CHAPTER 3
"Carrie, dear, I need to speak to you about something." Mom says, beckoning me into a small parlor on the first floor. Great. As if the last time she had said those words ended well. What was she going to make me do this time? Tell me that I have to conduct my selection in Antarctica?
"What?" I ask, smoothing down my ruffly white dress with light pink flowers printed onto it. A cherry colored sash cinched my waist, and the dress ended mid-thigh. It was probably a bit over-the-top for most people's tastes, but I liked it. The more ruffles the better.
"Just some basics for the selection. You know, teachers and all that jazz. It does need to look as if it's real." Mom says, lightly pushing me into the brightly-lit room before following me in herself.
Inside sat three people. One was my father, engaged in a conversation with a middle-aged blonde woman. Where had I seen her before? Something about her face was familiar, even if I couldn't quite place it. The third person was a man about the same age as the blonde woman who's name I couldn't remember. A tray of tea and cups sat on the low coffee table, a multi-tiered tray holding sandwiches and fruit.
Both the woman and man stand up to greet me, I smile at both of them warily, before looking at Mom for answers. Who the hell were these people?
"Your Highness," the blond greeted. "I'm Pearl Van Der Witts," Oh! Pearl Van Der Witts, how could I forget that name? I used to read about her all the time when I was younger. She had made ripples in Illéa for her risky outfit choices and liposuctions (yes, plural) when she had appeared on Socialites of Waverly. Last I heard the show had been canceled after 12 seasons -all of which, I had admittedly watched-though I think Pearl had gotten her own spinoff at one point.
So, that left the question of why a reality TV star was at the palace as a teacher?
"Pleasure." I say, shaking her hand. White gloves covered her arms up to her elbows, an odd choice with the multi-colored dress she was wearing, a fitted white blazer over it. Somehow the colors worked, though, clearly no one had told her that November in Angeles was maybe 50 degrees on a particularly cold day. She must be boiling when she goes outside.
Pearl nods approvingly before speaking, "I'm delighted to be the etiquette teacher for the gentlemen who come to the palace. I do have experience in this after all, you don't get to be one of Waverly Times's 40 women over 40 by sitting on your caboose." Her smile was almost conspiratorial.
Oh come on.
I knew it was short notice, but was a washed up reality tv star really the best my parents could dig up?
"Of course not." I say, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling. "So, you'll be staying at the palace then?" I ask, hoping that she would deny my question. Sure, I don't know her all that well, but from what I've seen on television and the two sentences she spoke to me, I don't think we're going to get on very well.
"Both Pearl and Alan will have rooms set up in the palace." Dad says. Perfect.
The other man, who must be Alan, takes this as his turn to speak. "It's an honor to come here, Your Highness," he said lightly. I silently hope that he's not an ex-football player or some equally unqualified person for the job.
"Alan Brooms is going to be acting as the history teacher." Mom tells me. "He works at the National History Museum as a historian and generously agreed to offer his services to us for the duration of your selection."
Ah. Well, at least one of the teachers actually seemed like they knew what they were doing. I could handle that.
Etiquette was overrated anyway, not that I would be saying that to Pearl though.
"The national museum? That's very impressive." I say, smiling through clenched teeth.
Alan...Mr. Brooms...whatever I was supposed to call him laughs bitterly, "I don't think they'll miss me for a couple of months." He states, shrugging slightly. I send a questioning look to Mom, but she waves my question away with a flick of her manicured hand. I glance down at my own hands. I could really use a manicure before Monday. My cuticles are in such bad shape.
"I'm sure that's not true." Dad assures him. Doubt it. He must be royally unimportant to be the one sent to teach a bunch of schoolboys about a history they should already know.
"So what exactly do these lessons entail?" I ask curiously, wondering what type of hoops these two are going to make these unfortunate men jump through. In a weird way, I pity them. Sure, they're getting money and fame, but it's really just a public spectacle. None of them stand a chance, and they'll never know that.
Pearl speaks first, "Basic things. Manners, decorum, speech lessons-"
"Speech lessons?" I interrupt, earning a glare from Pearl. "What do you mean?"
Pearl raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, clearly not particularly happy with me cutting her off. Still, she answers, even if her voice is a bit cold. "Just the bare necessities. Training out any accents or speech impediments. Some of the lower castes still use those horrendous slang words. It really is a shame. No matter though, we'll take care of it."
If Pearl's voice is cold, Mom's is a frozen tundra when she speaks. " I don't know if you missed it Pearl, but the caste system isn't a defining part of the country anymore. It would benefit you to brush up on that."
