CHAPTER 10
Friday, the 28th of November, 2239
Henri Pemberton, Viscount Enfield.
"Illéa was originally a bipartisan democracy. This was uh...during the time when it was still called America. Can anyone name the two largest parties for me?" Mr. Brooms asks, shuffling his cards in his hands. We're all sitting in the faux-classroom for one of our first actual history lessons. In a quarter of an hour we managed to get through exactly one of the slides that Mr. Brooms had prepared for the class. It's disappointing, to say the least.
Most of my fellow selected stopped paying attention about 5 minutes into the class. Nyson's head is resting on his hand as he stares out the window. Nathaniel is tapping out a steady stucco beat with his pen. Owen had taken to doodling in the margins of the paper he had taken out for note taking. Despite all this, it didn't seem like Mr. Brooms even noticed. I know that this man didn't work in teaching before this, but I hope that he can make the lessons slightly more interesting as we get farther into the selection. Maybe it's just because we're still in the beginning of the selection. I'm sure that these lessons and Mr. Brooms' teaching style will improve over time.
He probably just needs time to adjust. It's probably a pretty jarring change for him, I shouldn't judge too harshly.
Nishav raises his hand to answer, as he's done for all the questions previously. In fact, I'm fairly sure he's the only one who participated so far. "The Democratic party and the Republican party."
Mr. Brooms double-checks his flash cards before responding "Yes, thank you Nishav. Can anyone tell me the alternate name for the Republican party?"
To no one's surprise, Nishav raises his hand. Mr. Brooms looks like he's about to call on him, but falters for a second, "Uh, maybe we could get someone else? There are no wrong answers. Just please, somebody try."
"Of course there are wrong answers." Nishav mutters under his breath as he lowers his hand, seeming reluctant.
Sebastian, or Bas as he's told everyone to call him, tentatively raises his hand. "I'm not sure, but is it the great old party?"
Mr. Brooms gives him a weak smile, "That's very close. Uh, anyone else?" After a minute of desperately scanning the room, Mr. Brooms turns to Nishav. "Nishav, do you happen to know?"
"The grand old party." Nishav responds, looking uninterested.
"Yes. Thank you again, Nishav. Now, can anyone name a Democratic president for me?"
I raise my hand. I actually know the answer to this one. One of my great-great-great-great grandmothers had received a piece of jewelry from President Molloy, something that was still passed down my family. "President Molloy." I answer quickly.
Mr. Brooms seems surprised that someone other than Nishav volunteered without his prodding. "That's right, Henri. Good job. Now, how about a Republican president," he scans the room quickly, looking for anyone else possible to answer, "Nishav?"
"Eton." Nishav replies in an unbothered tone.
Mr. Brooms nods, "That's correct. Obviously this system gave way to much tension, leaving a country fraught with tension. When China invaded the, uh the country was too broken to be able to fight back. One thing led to another and well, here we are now. Illéa. I'm going to spare you all the speech on Gregory Illéa, obviously he wasn't exactly...the saint he was made out to be for many years." That's an understatement. Even in my old school we learned about his tyranny, it really was just common knowledge at this point.
"Right, so moving along. Some holidays were abolished with these changes, though many were brought back later down the line. Can anyone give me an example?"
"New Years day. It used to be in January or February, going on the New Asian calendar as in Illéa's formative years there was an alliance with New Asia. After the war though, Illéa adopted the same calendar as most of the western world." Nishav supplies easily.
"That's really more of a… nevermind. Yes, that's correct. Anyone else?" When no one answers, Mr. Brooms tries a different approach. "Look, I really don't want to have to cold call, so please, can someone who isn't Nishav give me a holiday?"
Tex looks up from his paper, "I...wasn't there something called Thanksgiving?"
"Yes! Thanksgiving was about the pilgrims who came to America, obviously we don't celebrate it anymore."
"Why not?" Divesh asks, picking his head up from his desk.
"Well, um, Thanksgiving is uh, it's just-" Mr. Brooms stumbles over his words, clearly not sure where he's going with his explanation. I guess he can't really teach anything that's not already written on his flashcards. He probably doesn't do well with presenting, come to think of it. There's a reason he's working for the Illéan Museum as an anthropologist and letting other people piece together the histories, not presenting his discoveries across the country.
"Thanksgiving was meant to celebrate America." Nishav answers for him, looking at Divesh with less contempt than usual. He had probably grown somewhat fonder of him during the group date. "When America ceased to exist, there was clearly no need for Thanksgiving."
