Chapter 8
Maryn
The line moved forward, and I shuffled with it.
Somewhere ahead, cameras waited. The whole nation waited.
Girls around me whispered their speeches under their breath, lips moving in silent rehearsal, and I looked down at the tablet Paul had shoved into my hands on his way out the door yesterday morning.
***
“Read it, memorize it. And don't lose that. You'll return it if you're eliminated before Trial Five. Vera will be back at six a.m. to get you camera-ready. The nation loves a lady so easy on the eyeshadow, Vera.”
Vera and Paul had traded barbs all the way out the door, and I didn’t relax until I couldn’t hear footsteps any longer.
I stared at my new tablet.
I’d never had one. What did I do with it?
Paul had seemed to know exactly how they worked.
I touched it, and an image blurred to life.
A red logo: the Covenant States, followed by a quick message: Welcome to the Rite of Unity.
Please complete all induction forms within four hours of receiving your device.
I clicked acknowledge and waited as a new screen loaded.
A quick explanation as to why the Rite was enacted fifty years ago.
A reminder that there would be eleven trials.
A waiver holding the Covenant States harmless in case of pain, dismemberment, or death.
A message from our president.
“Angel?”
I looked up. “Dad.”
He sat beside me on the couch. “Want me to look these over for you?”
I frowned. “You have work.”
“I took the day off. They understood.”
I nodded, swiping the next screen.
Elias’s grinning face stared back at me.
“He’s handsome.”
I looked up again. “Dad.”
“I wasn’t going to say he’s Elite. But I will if that makes you feel better.”
“I don’t care about his status.”
Dad’s hand came down on top of mine, and he squeezed. “Angel.” He met my eyes. “Every girl cares about his status.”
***
“Six,” the announcer prompted, and the girls moved forward, shaking me from the thought. I stared down at my screen again. Everyone else had days, if not weeks, to memorize their speech. To practice it in front of the mirror. I had less than twenty-four hours.
Vera had taken one look at me this morning and rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “You couldn’t have tried to sleep?”
“I—”
“Just let me in.” Her sigh was loud, but when my mom came forward to greet her, she froze. A look I’d never seen fell over her features, and she bowed at the waist. “Okaasama.”
My mom rushed forward, lifting Vera’s chin. “No.”
A look passed between them, and I rubbed my eyes, but in moments, Vera was dragging me to the bathroom, and Mom had disappeared into her room again.
Vera had tugged my hair harder than necessary today, even though this time she left it down, covering my neck.
“Seven.”
In front of me, Phoebe, number eleven, whispered the words to her speech over and over. The woman in front of her turned around, and whatever she'd eaten for breakfast splattered dark across Phoebe's white gown.
“No!” she wailed, running from the line. A woman who must have been her stylist rushed her to the nearest bathroom.
“I’m so sorry,” ten said, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
I stepped forward, avoiding the mess, and pulled a tissue from the pocket of my dress.
I’d never had a dress with pockets before, but now that I knew about them, I could never go back.
Vera had stuffed my pocket full of so many things I didn’t think I’d survive a river crossing, but it turned out one of those items would come in handy.
Not that I thought Vera would be pleased if she knew I’d used her stash on another contestant.
“What’s your name?”
Number Ten lifted a shaking hand and offered me the tissue.
“Keep it.”
She smiled, but her dress didn’t have pockets, so she tossed it to the ground. I tracked the movement. Nerves. It was nerves.
A woman I hadn’t noticed standing to the side of our line darted forward and picked it up, tossing it in a waste bin.
“I… I’m… Deena.”
I took her trembling fingers in mine and squeezed. “I’m Maryn.”
She nodded, glancing over my shoulder. “Do you think she’ll be mad?”
I shook my head. “She’s fine. Do you want to practice with me?”
Deena’s eyes widened. “But. We’re competing.”
I leaned toward her, inhaling through my mouth to avoid her breath. “I won’t tell them.”
She laughed, unexpectedly and loudly, then leaned in too.
“This isn’t my first Rite.” She glanced over her shoulder.
The line hadn’t moved. Seven must be performing for her audience.
“I was in a Rite with a boy from my Covenant House last year. I failed Trial One back then too. I can’t speak in public. ”
Her hands rattled in mine, and I squeezed tighter. “The trick is to picture the audience as a group of your closest friends and family. Those who would support you no matter what.”
She shook her head. “I only performed for the Covenant House. Just thirty or so people.” Her skin went pale. “This is the whole nation.”
She looked green, and I backed up, tugging my hands free a moment before she spewed again.
“Eight.”
“I’m sorry,” Deena cried.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. Just keep practicing.”
I looked down, reading the lines on my screen again.
When ten was called, Deena was white as a ghost. Her producer had to lead her onto the stage and I thought she might faint before she even reached the center.
Eleven, Phoebe, rushed back to her place, straightening her newly styled hair, and in far less time than any of the others, her number was called.
I took a deep, calming breath. Think of Mama and Dad. I closed my eyes, picturing them in my mind, and exhaled.
“Twelve.”
I opened my eyes and stepped onto the stage.
"I am proud to have grown up in the Middle—safe, provided for, protected by the walls that separate our great nation from the chaos beyond them.
“We do not speak of what lies outside those walls out of fear. We do not speak of it out of cruelty. We speak of it as a reminder of what we have been given.
“The Covenant States did not build those walls to keep us in. They built them to keep the darkness out.”
I pressed my thumbnail into my palm.
“The undocumented. The displaced. Those unfortunate souls lost to radiation and lawlessness who would see everything we have built here reduced to rubble.
“We in the Middle stand vigil. Between the darkness beyond our walls and the Elite born to lead and protect us all. It is no small thing to stand in that place. It is an honor.
“We are proof that this system works. That a girl born without title or legacy can stand before her nation and say: I believe in the walls. I believe in the Covenant. And I believe in the man who chose me to stand beside him.”
Every word landed exactly where it was supposed to, my tongue tasting sour.
“I am Maryn Veil. And I am ready.”