A stronger woman than Pearl Van Der Witts would have cowered under my mother's formidable gaze, Pearl practically falls over herself in apologies. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. I just thought…"
"It doesn't matter what you thought," Mom practically spits out the word. "I suggest you change your thinking, preferably before the selected arrive." I know that if there was another week Mom would have fired her on the spot. Unfortunately, with the selected being picked tonight and them arriving on Monday, she was working under strict time constraints, meaning that she couldn't hire a new etiquette teacher before the boys came. I had no idea where she even dug Pearl up. I didn't think people still did lessons on etiquette and manners, it seemed like one of those things that would have bled into the past along with hoop skirts and corsets.
I would like to wear a hoop skirt though, preferably one in navy blue with tight sleeves and a fitted bodice. Nope! Now isn't the time for my medieval fantasies, I need to focus on the conversation going on in front of me.
"Of course Your Majesty," Pearl says, her smile sickeningly sweet. Somehow, I doubt that. A leopard doesn't change it's spots overnight.
I'll have to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't terrorize the poor boys too much. Just because I wasn't planning on falling in love with them doesn't mean that I wanted them to go through trauma inflicted by an ego-fueled socialite.
Seeming like he wants to diffuse the situation, Alan begins to go over his lesson plans, "We'll start with the basic history, branching more into foriwgn relations and the intricacies of the democractic monarchy as the selection progresses. By the elite we should be covering how a bill gets passed through office, probably conducting a project similar to that."
That does sound like a good lesson plan, I'll admit to that. Though of course I assumed he meant through the province-level, as getting a bill through a federal level was as simple as Mom signing her name and adding the royal seal.
"That seems very complete," I say lightly.
"Of course you'll be welcome at the lessons. I do hope you come to visit every once in a while." Alan offers.
Um, no thank you. "I'll have to see on that."
"She has a lot on her plate, I'm not sure that she'll be able to fit it into her schedule." Dad covers for me. Perfect. I really wasn't looking forward to that. I knew my history. I didn't need a historian to explain to me the founding of a country that my ancestors created.
Alan frowns for a second and looks like he wants to say something, but Pearl butts in first, "I'm sure you have no reason to come to etiquette lessons Your Highness, but if you want to check on your suitors progress then I could give you detailed reports." As if I don't have enough reports to look through, now I need to hear about how my faux-boyfriends are performing in manners 101. Gee, exactly how I wanted to spend my free time.
I sigh. "Wonderful. Is there anything else?" I ask pointedly.
"Not that I can recall." Mom says. "Leave us, please." She says to the two of them, barely looking their ways. Pearl curtsies as she leaves, and as much as it pains me to say it, she can walk in heels much better than I can.
Call me jealous.
"Her?" I ask as the door shuts behind them.
"Carolynn, you have no idea how hard it was to find an etiquette teacher in this day and age who wasn't senile." Dad says. "She was the best of the bunch.
I wrinkle my nose. "If you had to pick someone from that show, why couldn't you have gone with Kimberly or Stella? They're much more interesting."
"Who?"
"Kimberly is the one with the three divorces and Stella has the line of champagnes." I explain patiently.
"Well, I've never heard of either of them, but I do think you just answered your own question. At least Pearl is only on her first divorce." Dad says.
I pout for a second, "Oh."
"Alan was sent by the national museum as he said," Mom explains. "Apparently he was the only one they could spare."
"So I assume he's not very good at his job?"
"He can't be that bad, they did hire him in the first place, but they did seem to jump at the prospect of getting rid of him for a few months for a reason. You know, it's a government office, they can't very well fire him." Mom says.
So the people teaching my selected are a crazy reality star and a lackluster historian. What a rundown group. The royal family really couldn't get anyone better than these two?
Fine, I'm being mean. I suppose Alan at least seems sane, but that's not exactly the only requirement for a teacher. It's a good thing that the selection is fake to begin with or I would be seriously concerned for the future of my country.
"Ugh fine." I say relenting. "Now, do you think Pearl will tell me why Mossline left the show?" I ask hopefully.
"Mossline?" Mom clarifies, I nod in response. "That's a stupid name. I've never heard of this Mossline woman, but probably not."
"Maybe I could command her into telling me." That could work. Is it a little outdated and maybe a minor flaunting of my position? Yes. Do I care? Not particularly. Of course she would tell me. My title does carry a lot of sway around here, after all, who could say no to the crown princess?
And, I really, really, really, want to know why.
