A/N: Hello hello! I know I haven't posted the Maxon outtake I promised- grad school is hard sometimes, y'all. It's about 1/3 done, so I should be able to post it sometime this coming week. The only thing you need to know from it is that Marlee got married and Maxon told America that he's going to dismiss Celeste. Much love to you all!

I spend the next morning after breakfast sorting through the mess of papers in my room. Some of the notes and reports I read turn out to be useless, which frustrates me. I finally manage to whittle my research down to a page of statistics and talking points, and start in on making a poster. I go all out- arrows, color-coding, even a large diagram.

After an hour of laying over the poster board on my bedroom floor, I realize I'm going cross-eyed. I flip over to lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.

I wonder what Marlee is doing right now.

Working, I'd assume. It's strange, knowing that she's still here, just a few floors beneath me, but being unable to see her.

I clamber to my feet, rubbing a knot out of the back of my neck as I walk down the hall. I don't have a specific destination in mind; I just need to move. I wander down the stairs, then around the main floor. I end up in front of one of the libraries and I remember a few of the books I want to read. The door to the parlor wings open quietly and I realize I'm not alone. Someone is crying.

I search for the source and find Celeste, hugging her knees to her chest, sitting on the wide perch of a windowsill. I feel immediately awkward; I'm the last person she'll want to see right now. To be perfectly honest, I really wasn't even sure she was capable of crying.

The only thing to do is leave, but as she wipes her eyes, she catches sight of me.

"Ugh!" she whines. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I was looking for a book."

"Well, get it and go. You get everything you want anyway."

I stand there for a moment, shocked to my core. Maxon told her?

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" she mocks. "I thought he told you everything. I've been kicked out. 'It's for the best,' he says. 'We'd never be happy together,' and 'You would never want the duties of being queen; you'd be miserable' like he knows anything about me. And now everyone loves you, so go ahead and live happily ever after."

"I'm… sorry?" Why is she so hurt by this?

She flings a glossy magazine at me and I catch it clumsily. "See for yourself. Your little speech on the Report pushed you over the top. They love you."

I turn the magazine right side up, finding half of the page full of pictures of the remaining five of us. Above the image, an elegant headline asks Who do YOU want as Queen? Next to my face, a wide line shoots out, showing thirty-nine percent of the people are pulling for me. It isn't as high as I think it should be for us to end it, but it is much higher than the others!

Quotes from those polled edge the graph, saying that Celeste is positively regal, though she is in third. Elise is so poised, it says, but she also only has eight percent of the population pulling for her. By my picture are opinions that make me want to cry.

"Lady America is just like the queen. She's a fighter. It's more than wanting her; we need her!"

I stare at the words. "Is… is this real?"

Celeste snatches back the magazine and angrily stacks it up with the others. "Of course it's real," she scoffs. "So go ahead, marry him or whatever. Be princess. Everyone will love it. The sad little Five gets a crown."

She starts walking, and I am left reeling. I didn't truly think she'd be upset about leaving. Angry, yeah. Embarrassed, sure. But sad? And what gives her the right to take it out on me?

"I don't understand why this matters to you," I say, now more than a little frustrated. "Some very happy Two is going to marry you anyway. And you're still going to be famous when this is over," I accuse.

"As a has-been, America," she says with an eye-roll.

"You're a model, for goodness' sake!" I say, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "You've got everything!"

"But for how long?" she counters. Then quieter, "How long?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice becoming softer. "Celeste, you're beautiful. You're a Two for the rest of your life."

She is shaking her head before I am even done speaking. "You think you're the only one who's ever felt trapped by your caste? Yes, I'm a model. I can't sing. I can't act. So when my face isn't good enough anymore, they're going to forget all about me. I've got maybe five years left, ten if I'm lucky."

She stares at me. "You've spent your whole life in the background. I can see you miss it sometimes. Well, I've spent mine in the spotlight. Maybe it's a stupid fear to you, but it's real for me. I don't want to lose it."

"That makes sense, actually."

"Yeah," she dabs under her eyes, gazing out the window.

I walk over and stand beside her. "Yeah. But, Celeste, did you ever even like him?"

She tilts her head to the side, thinking. "He's cute. And a great kisser," she adds with a smile.

Yeah, because he kisses me all the time, I want to fire back. Needless to say, I don't.

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "I really thought I was the only one who had that with him. That I had him in the palm of my hand, making him dream about the possibility of needing more."

"That's no way to get to someone's heart."

"I didn't need his heart," she shrugs. "I just needed him to want me enough to keep me. Fine, it's not love. I need the fame more than I need the love."

For the first time, she isn't my enemy. I understand that now. She's a nineteen year old girl, just like the rest of us, trying to find a way to take control of her life. She simply feels she has to intimidate us out of something that most us want but that she feels she needs.

"First of all, you do need the love. Everyone does. And it's okay to want that right along with the fame."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't interrupt.

"Second of all, the Celeste Newsome I know doesn't need a man to get fame."

She laughs out loud at that. "I have been a bit vicious," she admits, more playful than ashamed.

"You ripped my dress!"

"Well, at the time I needed it!"