Divesh flushes, nodding quickly. "Yeah. That- That makes sense. Thanks Nishav."
"Hm." Nishav says simply in response. I purse my lips at his answer. What a jerk. Wouldn't most people in his situation say something pleasant, like, I don't know, happy to help or no problem. Something. I guess that's just Nishav though. Cold, unfeeling, uncaring, Nishav.
Oblivious to my feelings, Mr. Brooms speaks, "Yes, thank you Nishav. Now, I have a worksheet for you all to do before class is over. Please, work in pairs."
"Can we pick our own partners?" Nyson asks, giving me a shock of nostalgia to grade school. Who would think that a selection which would end in me being married was what brought back memories of the sixth grade?
"Uh, maybe later down the line. Right now though, I, uh, made a list of who's working with whom." Mr. Brooms says apologetically. "Owen is with Nathaniel. Ryan with Nyson…" I tune out until I hear my name, "Henri with Sebastian."
Oh. Him. The other rigged selected. I don't know much about him, other than both his parents were in the selection of Carrie's uncle. I guess he must be adopted. I've never thought much about it, but the timeline wouldn't work out if he wasn't. The selection would have been 21 years ago, and Sebastian must be around 20. Plus, both his parents were women, though I suppose they could have used a sperm donor.
"Just..uh go sit with your partner, and I'll hand out one sheet to each partnership. I'll collect them when you finish and give them back on Monday."
I make eye contact with Sebastian, going over to sit next to him. It was probably easier, Sebastian had a wide array of colored pens and highlighters in front of him that would have taken a while to clean up.
"Hey," he greets as I pull a desk over to him.
"Hey." I answer, sitting down, feeling like an overgrown school child. I glance at his paper before I can stop myself, "Those are really cool."
"What are?" Sebastian asks casually. He follows my gaze to his paper, but he doesn't rush to cover it up like most people do.
"The pictures you've drawn. They're really good." He had covered his paper with different pictures, calling them doodles just seemed wrong. They were too well done, too professional looking to be classified as doodles. He must have put a lot of effort into them. The largest one is a dress, done in great detail. There were some smaller ones scattered around the paper, but it was the dress that caught my eye.
"Oh, thanks. I just did them quickly. I don't know, I guess it helps me focus." Sebastian answers, avoiding my gaze. I don't comment on how drawing a picture, and effectively not paying attention helps him focus. To each their own. Who am I to judge him?
"Huh. Do you design dresses?" I ask, tapping my finger on the dress.
"Sometimes? I'm an art student, but I like to sew clothes. Making dresses is just a hobby of mine. It's not a big deal." Sebastian explains, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Have you ever designed one for an exhibit or a company or anything?" I ask, taking out my phone to search up his name.
"Once. It was my final project last year." Sebastian says.
Of course, his last name being Reddlyn-Monroe, plenty of results come up when I type in his name. Many of the articles were written way before he was chosen for the selection. I find one from the Waverly Institute of Art though, about the art show. I scroll until I find his name, next to a very...unique picture.
"You made this?" I ask, showing him my phone.
"I..I had some inspiration for it. I thought it would look cool."
I looked at it, "It's more than cool. It's a wedding dress made out of dicorce papers. How did you even do that?"
"I asked the province office for a copy of the divorce form and then photocopied it a couple hundred times. A lot of people said it was depressing and cynical."
I glance at my phone again, "I could see that."
Mr. Brooms shuffles over at this point, "Boys, here you go. Oh, and please put the phone away," he says, tapping me on the shoulder. I stuff the phone in my pocket, flushing at his words. For the third time today, I feel like I'm back in grade school.
Sebastian looks at the paper, "There are 10 questions, do you want to split them or just work together?"
"I...I don't know that much about Illéan history." I amit, "It's probably better if we work on them together, we'll get a higher grade that way." It's embarrassing to tell that to another selected, one in Sebastian's position no less, but it's probably better to lead with that rather than to get the sheet back on Monday with all the questions I answered being marked as wrong.
"Oh right. You're not from here. I forgot. Yeah, we can totally work together on it." Sebastian says quickly. "Sorry about them."
I shake my head, "Thanks. Hey, you wanted us to call you Bas, right?" I ask.
"Everybody does." Sebastian answers good-naturedly. "Yeah, that would be good. I mean.. Yeah, that's what I wanted."
"Duly noted." I respond. Just because there aren't any good nicknames for my own name doesn't mean that I don't care about others. Sometimes I wish that I had been given a longer name. I guess it's really inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Hell, it's inconsequential in the scheme of things that actually happened in my life.
