The Selected | ✓

Chapter 6

I'm awake the next morning before my maids come in. Taylora is the first to enter, and she literally jumps when she sees me awake. "Good heavens, Miss. You scared me."

I smile. "I'm sorry, Taylora." I say. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Maria busies herself with the curtains, while the other two pull out a dress for me to wear today and draw a bath. I'm cleaned off quickly, and then they put me in a floral sundress. It's white, pink, and green, with thin straps on my shoulders. The skirt reaches to just above my knees.

Taylora pulls out a pair of green flats that match the dress, and Alexis makes me wear a white cardigan over it. She brushes out my hair and pulls it to one side. "Can I please do the braid?" She begs Taylora. "I brought the perfect ribbon and everything!"

Maria sighs. "Go ahead, Alexis."

Alexis claps her hands together and pulls out two pieces of ribbon—a bright pink and a bright green. Both are the same color as my dress.

She takes a small section of my hair from behind my ear and braids it, and towards the end she adds in the ribbon, braiding them into it. She takes a small black elastic and ties it off. "There. You look perfect."

Despite my protests, they make me stand in front of a mirror. I look at my hair, my dress- everything but my face. I'm glad they didn't put makeup on me—I would've had to look at myself, meet my own eyes. And I can't do that, not yet. Not after the accident.

I feel myself smile. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"It really makes your eyes stand out, miss." Maria tells me.

"It makes your skin look not as pale, too." Alexis says.

Taylora adjusts how I'm standing and tilts my chin up. "If you were in a gown, I would say that you look like the queen."

I'm looking at my hair when she says it, so I see the color that floods into my cheeks. Alexis pins my nametag onto my cardigan, the light bouncing off of the silver. "Would you like any jewelry, miss?"

I shake my head. "No thank you."

I'm the first one to where ever we're supposed to be. Slowly other girls walk in. One girl wears a pale orange dress that glitters silver in the sun. Another wears one the color of sunlight. I notice something—all of them have their hair up, heels on, makeup coating their faces. Their dresses have ruffles and frills and lace of some sort. One girl's dress is floral, and it has this large flower at a ribbon on the waist. And they all fit into a certain category—preppy, or sexy, or elegant, or something like that.

Aquia sits next to me on the couch. Her strawberry blonde hair is in two braids, and her freckles are covered by makeup. She's in a blue dress the color of her eyes. From the waist to the hem it's ruffled, and she wears a darker blue cardigan over it. Her heels are small, and they make her legs look a little longer.

She smiles. "I love your dress. It really brings out your eyes." She tilts her head to the side. "Without all the black, you don't look quite so intense."

I smile back. "I love yours too. It's the exact shade of your eyes."

She gives me a fake smile. "Unfortunately, it's not very pretty."

"No, it's not. I was just trying to make you feel better."

She laughs. "And all of this makeup—I'll have so much acne, it's not even funny!" We still laugh, which earns us glares and weird looks from the other girls.

When everyone's here, we're lead down the stairs. There's a polished mirror, which everyone checks themselves in one last time before continuing down. I don't.