Uncle Luke approaches me a little before lunch under the pretense of having to drop off some paperwork for me. It was a Friday, there are no meetings on Fridays, nothing that would occur additional work for me. Usually Fridays are spent on recaps of the week to be sent to each province, just standard budget reports and plans for the next week. I had already approved the ones for Belcourt, Denbeigh, St. George, and Zuni.
"Paperwork? Really?" I ask, following him to his office as he had asked.
"You speak Italian right?" Luke ignores my question, causing me to cross my arms in front of my chest.
"Yes." Along with French, and Spanish. My tutors probably would have preferred if I spoke a few more languages, but they were never really my thing. Compared to most of the heirs around the world, I knew my grasp on foriegn languages was insipid at best. None of the languages I knew were worth bragging about, but I was still irrationally proud of being able to speak 3 languages plus English.
"Good. I need you to translate something for me."
"Have you never heard of Google translate?" I settle myself into one of the two chairs behind his desk in the office. It's smaller than Mom's or Dad's, probably about the size of one of the head advisors. It's nicely decorated though, the furniture and light fixtures expensive. A few photographs sit on his desk to the left of the computer, a picture of him with Quinn, Garnet, Aggie and Teddy from a few years ago is in the largest frame.
I wish I had siblings. Of course being an only child is great, I get all of my parents love and attention yada yada and all that stuff, but it would have been cool to have a sister. I could dress her up in my clothes that way I could try on different outfits without getting my hair messed up! It's almost as good as having a hologram.
"Things get messed up on the translation website, I just want to ensure that it's correct." Luke says, sliding me a piece of paper. It was written mostly in Italian, seeming to be a report on the ships he was talking about last week.
I glance at it before turning to my uncle. "Why do you really want to talk to me? Oooh! Is it a present?" I ask excitedly, perking up. Sure, my birthday was a few months ago and Christmas isn't for a while, but maybe it's a starting-my-selection present!
I hope it's a new tiara. I've been wanting one with Peridots set into the center.
"No. It's, uh, it's not a gift." His voice falters for a moment.
"Oh." I say, crumpling my face. Maybe he'll see how sad I am and pass along my desire for a new taira to my mother. That could work too.
"I have a favor to ask of you." Luke says slowly, fiddling with a pen on his desk.
"You're scaring me." I say lightly. Why do I always have to be the one doing things for people? Can't anyone manage in this world without my stamp of approval?
"Quinn was having lunch with one of the girls from my old selection who was in Angeles. Sable Reddlyn, she works as part of the security bureau, I think you've met her a few times." Luke tells me. I nod, I remember Sable. Who could forget her?
"She was the one who married the other girl from your selection right?" I ask, though I already know the answer. Personally, I found the whole story to be a bit wonky. You're telling me that they hooked up after the selection? Please. I think it's fairly obvious that they cheated on my uncle, making up the lie in a hasty attempt to appease the tabloids.
"That's the one. Esme was in Waverly so she couldn't visit, but-"
I cut him off, "I thought Quinn hated Sable, that she only tolerated her because of Esme."
Luke raises his eyebrows, "Yeah. I thought so too. I don't really get their relationship, it's too complicated for me to understand." Of course he didn't.
"So why were they having lunch?" I ask, wondering how much longer this is going to take. I'm getting hungry, and I need time to beautify before picking the names for my selection. Not to mention the mess that was my hair color, I need to get highlights before Monday. I'm thinking caramel colored to help bring out my eyes. Maybe Jenna can do it, I don't think I'll have time to actually go to a salon and have a professional do it for me.
"You know, it was a few days after your selection had been announced and, how do I say this...Sable's son really wants to be a part of it." Luke tells me, looking uncomfortable.
"Sable's son." I wrinkle my nose thinking, "His name starts with a S right? Steven… Stephen… Stefan...what was it again?" I ask distractedly.
"Sebastian." I was close. I had the first letter right, I'm counting that as a win. "Anyway, Sable and Quinn got to talking, and Quinn said she was going to see if he can be included in your selection, I think as a way to make amends."
"Why isn't Quinn asking me herself then?"
"She was going to, but she has a meeting for the new housing equality board, so now I have to do it." Luke doesn't look particularly pleased by the idea, but I can't say I blame him. I wouldn't want Aunt Quinn to be mad at me either.
I shrug. I don't really care if Sebastian wants to be part of my selection. Why should I? It's not like I'm leaving the rest of it up to chance. So what if a second form is rigged in as a favor to my aunt and uncle? The world won't end. "You do know that he has no chance of winning right?" I ask carefully, "Won't he be upset?"