Though, to be fair, I guess I did have a fairly eventful life compared to most people my age. Having a royal title, almost losing said title, a long and very public court case, then moving to a new country is more than most people would do in their entire life, let alone the first 16 years.
"I guess we should get started on this." Bas says looking down at the paper. "Question 1, where was the old capital located?"
"Do they want us to name the state or the province?" I really wish that Mr. Brooms had clarified that on the paper. I hated when things were vague, left up to chance.
"I have no clue." Bas shrugs, tapping his pen. "I guess we should write both."
"It was D.C right? Washington D.C?" I remember that from history at least. Learning the capitals of each country was just basic knowledge. Most of the textbooks still included a footnote next to the Illéan capitol, a footnote that I had actually read.
"Yeah, I think so. My moms took me to tour the old white house one time. That's in Allens." Bas says, making some notes on the paper. "Any idea what the old state was?"
"Uh, maybe Maryland? Or Georgia." I supply. I know it was somewhere in the south, I'm just not quite sure where.
"Maryland sounds right. I guess I'll put it in parentheses." Bas finishes the question quickly, turning his attention to the one below it. "Any idea who led the American revolution?"
"It's one of those guys on the mountain, I think." I offer, not really sure of my answer.
"Which mountain?"
"You know, the one with all the old presidents on it. Mount Rushmore. I've always wanted to go there. It looks awesome." I say wistfully. I've seen pictures of it, and though I have little patriotism towards a country that no longer exists, I still would love to see the faces carved on the mountains.
"Why can't you go?" Bas asks, capping the pen.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's not like money is an issue for you, the royal coffers must be pretty deep. I'm sure you can get a hotel room, why haven't you gone?" Bas rephrases
I shrug, not really knowing why I haven't gone. Probably because I didn't want to go on a family vacation to some place that I actually wanted to go to. That would just ruin the whole experience. " I've never gotten around to it." I say, my tone even.
"Oh. You should, if you really want to." Bas sighs looking back over the paper. I take the opportunity to glance around the room. A few of the partnerships must have already finished, because the crowd in the room had significantly thinned out.
"We should probably hurry up."
Bas follows my gaze, looking around. "Probably. Okay, no more talking about anything other than the worksheet."
"Right."
With that thought in mind we manage to not be the last group to finish, but only because Nishav pissed off his partner (gee, I wonder how) and Mr. Brooms wouldn't let them work separately. Not exactly my finest moment but that seems to happen a lot during the selection. I guess that's what happens when you put 35 boys into a high-pressured situation.
Still though, I should be better. I'm a royal, foreign or not.
Anyway, after we finish, me and Bas bid each other goodbye, though with the homework group Carrie created (and that I doubt she'll actually attend) we'll be seeing each other later.
Speaking of the homework group, it's supposed to have its first meeting today. I guess that's cool, I'll get to find out how many of the selected are in school and what their majors are. And it'll give me a chance to finish up my essay for Monday.
Lunch is it's usual affair. The food is good, per usual. It's the Illéan palace after all, working as a chef here is probably a fairly big honor. It's got to be a step up from working here as a maid or butler anyway. There's some sort of prestige to being the royal chef. People have probably worked their entire life to get here. To serve food to 35 boys from various walks of life plus the royal family and any guests they might have.
Towards the end of lunch, Carrie stands up, holding a piece of paper in her hands. "Excuse me, everyone. Eyes on me please." I chuckle at her words. This selection really is shaping up to be more like an elementary school than anything else.
When the room quiets to her approval she continues. "I'm sure most of you can guess what's going on, but for those of you who are yet to pick up on it, let me explain. The selection has been going on for what, 10 days now?"
"Or 11, depending what you count as the official start date." Nishav interjects. The Queen looks to him with some interest. I guess she would like him, with Nishav's background in music. I know that the Queen is patron to many musical organizations around Illéa.
"Right. So, 10 days give or take. And, obviously, since you're all still here I decided not to do the initial eliminations. But, they'll have to start eventually, and now is as good a time as any." Carrie states. "So, without any further ado, all 35 of you are eliminated." She keeps her face serious for a few seconds, long enough to scare a few of the guys.
"Carolynn," her mother hisses.
"Sorry, sorry. I'm joking guys, you're not all eliminated." The relief is palpable on some of the evidently more gullible selected's faces. "However, some of you will have to be."
