The Elite (Selection)

you out.”
    Something in that sounded funny. I sat back up. “Are you saying that if the others do worse, one of them could be kicked out?”
    Maxon hesitated a moment, clearly unsure how to respond.
    “Maxon?”
    He sighed. “I have about two weeks before they expect another cut. This is supposed to be a big part of it. You and Kriss have the harder setup. A new relationship, fewer people to do the work; and while the culture is very celebratory, the Italians are easy to offend. Add to that the fact that you’ve hardly been able to do any work at all …”
    I wondered if the blood was visibly draining from my face.
    “I’m not supposed to help, but if you need something, please say so. I can’t send either of you home.”
    When we’d had our first fight, a stupid spat over Celeste, I thought a piece of me shattered for Maxon. And then when Marlee left so abruptly, I thought it did again. I was sure that every time something blocked my way, bits of my heart were crumbling to nothing. But I was wrong.
    There, lying in the hospital wing, my heart broke for the first time over Maxon Schreave. And the ache was unthinkable. Up until then I could convince myself that I’d imagined everything I’d seen between him and Kriss, but now I knew for sure.
    He liked her. Maybe as much as he liked me.
    I nodded at his offer for help, unable to say anything else.
    I told myself to tug my heart back, that he couldn’t have it. Maxon and I started all this as friends, and maybe that’s all we were meant to be: close friends. But I was crushed.
    “I should go,” he said. “You need sleep. You had a very long day.”
    I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t the half of it.
    Maxon stood and straightened his suit. “I wanted to say so much more to you. I really thought I’d lost you today.”
    I shrugged. “I’m fine. Really.”
    “I can see that now, but there were several hours today when I was forced to brace myself for the worst.” He paused, measuring his words. “Usually, of all the girls, you’re the easiest to talk to about what we are. But I have a feeling that perhaps that’s not the wisest thing to do right now.”
    Ducking my head, I gave a slight nod. I couldn’t try to talk about my feelings for a person who obviously had a crush on someone else.
    “Look at me, America,” he asked gently.
    I did.
    “I’m fine with that. I can wait. I just want you to know … I’m not able to find words big enough to express how relieved I am that you’re here, in one piece. I’ve never been so grateful for anything.”
    I was stunned into silence, the way I always was when he touched the shy places of my heart. A corner of myself worried at how easily I trusted his words.
    “Goodnight, America.”

CHAPTER 18
    IT WAS MONDAY NIGHT. OR Tuesday morning. It was so late, it was hard to tell.
    Kriss and I had worked all day finding appropriate swaths of fabric, having butlers hang them, choosing our clothes and jewelry, picking china, creating a rough draft of the menu, and listening to a language coach speak lines in Italian to us in the hope that some of it would stick. At least I had the advantage of knowing Spanish, which helped me pick it up faster; they were so similar. Kriss was just doing all she could to keep up.
    I ought to have been exhausted, but all I could think about were Maxon’s words.
    What had happened with Kriss? Why was she all of the sudden so close to him? Should I even care this much?
    But this was Maxon.
    And try as I might to pull away, I still cared about him. I wasn’t ready to give up completely.
    There had to be a way to figure this out. As I debated everything that was happening, attempting to separate my issues from one another, it looked like all the pieces fell into one of four categories.
    My feelings about Maxon. Maxon’s feelings about me. Whatever was going on between Aspen and me. And my feelings about actually becoming a princess.
    Of all the things swimming in my head right now, it actually felt like the princess thing might be the easiest to tackle. At least in that area, I had something the other girls didn’t. I had Gregory.
    I went over to my piano stool, drew out his diary, and hoped with all my heart that he would have some wisdom for me. He hadn’t been born into royalty; he must have had to adjust. Based on what he’d said in his Halloween entry, he was already preparing for a big change in his future.
    I pulled up the covers, protecting the words from the world,