And suddenly, all of it is funny. All the arguing, the wicked faces, the little tricks- they feel like a really long joke. We stand there for a minute, laughing over the past few months, and I find myself wanting to look after her the way I did Marlee.

Surprisingly, her laughter fades away quickly, and she averts her eyes as she speaks.

"I've done so many things, America. Horrible things. Part of it was not reacting well to the stress of this, but mostly it was because I was ready to do anything to get that crown, to get to Maxon."

I'm a little shocked as I watch my hand rise up to rest on her shoulder.

"Honestly," I start, "I don't think you need Maxon to get anything you want out of life. You've got the drive, the talent, and, probably most importantly, you've got the ability. Half of the country would give anything to have what you have."

"I know," she sighs. "It's not that I'm completely unaware of how lucky I am. It's just hard to accept the possibility of.. I don't know, being less."

"Then don't accept it."

She shakes her head. "I didn't stand a chance, did I? It's been you the whole time."

"Not only me," I deflect. "Kriss. She's at the top, too."

"Not because he loves her though- I'd be willing to bet he only spends so much time with her because people liked her better. Before now," she adds. "Do you need me to break her leg? I could make it happen." She chuckles to herself. "I'm kidding."

"I'm not," I mutter, thinking of them in the movie theater right now.

Celeste arches a perfect eyebrow. "Feisty."

I blush. "Do you want help… packing or anything?" Who would've thought that would be something I offer Celeste.

She waves me off. "The maids are doing all of that. All I have to do is get in a car in a few hours that will take me to the airport."

Wow. That's… quick.

"I might miss you a little bit," I confess with a small smile. "If nothing else, you certainly bring energy to a group."

She laughs sarcastically. "I do my best."

"What was your project?" I ask, suddenly curious. If it's good, maybe I'll use it eventually.

"What? Oh- a minimum wage across castes. Anyone could pay an entry fee unto certain classes to get certifications, and those certifications would require that they get paid a certain amount, no matter what their caste is."

"That's a really good idea. You should tell Maxon about it."

She scoffs. "I'm sure someone's thought about it and shot it down before. What's yours?"

I tell her, and she whistles in admiration.

"That's bold," she warns.

"I know," I shrug. "That seems to be a decent summary of most of the things I've done here."

"You'd better go and make a really pretty poster to distract people," she suggests with a smile.

I nudge her good-naturedly, but get up to leave. "I'm sorry to see you go, Celeste," I say sincerely. She waves me off.

"I'll get over it eventually. You're right; I don't need a man to be famous. I'll do it all by my damn self."

~PtG~

The last three days before our presentations pass in a blur.

We are all strangely subdued with Celeste gone. I was right; she did bring energy with her, even if that energy was usually spent fighting. It's much easier to ignore each other, or only engage in small talk without her there to antagonize us, or to bring up the uncomfortable conversations. We are painfully polite, all walking on eggshells.

I think her elimination also reminded everyone else that this is supposed to be a competition. It had been so long since someone had truly been dismissed- since that first big rebel attack when Maxon narrowed us down to the six Elite. Marlee… well, however I might describe it, she wasn't eliminated. Now we are just one elimination away from Maxon having to make a final decision- and they all think they have a chance.

I have no idea how crazy I would be going if I weren't sure of Maxon right now, so I can only imagine what the rest of them are feeling.

I manage to keep my idea a secret from everyone, despite Maxon and Silvia's incessant prying. When Silvia asks what I need for my presentation, I tell her a small desk for some books and an easel for the poster I designed. She is particularly excited about my poster; I'm the only girl here with any true experience making art. I can only hope she won't be too shocked by my proposal.

I spend hours writing my speech into note cards so I won't miss anything, flagging sections in books to be my resources mid-presentation, highlighting statistics in reports, and rehearsing it in the mirror to get through the parts that worry me.

I ask Anne to make me a dress that looks innocent, which makes her eyebrows pucker.

"You make it sound like we've been sending you out in lingerie," she says mockingly.

I chuckle. "That's not what I mean at all. You know I love all the dresses you've made me. I just want to seem… angelic."

She smiles to herself. "I think we can come up with something."

They must work like crazy, because I don't see Anne, Mary, or Lucy the day of the Report until the hour before it starts, when they come bustling in with the dress. It is pale blue, gauzy, and light, adorned with small pink and white flowers sewn across the floor-length skirt and up the illusion neckline. The flowers look so realistic that they seem to be growing out of the dress. Lucy and Mary start pulling out makeup and jewelry; Lucy is still downtrodden, and I vow to talk to her, really talk to her, once this is over. Anne deftly pins my hair up, pinning small white flowers and pearls onto my head- not organized enough to actually look like they are intended to imitate a crown, but it seems like it could be unintentional; I know it is not.

It was hard to keep my plan a secret, but I did. When the other girls asked what I was doing, I simply said it was a surprise. I got a few skeptical looks for that, but I didn't care. I asked my maids not to touch the things on my desk, not even to clean, and they obeyed, leaving my notes face down. Whenever Maxon begged to know, I played coy, and that entertained him just as much as telling him would.

No one knows.

