CHAPTER SIX

Even though the school is huge, it would be impossible to get lost on the way to The Selection: everyone seems to be headed there.

I fall in with the throng of students, the two girls having basically run away from me before I could ask them any more questions. The air crackles with the kind of energy you only get from shoving several hundred teenagers into a space together. I press onto my tiptoes and search for Brynn, but it’s impossible to tell if she’s around.

The crowd surges through two giant open doors across from the cafeteria. It’s some kind of gym, with banners hanging from the rafters and bleachers lining the walls. At the far end, a raised dais sits in front of a closed door. In the corner, trophies gleam in a glass cabinet. The whole place is steeped in ceremony.

I head for the bleachers, but a touch on my elbow stops me. “Right this way, Winter,” Professor Towles says.

I follow her to the other end of the hall, right in front of the dais, where Brynn and four other students stand around, looking like they’re waiting to be sacrificed. One boy is actually green in the face.

“Brynn!” I throw my arms around her and she hugs me so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you again.” She releases me and presses a trembling hand to her mouth.

“What are we doing up here?” I turn to Professor Towles. All the eyes on me feel like creepy crawling bugs.

“The new students need to be chosen for the different tiers.” She points at the banners above us.

Looking again, I see that the banners aren’t only different colors. They have different words and emblems on them as well.

“Seed,” I read out loud. “Acorn… Pinecone… Oak… Redwood.”

“They’re like houses?” one of the girls waiting with us asks. “Or fraternities?”

“Something like that.” Professor Towles’s attention has turned to the front of the gym. The door behind the dais opens and four stuffy-looking people, including Madame Aldine, emerge.

The chatter from the bleachers dies down as the four people take seats at the dais.

“Good luck.” Professor Towles squeezes my shoulder and then darts to the bleachers.

“Good luck?” the boy who’s green whispers. “What do we need good luck for? Oh, this is bad… this is so bad.”

A man with a gray beard stands. When he raises his hands, the last of the noise in the gym disappears as quickly as if all the air were sucked out of the space.

“Welcome to The Selection!” His deep voice booms across the gym. “I am Headmaster Stroud and tonight will determine the entire course of your time at Hawthorn.”

I actually gulp.

“The process is simple.” His bright blue eyes study the six of us, standing in a line before him. “A series of questions will determine who is placed in which tier. Tomorrow you will meet with the heads of your tiers and receive your orientation.”

A boy in our line raises his hand.

“Any questions you have,” Headmaster Stroud says, “will be answered then.”

The boy drops his hand, a scowl stretched across his face.

The back of my neck prickles, and I fight the urge to run out of the gym. The silence emitting from several hundred people is even more disconcerting than when they were boisterous. If the rest of the school is acting this way, then I have a feeling I should be very concerned.

“Trixie Johnson.” Headmaster Stroud’s vibrant eyes fixate on the girl who spoke a minute ago.

Trixie stands a little straighter, the only one in our group who actually looks confident. “Yes?”

“What is your greatest fear?”

Her eyelashes flutter in surprise, but it doesn’t show in her voice. “My greatest fear is not living to be the best that I can be.”

Headmaster Stroud shares a quick look with one of the other people on the dais–a big woman dressed in bright pink and green–and then nods.

“In what order do you value these three things: your country, your family, and your personal autonomy?”

It continues like this with a handful of other questions, all that I assume are supposed to give the headmaster and other judges (maybe teachers?) an idea of her character. With each answer, the judges' reactions are hard to read. Their faces remain stony, their entire personalities distant.

“Henry Roba.” Headmaster Stroud moves on to the boy standing next to Trixie. “If Hawthorn were to catch fire and you could only go into it to save one person, who would that be?”

I bite my bottom lip. Damn. Trixie wasn’t asked that question. It’s also a horrible one, in my opinion. Who wants to think about such a thing, and how will this help decide what club we go into?

My palms start to sweat, and the temperature in the room must have climbed by at least ten degrees. I need an open window, some fresh air. Instead there’s only the four walls pressing in and an occasional whisper from the bleachers. There’s no preparing my answers, because I have no clue what I’ll be asked. The anxiety from that alone almost makes me want to lay down on the floor and just give up on everything.

When it’s Brynn’s turn, she turns sheet white.

“If you could do anything different in your life,” Headmaster Stroud asks, “what would it be?”

Brynn meeps like a little fawn. “Uh, I would… I would… have come to this great school sooner.”

I cringe. One question in and I already feel sorry for her. No way do the judges not know that answer is complete bull.

