A Selection Fanfiction: A Forgotten Meeting

Me: Hello! This is just another Selection Fanfiction. This idea just popped up while I was "studying" and since I won't be updating "Going Back to the One" in a long while, here's a treat for you guys.

And the best thing is the pairing in this story is MAXERICA! YEAH!

FANGIRL TIME!

I just really wanted to write about them when they were younger so... yeah. Ad it would be cool if they already met but they didn't even realize it.

This will be written in the 3rd POV okay?

Disclaimer – I do not own the Selection Trilogy by Kiera Cass, I can never be as talented as her.

Enjoy the story!

o-o-o

The Palace – 9 years before the Selection

A ten-year old boy is in front of a large mirror twice his normal size. A maid is behind him, beaming as she combs the boy's golden hair.

"You're such a handsome young boy!" she cheers, pinching the boy's cheeks. The boy rolls his chocolate-brown eyes at her, taking the maids fingers off his reddening cheek. "I'm not a young boy. I'm ten years old."

The maid giggles. "Of course you are Your Majesty. You're a gentleman." She gives one last stroke of the comb on his hair and adjusts the boy's collar. "Have fun in your flight Your Majesty. You must be excited."

The boy stares at the reflection of the woman behind him. "No I'm not," he says in a monotone voice. "Who would be excited to visit such a small province?"

A hand patted his head and he heard the maid laughing as she left him in his room. He jumped on his bed very childlike and hugged his pillow.

His father was invited to the opening ceremony for the new school he had built in Carolina. He wanted to look generous and caring even to those small provinces of Illea. Keeping his image was a very important task for him and Maxon did not want to go out of the palace gates just so his father can keep his "image".

No, he wasn't excited at all. He didn't want to leave the palace. He didn't want to leave the place he was trapped in for so long.

It wasn't because he loved the place so much; it was because he was scared of the world outside the palace gates.

He's experienced rebel attacks when he was younger and each time left him with a traumatic experience. It had caused him nightmares about him being kidnapped by a rebel and being beaten to death. Gunshots, as frequent as they were, still made his spine stiffen. One attack scarred him more than the others:

o-o-o

The Garden – 3 years ago

The siren sounded. It was the first rebel attack he has experienced, so he didn't understand what the loud wailing sound meant.

The boy was taking pictures of the fresh flowers as a man showed up by his side. He was only 7 then. How naive can a young child be? Very.

The old man was in uniform, a guard's uniform. The boy was too trusting all too quickly. The man sat beside him and the young boy welcomed him wholeheartedly. "What's your name little boy?" the man asked.

"My name is Maxon Calix Schreave, the prince of Illea!" he said proudly, putting down his camera. "I like being a prince. It can be lonely though." He pointed at the jewellery resting on the top of his head. Its gems reflected the light in ways that made them look much more valuable. "And the crown I have to wear all day is heavy."

The man let out a tiny laugh that sounded mechanical. "Is that so? Well, you don't have to be lonely anymore." The way he said it sounded like he was proposing a deal.

Maxon lit up. "I don't?"

"Yes, because I'll be your friend," he said, his voice soft and innocent.

Two arms are wrapped around the man, courtesy of Maxon. His smiled reached his eyes and his laugh was the happiest it could ever be. "Really?" he asked in astonishment. "Thank you very much! I finally have a new friend!" He let go and jumped to his feet.

"This is the best day ever!" he cheered, grabbing the camera hanging from his neck. The man's eyes grew dark and Maxon couldn't see them because he was facing the other way. A sinister smile formed around wrinkles and a large body bag emerged from behind him. The man stood up, tiptoeing toward the small boy too happy to sense the incoming danger.

Maxon turned off the flash function of his camera and twisted the lens to make the image zoom out. "Hey, mister, let's take a picture to—"

He turned around and he clicked the button on the camera in surprise before letting it fall on the ground. Brown cloth filled his muffled vision and he felt his body being carried upside down. An evil laugh filled his ears as he realized he was inside a bag. Maxon kicked and punched and screamed. All his efforts remained useless. A rope closed the opening of the bag by his feet and his surroundings became dark. The bag was soaked in sweat and tears as Maxon whimpered inside.

He felt hopeless, helpless and most of all... stupid. He fell for such a pathetic lie in desperation for a friend. He called for his mother countless of times, only resulting in a punch in the gut from the man who pretended to be his "friend".