The Queen makes a continue motion with her hand, and Carrie glares at her for a second before speaking. "Yeah. If I call your name, well, you know what to do. And in the case that you somehow don't, there will be butlers to assist you. Don't worry, your flights home are in first-class."
Huh. I would have thought that the palace would have gone with the economy section for the Crown Princess' rejects, but I suppose it's better not to rub salt in the wound. To ease them back into the world of civilians. Though, they were only here for 11 days, I wouldn't say that their expectations for their quality of life would have changed so much in less than 2 weeks.
Carrie claps her hands together, looking at the piece of paper she clutched. "Okay. Blain Thompson, Daniel Sanchez, Donald Mort, Horton Elle, Jake Lone, Jackson Simm, and finally, Seth Asher." Most of the selected realize she's going in alphabetical order, and I see the faces of the other guys visibly relax as she passes where their name would have been. I wasn't particularly worried, but I still try to pull off some look of happiness when she says Horton's name. I'm not a great actor, so I don't know how convincingly I pulled it off. Still though I doubt anyone would be looking at me too closely. Some of these guy's self-absorption is practically a super power.
"I'm sorry to you," Carrrie quickly counts something on her fingers, "7, but I don't think that we have a future together. I hope you don't take this too harshly, I mean, it's only been 10 days. We barely knew each other." I don't know if that was the best going-away speech, but it certainly accomplishes the goal. The unlucky few get up from their seats after a moment, bowing one final time and slowly making their way out the door.
I make a small wave of my hand, though none of the guys leaving actually see it. Probably too busy wallowing in their own self-pity. It's a bit over dramatic considering that they never had a chance with Carrie, but I suppose they wouldn't know that. And they never would.
Carrie watches them go before turning to the rest of us. "For everyone else, consider yourselves lucky. I know that I haven't been on dates with everyone yet. And, I know it probably sucks for those few of you. Don't worry though, I'm working on it, and sometime soon I will actually be finished with the first round of dates. Look forward to that. Anyway, that's all I have to say." Carrie finishes.
"Oh! Actually, I forgot. Arthur, Lorenzo, and Jordan, we are going on a date to see a new comedy show in one of the theaters. Meet me in the foyer at 12:45 please!" Now, finally finished with her piece Carrie sits back down, looking a bit too happy for someone who had just eliminated a good chunk of her selected.
After lunch, I head back to my room on the second floor to grab my laptop and one of my various textbooks. Personally, I think I got one of the better rooms with a view of the garden, and in the far distance, a gravel driveway that shows all the traffic coming into and out of the palace. There's a surprising amount of people coming and going when you consider how few people really do have permission to visit.
From there, my laptop and textbook in tow, I make my way down to the library where Nathaniel said everyone would be meeting.
"Hey." I greet the group already gathered, setting my things down. Tex, Nathaniel, Divesh, Sebastian, Dale, and Ryan were already gathered. "Are we waiting for anyone else?"
Nathaniel looks up at me, "No, you're the last."
I flush. Oh God, I didn't mean for that to happen. "Oh. I'm sorry for making everyone wait." I say stiffly.
"No worries." Nathaniel says, literally waving away my concerns.
"Okay." I agree, opening my laptop gently.
"What are you working on?" Divesh asks, peering at the title of my textbook.
"I have an essay due on Monday. It's about the effects of friction and momentum on different types of roads and bridges." I explain, opening the document containing my half-finished essay. I had linked the sources but I needed to actually write the bibliography and finish up the conclusion. It was verging on 5 pages, so as long as I kept the conclusion short it should come in under the 7 page limit.
"Sounds fascinating." Tex deadpans. I bite my cheek, fully aware of just how boring my essay sounds. I don't give him a reaction yet, I know that's what he wants out of me. And I refuse to give it to him.
I turn to Divesh, ignoring Tex's comments, "How about you?"
"I need to take notes on a few chapters in my textbook. I've been putting it off for a pretty long time." Divesh answers, looking surprisingly enthusiastic for something so mundane. He probably enjoys schoolwork. I understand that. I might not personally share his sentiments, but I understand them.
"What chapter are you on?" Tex asks, looking mildly interested in what Divesh has to say.
"Something with organic chemistry." Divesh replies, leafing through the pages. "Hey, you're a chemistry major right?"
Tex nods, "Yeah."
"Oh. Cool!" With that, Divesh goes back to his textbook, underlining things and occasionally making notes on a sheet of paper he had next to him.
I should probably work on my essay too. It's almost done, it would probably be better to submit it tonight so I can have the weekend free of worry. Yeah, that's probably better.