Luke shrugs, "I figured, but if he wants it, then whatever. He has to know that there's no guarantee of him winning."
Still, I can't swallow back the guilt. I really don't want to break this random guy's heart. Luke is right though, if he wants it, then whatever. " I don't like that." I say quietly. Despite what some might believe, I do have some morals.
Some.
Hey, it wasn't my goal to go break a few hearts, but if that's what he wanted then who am I to argue. Sebastian was a grown person, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. If it meant signing up for a competition that he had no chance of winning, then who am I to stop him from doing that? It's his own life. If he wants me to ruin it, then that's his choice.
I'd oblige.
"You know what, I don't think that I particularly care. Sure, put him in." I say, waving my hand. "The selections already rigged anyway."
Luke looks up in surprise, "Wait. You actually mean that? I thought it would take a lot more convincing."
"Don't make me change my mind." I joke.
"Oh please don't." Luke says laughing. "Okay then, I'll change it so that all the envelopes in the Waverly box are Sebastian's. I think that's what they're doing for your little boyfriend." Luke stops playing with the pen now, the stress of having to ask me to further rig my selection behind him.
"That seems like a waste of paper." I comment.
Luke shrugs, "It probably is. Who really cares though?"
Simply put, I look beautiful.
I know, I know, it's a little vain of me to say that. I'm not usually that narcissistic, but I have to say that I look radiant tonight. More than capable of breaking the hearts of the hundreds of thousands of boys who don't get picked for the selection tonight.
Jenna had straightened my hair, pinning in my rose colored tiara, the one with Rubies and Amethysts decorating the gold metal. My dress was equally rose themed, a white strapless high-low gown with rose petals printed over the bodice and the full skirt. A gold belt cinches my waist, rhinestones forming a sunburst pattern in the center. My heels were a matching golden color. I usually would have switched them out for slippers, but since the cameras would capture my feet, then I had no choice but to sacrifice my comfort and wear those dreadful shoes.
"Be careful with the bowls." I call to one of the assistants. The large glass bowls that are recycled for every selection are being wheeled onto the set, the envelopes precariously teetering over the edge. The last thing I need is to have to redraw because some envelopes were missing.
"Of course,Your Highness," the man says, walking slower. Normally I wouldn't care if a few envelopes went missing, but there were so many journalists in the crowd that it was clear someone would snap a photo of the pathetic little envelopes on the pristine tiles.
Mom wasn't kidding when she said selling tickets would subsidize the cost of the selection. It wasn't just the media who was here, but socialites, celebrities, and a few excitable schoolgirls who look around my age. Probably seniors in highschool.
Mom and Dad come over to me, the crowds parting like the red sea as the rulers walked. One day that will be me. Hopefully sooner than later.
"That's a lot of people." I say, looking at the crowd.
Mom smiled, "I told you not to worry about the cost."
Now's probably a bad time to say that I never was worried about the cost, it was just a reason I had come up with as to why I shouldn't have selection.
"You certainly outdid yourself."
"The waiting list is a mile long." Dad tells me. Is it wrong that I'm not just excited about that for pure profit value? I love having people on the set when we film, something about the cheers of the adoring crowds inspire me. It's weird, but in a way it makes me perform better, as I can't have any redos
Plus, the cheers of my subjects never hurt to boost my self-esteem.
"That's good." I say with a grin. "Now come on, I want to pick my selected already. It must be almost time."
As if my words were a message to the cosmos, the 5 minute warning alarm goes off. "Places please!" A producer with dark hair and lobster-like red skin yells. "Quiet on set!" The schoolgirls I had noticed earlier immediately take out their phones to film something. No one goes to stop them as they normally would, there are so many journalists here who actually have photographic licenses that it would be ridiculous to worry about the videos of a few silly girls.
It's all live anyway. Not like they would reveal any state secrets.
I follow my parents on to the set. It more resembles a news broadcast or a late-night talk show than it does a palace, but I don't mind. It makes the people feel more comfortable, or so the designers say. Everything's through a television screen, people are at their own homes anyway. Isn't that where they feel the most comfortable?
"Excited, Your Highness?" Lindsay says as she sidles up next to me, perky as ever. Her blond hair was in tight curls, a stunning -but not quite as stunning as mine- rhinestone encrusted beige strapless gown decorating her short, curvy frame. Designers sent her outfits almost as much as they gave them to me, which was saying something considering that I was royalty.