The man, however, was as joyous as ever. Now that he had the prince, he could get ransom. Money, jewels, power... the king and queen cared too much for their child to not give him what he wants. But most of all, he wanted the journal. The journal of Gregory Illea. He wanted to show the citizens that Gregory was a heartless monster that did not really care about the country and his methods are brought forth from selfishness and cruelty, not from care and nationalism. He was an Eight. A rebel cast out from society for fighting for his rights.

Little did he know, kidnapping a young and clueless child did not make him any better than Gregory himself.

Boom...

A bullet passes through his arm and the man yelps in pain, dropping the bag on the ground.

Maxon's heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to explode. The boy screams, hits his head and loses consciousness as he watches a red liquid fall on his cheeks and coats his hair.

Handcuffs get the victim; a stretcher carries the prince; tears fill a mother's eyes; shouts come out of a king's mouth.

His father made hardened the boy's heart after that experience, teaching him to be brave and to move on. He can walk around the gardens again. Whenever rebels come, it's always protocol: find a safe room. Fear starts to fade from his soul. Even so, that doesn't mean that that fear will forever be erased from him. It became a part of his individuality and he has to live with it.

Forever.

o-o-o

A knock was heard on Maxon's door and he didn't bother answering it. A beautiful woman appeared from behind it. She had long, silky hair and soft eyes. Her skin was fair and its complexion matched the yellow dress she wore perfectly. Maxon hid his face under his pillow and he felt the weight of his bed shift.

"Maxon, honey. You don't have to be afraid," she says kindly. "You know why you have to go. Besides, there are no reported rebels in Carolina."

Maxon looked up, his eyes tired. "But mom," he says like a whiny 4-year old, "why can't you and father go to the opening of the new school yourselves? You never used to make me come with you to those fancy ceremonies."

"You know what your father said—"

"You're the future king of Illea, Maxon. What kind of king is afraid to set foot on his own country, Maxon?" He cuts her off rudely and quickly apologizes. "S-Sorry, it's just that..."

She puts a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are shining with compassion and the way her lips curved showed how much she cared. "I know that your father tends to pressure you a lot but, he just wants what's best for both you and his country," she says. "And whether you accept it or not, he's still right about you being too afraid. I promise you, son. You'll enjoy this trip."

Maxon asks hesitantly, eyebrows knotting. "And if I don't?"

A small snort comes out of her mother's mouth. "You will." She stands up and holds Maxon's small hand. "Now," she starts, "let's get on our plane."

Maxon nods, not knowing what awaited him in Carolina.

o-o-o

Carolina Academy – the next day

Thousands of screams enter Maxon's ears and he wonders why he hasn't gone deaf yet. He almost crushed the arm rest on the miniature replica of a throne he sat on beside his mother while his father babbled on with his speech because of how nervous he was.

"Citizens of Carolina, this school, which will be the turning point of this small province to a life of prosperity, is a product of my men's devotion and hard work. Made from the sturdiest and most efficient resources, this school is worthy enough for even my son, Prince Maxon Calix Schreave, to have his education in if only it was possible." His eyes catch Maxon's panicked gaze. The intensity of Clarkson's glare seem to have scared the poor child, who quickly sat up straighter, even more.

He continues. "For the lower castes, don't fret. This school will accept scholarships for studious children once they pass a special test. Enrolment will start as early as next week." He is handed a peculiarly large pair of scissors. "Now, without any further delay..." A thick long ribbon is tied around the gate, each end knotted around one of the gate's bars. He cuts it slowly, for the cloth is tough. Once the last thread is snipped, the citizens of Carolina cheer.

Gavril, who looks positively more attractive because of the few years lost in him, he holds up a mike to his lips and quiets down the crowd. "Everyone who is willing to stay and watch the performance, please proceed to the newly constructed gym now." He points at the large dome behind the school that is almost as large as the school. Nothing less if they expect to fit thousands of people inside.

Maxon loses his grip and grasps Amberly's arm instead. "

We have to get in the car," she says, removing the hair covering her son's eyes.

Maxon stands up, joints stiff. "When will the 'enjoying' part be exactly?" he asks. "Because I've been here for a few hours already and I think that I'm going to experience high blood pressure at the age of ten." He stares at the crowd in front of him. So... many... people...

Are any of them rebels?

Yes, this was a naive question if you think about it. You can't blame the boy for being afraid of getting captured by... them again. He holds on to his mother's hands until both their fingers are white. Clarkson passes his son and gives his shoulder a tight squeeze. It was not an action meant to comfort, in fact it was an action meant to reprimand.