The person I wanted to tell most is my dad, but I'm never sure how carefully they are monitoring our correspondence- I would hope that they aren't at all, but I didn't want to risk it.

He'll know soon enough.

When I walk into the studio for the Report, I am clutching an armful of marked books and a portfolio for my poster. The setup in the same as always- the royal family in seats to the right near the door, the Selected in seats on the left- but in the middle, where there is usually a podium for the kind kind to speak at or a set of chairs for interviews, there is a space for out presentations instead. I see a desk and my easel, but also a screen that I assume someone is showing slides on. That is impressive. I wonder who found the resources to go that far.

I go to the last open chair- next to Kriss, unfortunately- and place my portfolio beside me, keeping my books on my lap. Natalie has a few books, too; and Elise is reading through her notes over and over. Kriss is looking toward the sky and appears to be reciting her presentation mentally.

Silvia is there, which sometimes happens when we have to discuss something she'd briefed us on, and today she is beside herself. This is probably the hardest we've worked to date, and it will all reflect back on her.

"You look beautiful, ladies, fantastic!" she says as she approaches. "Now that you're all here, I was to explain a few things. First, the king will get up and give a few announcements, and then Gavril will introduce the topic of the evening: your philanthropy presentations."

Silvia, usually a level-headed, palace hardened machine, is giddy. She is actually bouncing as she speaks. "Now, I know you've been practicing. You have eight minutes; if anyone has a question for you after, Gavril will facilitate that. Remember to stay alert and poised. The country is watching you! If you get lost, take a breath and move on. You're going to be wonderful. Oh, and you'll be going in the order in which you're seated, so Lady Natalie, you're first, and Lady America will be last. Good luck, girls!"

Silvia skips off to check and double-check things, and I try to calm myself. Last. I guess that is a good thing. I suppose Natalie has it worse by being first up. Looking over, I see her breaking into a sweat. It must be torture for her to try and focus like this. I can't help but stare at Kriss. I think this is going to be hardest on her; Natalie is so happy-go-lucky that she won't be upset for too long, and Elise isn't actually emotionally attached to Maxon, but I think Kriss will take it really hard when we can finally end it.

"Nervous?" I ask, watching her nibble at her lip.

"Of course," she answers, staring at the wall ahead of us. "This is going to have huge ramifications- I'm sure this will be a big part of Maxon's choice, and I want to show him that I can be a good queen to the country as well as a good wife to him."

Okay. That's on me. I shouldn't have asked.

"I'm sure he knows that already," I try to soothe. I hadn't even thought of that part of it.

Just then the king walks in with the queen at his side. They are speaking in whispers, and it looks very important. A moment later, Maxon enters, adjusting his cuff links as he makes his way to his seat. He looks so official, so poised, in his suit. I'm glad that I get to see another, more personal, side of him, but I'm still impressed with this one.

He looks over at me and gives me a shy smile. I smile back, and he tugs his ear. I grin at the gesture. It's been awhile since we've used it, now that we have standing dates every night. I'd been planning on him coming over tonight anyways, but it sets me at ease, which I'm sure was his intention. I tug mine back and take a deep, calming breath.

I can do this.

A cold sweat breaks out over my entire body as the presentations start. Natalie's proposal is short. And slightly misinformed.

She claims that everything the rebels are doing is hateful and wrong, and their presence should be outlawed to keep Illéa's provinces safer. We all stare at her quietly once she is done. How did she not know that everything they do is already considered illegal?

The queen's face in particular seems incredibly sad as Natalie sits back down.

Elise proposes a program that would involve members of the upper castes essentially becoming pen-pals with people in New Asia. She suggests that it would help strengthen the bonds between our countries and aid in ending the war. I'm not sure that it would do any good, but it is a fresh reminder to Maxon and the public of the reason she is still here. The queen asks if she happened to know anyone in New Asia who would be open to being in the program, and Elise assures her that she does.

Kriss' presentation is spectacular. She wants to revamp the public school systems, which I already know is an idea near and dear to both the queen's and Maxon's hearts. As the daughter of a professor, I am sure she's been thinking about this her whole life. She uses the screen to show pictures from her home province that her parents sent to her. The exhaustion is plain to see on the teachers' faces, and in one picture it shows a room where four children are sitting on the floor since there aren't enough chairs. The queen pipes up with dozens of questions, and Kriss is quick to answer. Using copies of old reports about financial issues we read, she's even found a place where the money could be borrowed to start the work and has ideas on how to continue the funding.

As she sits down, I see Maxon give her a smile and a nod. She responds by blushing and studying the lace on her dress. Sometimes I wonder if it's cruel of him to do that, to encourage her more than absolutely necessary.

It's my turn now; I hoped I would be as cool as Elise, as confident as Celeste, but all I feel is nerves rolling around my stomach, all but bringing me to my knees.

Wouldn't that be my luck- vomiting on national television. At least the tabloids would have a field day. Celeste might even frame the covers.

I tremble as I stand. For a brief second I consider pretending to pass out. But I want this to happen; I want my idea to be real. It will be real. I can convince Maxon, I know I can. Provided the king doesn't make me an Eight and send me to Honduragua.

I take a deep breath and go to the podium.

"Good evening, Illéa."