So, the 7 of us sit in a semi-silence, the only sounds puncturing the atmosphere being the sound of someone typing on a keyboard or a pen scraping on paper. Occasionally, someone would make a comment to the rest of the room, to which someone else would respond. Laughs would ensue and the whole thing would start over again. It was better to work in a group rather than alone in my room though. Probably more beneficial for my grades, and definitely a motivator for handing work in on time. It's not like I can sit here doing nothing.
I was almost done with my bibliography when Tex spoke to me. "Stanford huh?" He asks, looking at a sticker on the back of my laptop. I had gotten it from the university's bookstore my first year there, when I actually thought things like that were cool.
"Yeah. I go there." I respond, looking at the date the article I was using was published.
"Hm. Good school." Tex comments lightly.
"Thanks."
"Did Daddy pay your way into that too?" Tex asks, making his voice sound innocent. I look up at him, my attention drawn from the glowing scream of my laptop. Did he just…
"Tex that's rude." Divesh says nervously.
"I'm just saying. Don't you think it's a bit weird that the Viscount Enfield, or whatever your title is, managed to get into the 4th best school in the country?" Tex notes his voice laced with malice. I bristle at his comments. This boy has no right to accuse me of anything. He doesn't know anything about me. Still, I refuse to rise to his level.
"You're right. My father could have paid my way in, but he didn't need to. Because, I might be a royal but I also scored a 1580 on the standardized admissions test. What did you get Tex?" I respond, keeping my voice even and my eyes on Tex.
Tex regards this information curiously. "He probably wouldn't have anyway. For your sister maybe, but not for his bastard son."
The room seems to become even quieter, if that's even possible. I feel my face turn red as I process his statement. I...I think I hate him. I try not to hate people. It's a strong emotion. But in the case of Tex, I feel that it's fully justified. Who is he, this random kid from Yukon, who's never met me before this time, to be the one to accuse me of being an illegitimate. Of not deserving to have my title, not deserving to be part of my family. It's my birthright, the one that was almost taken away from me.
I can't stay in here anymore. The library, as airy as it is, is stifling me. I feel like I can't breath. "I..I have to go." I mutter quietly. The other guys let me go wordlessly, obviously figuring out that Tex had struck a nerve.
He had. A big one.
I end up in a small sitting room near the library, staring at the window. I'm trying to stop myself from thinking about Tex's words and just failing miserably. I should have seen it coming. It was an easy thing to pick on if you were in Tex's position. It didn't take a lot of effort to figure it out, only a simple search of my name. I don't...I can't...I just want to start over. But no, that one damn thing will haunt me for the rest of my life.
"Henri?" Comes Divesh's voice as he enters, Bas not far behind him. "I have your laptop."
"Thanks." I say simply.
"If it makes you feel any better, a lot of people thought my moms paid my way into college." Bas offers up. "I didn't have the highest grades in school."
I chuckle weakly. "It doesn't, but thank you."
Bas shrugs, "I tried."
I press my lips together, deciding whether or not to confide in them. Why not? They all signed contracts anyway. Besides, I doubt these boys would go to the press. "The thing is, Tex is right. I mean, my father didn't pay my way in, but I know he would have." I pause looking up at them.
"How?" Divesh asks, his voice unsure. "If you're okay with saying. I don't want to pressure you."
I sigh before answering, "The whole thing with my father was long and drawn out. He was trying to get the court case through without a paternity test. Obviously, he couldn't. About four months in, when we were going to the doctors office to get the test, he clapped me on the shoulder and said 'No matter the outcome, I'll always support you financially'" I shake my head, not fully believing that I'm actually telling them this. "Not I'll always love you or You'll always be my son but that he'll give me money."
Neither Divesh nor Bas looks like they know what to say to this. Finally Divesh says, "I'm sorry."
"Water under the bridge, right?" My tone is less than convincing, and by the expressions on the two of their faces, I can tell that they don't believe it either.
A/N: Hello everyone. I'm wishing you all a great Monday. For all my Americans, I hope you have a great, safe, (And please for the love of God, socially-distanced) Thanksgiving. For everyone else, have a great nondescript week. So, Nano is drawing to a close. As of me writing this A/N, I'm like 2 days ahead. So, we're almost in the home stretch. Again, thank you all for your lovely reviews, they always make my day. I'm putting a poll on my profile, which teacher do you think is the worst? This is just for fun, but I'll let you know the results in the next chapter. Okay, have a good week and see you on Friday.