Stop being so stiff, Maxon. The young prince could probably hear his father say that through his fingertips.

They step into the car; silence overwhelms them as the car brings them to the gym for the program. Traffic was evident because of the number of cars in the road. The cars moved only an inch every 30 minutes. Maxon sighed under his fist on his mouth and stared out the window. He sees three kids, 2 boys about his age and one girl.

His eyes fixed themselves on the little girl. She has red strawberry-like hair swinging on her shoulders as she runs with one of the boys. Her blue eyes sparkled, like the blue sun dress she was wearing. It reached just above her knees, the ruffles dancing along as the girl ran. The dress had short puffy sleeves on them, a dark blue ribbon encircled her tiny waist and her shoes looked like crystal. The smile on her face was the finishing touch. She hardly had any makeup on, but her sparkling white teeth and the radiating happiness in her grin made her more beautiful than the models found in magazines.

Her arm is wrapped around a boy in his black-crowned glory. His soft green eyes stared at the girl with the same awe as our little prince, though one thing was in his eyes the prince didn't have: Care.

The red-head never admitted it to anyone but... she has always felt a little spark or connection between her and the black-haired boy. He was one of the only reasons she tried to act girly once in her life. This was our sweet little America, crushing on the younger version of our beloved guard, Aspen.

Maxon glanced at his father, to make sure he wasn't looking, and he lowered the window just an inch.

He heard the girl cheer, "Kota!" she turned to the boy staggering behind them. "Hurry up!"

The boy, Kota, glanced at her, mischief in his eyes. He ran faster, overtaking the girl and the other boy, separating their hold on each other. America chased her older brother in circles until a cranky woman showed up, eyebrows knotted, teeth gritted and fist clenched.

Before Maxon could hear any scolding be done, his mother noticed the warm air replacing the cold air inside the car. She closed the window immediately, causing Maxon to pout and cross his arms in disappointment.

He, hoping that he could read lips, pressed his hands on the window.

"AMERICA AND KOTA SINGER!" The woman shouted. She went closer and grabbed her children by the collar, gently of course. "You naughty little— Kota, stop playing with your sister. You're going to get her all sweaty before the big performance. The Royal family will be watching us. The Royal Family." She emphasized the term. "This is the biggest gig we have had all year and I want this to be perfect." She leaned to her daughter's ear. "Absolutely perfect. Do you understand?"

America nods quickly and her mother, Magda, let's go of both her daughter and her brother's collars. Aspen giggles from behind and America gives him a stare; he doesn't shut up.

Kota elbows him; only then does he remain quiet. Aspen turns and runs to his awaiting mother and father, who were glad that they are able to earn so much because of the extra jobs they acquired from the visit from the Royal family. His father hands him a fist to bump. Aspen laughs and rides on his father's back.

Maxon understood nothing from his attempt to read lips. All he understood was the peaceful image of a happy family in front of him. How can he be so casual with his father? He thought. Maxon was never allowed to even crack a joke in front of his father unless he wanted a scolding.

He shook the sad feeling away. His eyes are locked on America now. He can't seem to explain his sudden interest towards a girl he hasn't even spoken to yet. He secretly hopes for a chance to speak with her.

When he sees the people, he is hardly afraid because of the knowledge that the wall of a car separates him from the outside. Now, he just wants to tear that wall away.

He sees a tall man, America's father, Shalom, walking towards them, a small 5-year old girl in his arms. The small girl and America have a striking resemblance, the prince notices. Who is this girl?

You guessed it!

It's May.

"Ames!" The small girl calls out. America opens her arms and catches May in a hug. "You've gotten heavy," she points out.

May's mouth forms a straight line. "No I didn't. I'm as light as a feather."

"Sure you are." America says sarcastically.

Maxon watches the siblings laugh and jealousy surges through him. Why couldn't he have siblings? Why did he have to be alone all the time?

Just as he was getting much more interested, the car jerked forward. The traffic jam moved in the most inconvenient time. He kept his eyes on the red-headed girl in a blue dress as they drove farther away, her eyes the last things he sees.

He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, keeping himself entertained with the image of the girl that made this trip much more enjoyable for him.

When will I see her again, I wonder?

o-o-o

Me: I just realized I like writing in the 3rd POV.

So, how did you like younger Maxon? Or younger Aspen? Or younger America?

The pairing, like I said is Maxerica. So don't worry about a thing. I'll make this short so I can continue my other Selection story.

R&R!

Bye! Love you guys!