~Chapter 1~
Virgil Singer should have checked everything in the mail before handing it to his mother.
“Oh, can I see what’s in the mail?” Virgil’s younger sister, Valerie, asked. She was coming out of her small room, specs of paint like multi-color stars across her hands as she toted a small canvas. Virgil glared at her for a moment. Not that he hated her, no. He absolutely adored her. That was why he needed to protect her from-
“The House of Singer,” Virgil’s mother read aloud, and the boy’s heart felt like it was about to explode as he came upon a startling realization. “Our beloved Prince Roman has come of age, and in celebration of his eighteenth birthday, he will be hosting a Selection to find a husband. Our recent census concludes that a young man between the ages of sixteen and twenty resides in your home. If you wish to sign up your son/brother/roommate/other relation, please contact your District Services office. We hope to see you in the Selection! From, Anja Stewart, adviser to the royal family.” Virgil’s mother tossed the letter on the table as if she could care less, but she was sending mixed signals that worried her son.
“The Prince?!” Valerie squealed, shaking with excitement. “Virgil, could you be the next Prince?”
“Hold on,” Virgil’s mother held up a hand lazily. Everything she did was lazy: her low voice, every movement, her care for her children. It was as slow as a drunk, as she was as ruined as their small wrecked house. “You wanna pretend to be a fag for a while? I heard the pay is good.”
Valerie’s look of hope and happiness was immediately replaced be sadness. At age thirteen, she was a hopeless romantic, and her spirit was constantly crushed by her horrible mother. She tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” her mother said, “that if your brother gets chosen, he gets paid weekly for staying at the palace. That’s what they did for the last Selection, anyway.”
“But, Mom, I really don’t want to. He’s… it’s-”
“You should,” his mother replied. “It’d do good for all of us, considering we don’t have your father no more.”
That statement still stung, though he could barely remember it. His father, in panic for money after learning his wife was pregnant with a baby girl, left them. Virgil was only four years old, and he was crying over something dumb like hunger, when his father got so frustrated that he left. Virgil didn’t even get to say goodbye.
“So, if you get picked, can I go with you and be dressed like a princess?” Valerie asked, trying to change the subject. She looked up at Vigil innocently, but her older brother could see how she was really feeling behind her eyes. She fantasized about a dazzling life with cute boys, but really all she wanted was for her mother to stop being the way she was.
“No, Vally.” Virgil frowned at her. He hated to be this way with her, but he had to shut down his family before they got too out of hand. “I’m not signing up. For one thing,” he looked right as his mother as his heart hurt in panic. He lied through his teeth, “I’m not gay. Two, even if I was, I don’t want to sit there at the castle looking pretty while this wimp chooses what pretty face he wants to stand next to him for the rest of his life. Three, I probably wouldn’t even get chosen if I entered. There’s probably thousands of guys putting on a show at the mention of a crown. I just really don’t wanna be in that castle with all those trashy people, being filmed for national T.V.”
Valerie looked upset, almost as if her eyes were watering. His mother looked taken aback, yet impressed. “Damn,” she nodded, “I get it, kid. I was too young to sign up myself when my generation was doin’ the Selection, but I see your point. It’s a real shame, too. You coulda been royalty, and we could’ve got out of this dump. Ah, well.” She got up and grabbed the letter, then waved it around for her son to see. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She stuck it on the fridge door with a small magnet. “Damn shame,” she mumbled, stumbling away for her third nap of the day.
Virgil glared at her on her way out. It was hard not to show his hatred for her at all, but especially not in front of his sister. She had to be aware of what little money they were making with her taking a job once in a blue moon. In the caste system, they were Fives. Fives were artists and musicians, and they were only a want for the rich, so it was easy to go broke in that position. Virgil’s mother always took a job playing instruments with her son at the higher caste’s parties. To the Twos (models and actors) and the Threes (teachers and scientist), they were a cheap gig. To the Fives, these gigs meant that they would be able to afford food.
When it came to Valerie, Virgil felt bad for how young she had to work, as if she didn’t have a childhood. Luckily she liked painting, and she was good at it.
“What’d you paint?” Virgil asked, playfully ruffling his sister’s hair. She smiled at her canvas and shoved it to her brother. It was a white palace, shining in front of a light blue sky. The details were incredible for such a small canvas.
Virgil felt a harmful tug in his heart. “I want you to keep it, don’t you?” He asked, trying and failing to keep his voice from breaking.
Valerie frowned, and she looked so pitiful. “I mean, yeah. I like all of my paintings, but I have to sell them. It’s okay, really, Virgil.”
“It’s not,” Virgil whispered so quietly, it was simply a breath that wasn’t heard.
Valerie smiled a little at Virgil, then she went to the fridge and pulled out a small bowl of beans. “I’m gonna heat us up some dinner, ‘kay?”
Virgil nodded. It only took a minute in the microwave, then they ate in silence. It was hardly any food, and Virgil felt more hungry when he finished. He washed the dishes, then went to his room and waited.
He watched the light under the door finally shut off as his sister went to bed, then he waited another hour. Cautiously, he got up and checked how he looked in the dusty bathroom mirror, playing around with his curly black hair. Then, he carefully snuck out to his backyard. After two years of perfecting this, he could climb up the panels that went up to his old tree house.
Inside it was tiny, but it felt like a better home than his actual home. There was a soft rug and a candle that was lit when someone was in there.
It was lit with a small flame.
Though there had never been an intruder in the tree house, Virgil always panicked at that. Well, that and the silhouette that shadowed half of the micro-room.
Then, the intruder spoke. He spoke with a small, soft voice, though it couldn’t fool Virgil to see past his trials. The trials it took to be here in the night, moonlight filtering through the window. That small voice could comfort him in any situation. The person to whom that voice belonged was the main hidden reason why Virgil couldn’t enter the Selection.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Dan.