Still, despite Lindsay's many annoying habits, she was a good friend. She liked all the things I did, even if she was 5 years older than me, so I answer, "Of course. I hope they're as hot as they were in the past selections."
Lindsay laughs, "I'm sure some will be. It wouldn't hurt to have some eye candy around here." If I was actually planning on dating these boys I might have some problems with her statement, but I know Lindsay. She's just looking for a good time, not a serious relationship.
"They're too old for you." I say rolling my eyes.
"Oh come now, Princess, do you really think that low of me? I'd only go for the ones above 22." Lindsay assures me. Huh. At least she has some boundaries.
"Great plan." I remark dryly, "Just don't get caught on camera."
Lindsay smirks, "I thought the whole dating anyone else is treason thing was abolished years ago."
"Maybe so, but my mom would probably still fire you."
Lindsay considers words for a moment before shrugging them off. "Probably. Might be worth it though."
The lights flash on and off three times, signaling the start of the broadcast. I smile broadly, stopping the conversation with Lindsay. I do need to finish that later though. Note to self: Keep the more innocent boys away from Lindsay.
"Good evening Illéa!" Lindsay cheered loudly. Hoots and hollers from the crowd filled the room, and Lindsay paused, smiling so broadly that her professionally-whitened teeth are exposed. "What, all this applause for me? I'm flattered really, but we have a different star tonight. So please, direct your adoration towards our one and only Princess Carolynn Schreave."
I smile at the camera before turning to Lindsay, "Really Lindsay, you should let me handle the introductions once in a while."
"What, now you're not only the future Queen, but you're taking my job too? That doesn't seem very fair, now does it Princess?" Lindsay jokes.
"Just trade for a day. I'm sure you would find cabinet meetings very interesting. And I would be a fabulous report host."
"No, I really don't think I will. Cabinet meetings are a bit mundane for me. I could never spend hours working to govern the country like you do. You know what I do find interesting though?"
"What?" I ask, knowing the answer
"The names of the thirty-five young men coming to the palace for your selection." Lindsay says brightly, her eyes a mixture of television-ready excitement and genuine excitement for her romantic prospects.
Splendid.
The report host was planning on sleeping with as many of my selected as she could manage.
"All in good time Lindsay, all in good time."
"Well, Princess, if you insist on making us wait then I have a few questions for you." Lindsay starts, ready to get onto the pre-chosen questions.
"Go ahead. I'm excited to hear them." Total lie. She had forwarded me the list of questions earlier in the day and I had drafted the answers. Not my best work, I'll concede to that, but perfectly acceptable considering that I was writing under pressure.
"First of all, would you say that you have a type?" Lindsay asks.
"I think I would have had to actually date people in order to have a type, but I guess a good personality is important to me. Also, the ability to take everything with a grain of salt, royal life is stressful, somehow you have to just look on the bright side of even the dimmest situations." I answer, my tone chirpy and upbeat.
"A good personality? Boy, do I wish some of my ex-boyfriends had that." Lindsay laughs at her own joke along with, and I'm just estimating here, three quarters of Illéa. "Now, what would you're looking for with a spouse?"
"I'm looking for someone I feel at home with, someone I can be myself with. Someone who will think I'm beautiful even when I wake up in pajamas and my hair knotted around my head." I answer truthfully, giggling slightly for emphasis.
If Lindsay was a cartoon, her eyes would be heart emojis by now. "Oh please, Your Highness. You always look drop-dead gorgeous. Do you hear that gentleman, our princess wants someone who will tell her the truth about how pretty she is."
Have I mentioned how much I love Lindsay? She's much better than the old host, he was far too old for my tastes.
"Our final question is for Her Highness's parents, Queen Farrah and Prince Consort Maxwell, can you please join us?" Lindsay asks, gesturing to Mom and Dad. They comply, standing next to Lindsay on the platform. "So, Your Majesties, do you have any advice for the young men being chosen tonight?"
Mom answers first, as usual. "I can't say I know what it's like to be in your shoes, but a little advice, patience goes a long way. Jealousy or petty conflicts won't get you far. Yes, it's a competition, but whining and complaining aren't going to earn you any favors. I look forward to seeing you all here on Monday, I have a feeling like I'm in for a fun few months." She says.
"Patience is a virtue." Lindsay affirms. "One that I don't have, but minor details. Your Majesty," she says, turning to Dad, "What would you tell the boys coming to court your daughter?"
