) dislike it when I'm called anything else than Theresa. Luckily, my father has no clue that I invented a new name for myself behind his back at school. Theresa sounds like the name of a spindly old lady. Tessa sounds like me. My mother has preoccupied my father with her waterworks, so he's easily distracted. Sophie and I share a glance and melt into the crowd. By the time my father will have realized I'm gone, we'll be swept up in a sea of people.

"Who's she?" Sophie's voice cuts through my wayward thoughts of books. I jolt upwards.

"Who? What?"

"That dark-haired girl over to the right. She's waving at you."

Who. . . I scrutinize her for a second before it comes back to me: She's the girl I practically knocked over in that ungodly dress shop.

"Um. . . I met her in a dress shop," I explain hastily, and drag Sophie over to her.

"Hi!" yells the girl over the chatter of everyone at the banquet. Her glossy dark hair in swirled into elegant, long curls and she's wearing the overly pretty dress she had in the dress shop, which fits her perfectly. No doubt I manage to look like a stick in a trash bag while wearing mine. "What's your name again?"

I grin at her. "I'm Tessa, and this is Sophie. And you are. . . ?"

"Cecily," she says quickly, then switches off the topic of names as Sophie smiles at her. "So, are you two excited to be Matched?"

Sophie giggles happily. "Mostly! Although. . ." She trails off as a dark look appears on her face, and I know she's thinking about her scar and the bastard that caused that. "I had an accident involving a boy a little while back."

"Son of a bitch," Cecily agrees empathetically. "And you, Tessa?"

"I'm just not ready," I mumble as the chitchat from others starts to quiet down. "I mean, it's all so sudden. . . One minute, we're sixteen and then we're Matched."

"Oh, you're like my brother, then," sighs Cecily. "He flew into a rampage. . . Something about how he doesn't want to be Matched. And then he locked himself, still in fits of rage, into the library."

"He reads?" pops out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Cecily and Sophie are both staring at me like I have extra heads. "Sorry, I'm just a bit. . . book-crazy."

"All day and all night," Cecily finally answers. "It's like a never-ending battle of my parents trying to get him to socialize and him shutting himself up in some corridor to read in peace and quiet." Cecily brightens. "Wait, want to meet him?"

Before either Sophie or I could say a word, Cecily has whirled around, shouting something along the lines of, "Will, you arse! Get over here!" I share a two-way look with Sophie who shrugs, telling me to Go with it. Fine. If he reads, he can't be that bad. . . can he?

At last Cecily reappears, her hand clenched around the sleeve of a boy who was at least a foot taller than her. He kept trying to flatten his black hair with no avail and grumbles something sullenly.

"Will," Cecily says exasperatedly, "this is Tessa and Sophie. My new friends. Tessa, Sophie, meet my brother, Will."

Will regards us with interest. There's an awkward pause where we're all staring at each other before he remarks, "Aren't you the one who ran over Cecily?"

My jaw lodges itself in its new home: the floor. Mortifyingly enough, I can feel my cheeks heating to an unflattering shade of red. "First of all, it was an accident, you jerk!"

Will laughs. And it isn't exactly a nice laugh either. He turns to Cecily as Sophie mutters something about going to find her parents and says something too low for me to hear. But I'm pretty sure I have it figured out when Cecily slaps him full across the face.

Thank God Sophie has vanished.

Will is rubbing his face, Cecily is glaring at him, and I'm feeling extremely awkward to be caught in the middle of this situation.

"You're such a dick!" Cecily hisses, and then flounces off. So now it's just Sir Dick and I, surrounded by people.

"Er. . ." Will looks uncomfortable for a split second, but it disappears as soon as it arrived. He smirks, and I shift my feet around. "So, I bet you're just thrilled to be Matched, Tess."

I match him glare for glare. "As long as my Match isn't a jerk. Like you."

This has no effect on Will. He snaps mockingly, "Only a happy ending for Tessa Gray."

"Well, I think Camille Belcourt would be perfect for you, Will," I shoot back.

Will smirks. I'm dying to smack his smirk off, but I hold back. "Didn't Cecily tell you?" His voice drops lower; more seductive. I swallow. "I'm not going to be Matched. I was bad."

I try to forget about everything that one word implies and frown. No, Cecily didn't say that. All she said was something about Will locking himself in the library. . . ? Whatever. "I don't really care." This is a lie. My mind is blazing up with curiosity. What did he do? What could you have possibly done to avoid being Matched?

"Excellent. Now another poor girl doesn't have to deal with you."

Will's beautiful eyes are going up in furious fires. Just as he's about to snarl something at me, the Official asks everyone to take their seats. I spot Will sliding out the door, but not before his gaze catches mine and he promptly flips me off.

I'm seething with anger as I sit next to Sophie. "Thanks for leaving me alone with that egotistical brat!"

"Sorry," Sophie whispers. "Cecily. . . Well, never mind. Besides, the Matchings are beginning!"

I stare off into space as my mother squeezes my hand. They begin with Camille Belcourt, who's Matched with a colorful guy called Magnus Bane. He looks unhappy. The Officials continue on, and then it's Sophie's turn. I give her a little shove towards the stage, where she stands shakily on.

"You are Matched with. . . Gideon Lightwood!" announces the Official as Gideon's picture appears on the screen. Tall, sandy-haired, and green-eyed, Gideon is usually kind to everyone. I hope he treats Sophie the same way.

I must've spaced out for far too long, because when my body snaps awake, my father is glowering ferociously at me, my mother is making nervous little shooing motions with her hands, and the whole room is deathly silent. They've must've called my name.

I try to brush aside my embarrassment with no success as I make my way up to the stage. The Official looks like he's making a large effort to swallow his amusement as he says, "Your Match is. . ."

My nerves are going haywire. I shift anxiously from foot to foot, hoping I don't sweat all over my pretty dress. When nothing appears on the screen, the whispers start up. I close my eyes imagine my father's beet-red face of rage, and Cecily's perplexed one in the audience. At least Will wasn't here.

The whispers cease and my eyes shoot open. At first, the Official sighs in relief, but his breath halts in horror.

And then when I see the photograph, I don't know what to think.


IT'S A CLIFFIE. Kill me later.

Once again, this is NOT (for the most part) going to follow the majority of Matched's plotline. Basically all I did was take the main idea of Matched and borrow it.

So, any thoughts? Who do you think is Tessa's Match?

Little notice on other fanfics: They're still in progress. That's the only thing I can think to say about that.

Review, favorite, follow! Y'all can be Will's Match. ;)