She stumbles her way through three more questions, but I barely hear what they are. The ringing in my ears grows louder, and the room is starting to spin.

Then–all of a sudden–the headmaster is looking right at me. No, not just him. Everyone on the dais.

A line forms between Headmaster Stroud’s eyebrows. Shoot. Did he ask me a question?

I lick my dry lips. “I’m sorry… come again?”

His eyes flash with annoyance. “What is your favorite place in the world?”

My jaw drops. Wait. Seriously? Is my first question really that easy? Really that subjective?

There’s no way I can get it wrong.

Some hope blooming in my chest, I take a deep breath. “Uh, my favorite place is probably…”

The words won’t come. My favorite place in the world no longer exists. Well, it does, but the tree in my backyard now belongs to someone else. Maybe another family. Maybe another girl like me but not me, a girl who has both her parents and doesn’t have to worry about anything bigger than which college she’ll be going to next year.

I’ve spent more afternoons than I can count sitting in that tree reading while my dad cooked on the grill, the smoke wafting into the branches and the neighborhood singing around us.

A lump forms in my throat, and I touch the beads on my wrist, one of the few remnants of my old life. “I don’t have a favorite place anymore.”

Headmaster Stroud turns and says something to Madame Aldine. She nods once, then steps forward, her hands raised.

“The tiers will now make their decisions.”

That’s it? I only had one question?

My heart jumps all around my chest. That doesn’t seem right. How could the tiers possibly know anything about my character after one answer?

The judges gather in a group, Madame Aldine scribbling in a notebook as they whisper. From the bleachers, Professor Towles gives me a thumbs up. I try to smile back at her, but it’s like those muscles have forgotten how to work.

“That was crazy,” Brynn whispers.

I just nod and sweat some more.

Headmaster Stroud is already resuming his position at the edge of the dais, the piece of paper from Madame Aldine in his hands. “The selections have been made.”

Anxiety twists its way through me, its sharp claws squeezing my insides tight. Somehow, the gym becomes even more silent. In the spaces between the headmaster’s words, it’s like we’re in a massive tomb.

“For Seed,” he says, “Henry Roba.”

Applause is scattered. No one seems too excited about the announcement. Henry ducks his head and smiles shyly.

“For Acorn, Melvin Silva.”

More polite applause. The knot in my stomach tightens a little more. Six new kids. Five tiers. Does that mean two of us will be in the same tier?

And why are they called tiers anyway? Is this some attempt to categorize us based on intelligence?

It doesn’t make any sense–especially considering I only had the chance to answer one question.

“For Pinecone, Trixie Johnson.”

This time the applause is a little louder. Apparently Trixie is a crowd favorite.

“For Oak, Brynn Davies.”

Brynn sucks in a quick breath. “I got picked?”

“Congrats,” I tell her as I clap along with everyone else.

Headmaster Stroud reads whatever is written on the bottom of the paper. This is it. It’s me and one more kid left. Which means we’ll both be in the same tier.

“For Redwood…” Headmaster Stroud clears his throat. “Khaled Alami.”

This time the applause is thunderous, accompanied by whistles and foot stomping. Khaled rubs the back of his head and grins, looking like he just won the lottery but doesn’t know what to do with himself.

I look back at Headmaster Stroud, waiting for my name to be called, but instead he tucks the paper into the pocket on his vest.

“That concludes The Selection. You are all dismissed.” His lips drawing into a thin line, he turns his back to us.

Someone laughs in the bleachers, and out of the corner of my eye I see Heather looking gleeful.

My vision tunnels, and my arms go numb. Wait a second. I wasn’t picked?

Brynn is saying something, but she sounds so far away. I can’t make sense of her words.

I wasn’t selected. I’m not good enough.

Everyone mills around me, talking and laughing. The people who were selected are being patted on the backs, their hands shaken by other students. Everyone is in an exclusive club, and I’m the odd one out.

Even Brynn drifts away as several students surround her and start chatting her up. I couldn’t be more alone.

“Hey.” Someone touches my arm, and a girl with deep auburn hair smiles at me. “I’m Alice.”

I try to answer, but a croak comes out instead.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t get picked my first semester here either.”

Hope flares in my chest. “And then you got picked later?”

“Uh…” She frowns. “No. That’s it. There’s only one chance at Selection per student.”

My gaze drops to the floor. As much as I didn’t want to come here, Hawthorn was my only shot at a home. Now I have no family, no place to rest at night. No future. I might as well not exist.

This is it. I’ve officially hit rock bottom.