"A long time ago, I had my name called on television just like you. Was I nervous? Sure. The thing is though, you have to consider at what costs you win. This isn't just a silly game, it's a future. Make sure you really want it before you lead my daughter on. Besides, I wouldn't want to get on her bad side." I glare at Dad for his final words. What does he even mean? I have a perfect, even temper and mild manner. The amount of misinformation in the world...
Lindsy nods, "Neither would I. Now, I know that there are some very restless young men at home, so why don't we cut to the chase and reveal the selected?" Lindsay's question receives a huge applause from the audience, the schoolgirls clapping wildly.
"I think that's a wonderful idea Lindsay!" I say brightly. "Now, where to start?" I ask, making a show of pursuing the glass bowls set in front of me.
"I say Clermont." Lindsay interjects. "I took a lovely vacation there last year."
"Clermont it is." I say walking over to the engraved bowl. I plunge my hand into the bottom, letting a few envelopes sift through my fingers before grabbing one that almost gives me a paper cut. I slide the envelope over to Lindsay. She opens it eagerly, her bright red acrylic nails acting as a virtual letter-opener against the waxy seal.
"Our very first selected of the night is Nathaniel Wilson, 3, a sailing instructor from Clermont?" Oooooh. A pirate? I've always wanted to meet a real one. Not that Nathaniel looks very pirate-y. His hair isn't a matted black mess but rather blond curls that reach to his shoulders. His eyes aren't small and beady, instead soft, downturned, and a light gray. Damn it. What a disappointment. I'm sacrificing months of my life to have this absurd pageant and yet, I can't even get a real pirate in my selection?
Where's the fairness in that?
For some of the boxes I push the envelopes around until I find one that seems to fit in my hand, in others I pick the one that I feel first. Most of the boys consented to having their photos taken, with one glaring exception. A man named Nishav Levesque, a 6 working as a librarian from Labrador. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. Especially without a photograph to help spark my memory.
By the time Nyson Avery from Columbia rolls around I'm practically rolling my eyes at the amount N-names in the selection. I knew they were popular a few years ago, but come on. This is ridiculous. Nyson is hot though, I'll give him that. His chiseled jaw could rival many a movie actor, and his hazel eyes are warm, filled with compassion.
Looks like I -sorry, we. How could I forget Lindsay?- am getting some hotties. Perfect.
"To all the gentlemen lucky enough to be chosen, congratulations! Expect a call from the palace later tonight. I can't wait to meet all of you." I beam at the camera, more than ready to head to dinner. I've had enough of this. "And to everyone else, thank you for entering! I promise there will be plenty of behind-the-scenes content to keep you satisfied."
"You heard the princess," Lindsay says loudly, "Keep tuning in to Channel 1 for all your latest news. A special report covering the latest updates in government will be playing tomorrow at 11am pacific standard time, along with a guest appearance from the national spelling bee winner!" Boring. I couldn't imagine that the kid was all that interesting if he spent all his free time studying for a stupid spelling bee.
"Nishav Levesque." Mom hums, holding his application in her hand.
"Who is he again? I know I've heard of him." I ask curiously.
"He is- well, was- a musician. A very talented one at that. You went to one of his shows years ago, he quit recently though. I wonder why?" Mom muses. I shrug, wondering the same thing. Now that she mentions it, I do remember attending a charity concert years ago, the name Nishav Levesque printed in a large font on the programs. His violin skills were some of the best I've ever seen.
"I'll make sure to ask him." I tell Mom.
"Not right away though. It could be a touchy subject." Dad says to me.
"I know, I know. I'm not that tactless." I point out. My parents both exchange glances, causing me to scowl. "You know what, dinner time." I say, clapping my hands loudly. I've had enough thinly-veiled insults for one day.
As I follow my parents out of the report studio, I see the teenagers I had noticed earlier posing for pictures next to the large On Air sign. They're all giggling, talking louder than necessary. The tallest of the lot, a pale, freckled girl with red curly hair is wearing a birthday tiara. It's a cheap plastic one, probably bought at a party store. I gesture a maid over quickly, "You see those girls?" I ask.
"Of course, Your Highness."
"Get them an autograph or something." I say, waving my hand.
With that I go to eat, the names of the selected already fading from my memory.
A/N: Here we get a glimpse of our first few selected! Not only that, but we meet some new characters! If you have a reservation they are due on November 1st! I'm looking forward to seeing all the boys you send in. Of course if you need an extension, don't hesitate to ask. If you still want to make a boy but haven't yet made a reservation, just shoot me a pm. I'm hoping to get a few more submissions. I'm excited to get into this story and to see all the boys you send in. Until next Monday everyone! Have a great week!
