The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,8
weekend with your families, in the privacy of your homes. Monday morning, your duties officially begin. You will be flown by private charter to the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, for four months of training camp, after which time six of you will move forward. . . .”
I turn away from the Italian finalist, back to the audience—to my brother. His head is bent, his fist against his chest . . . as though someone has died.
But I’m not dead yet. And I can’t leave my brother alone to grieve for real.
Something in me shakes loose. As Dr. Anderson continues speaking into the microphone, I back away slowly, until I am nearly backstage. And then I break into a run.
The guard has me in his clutches before I get more than a few steps from the stage, but I don’t care. That millisecond of freedom reminded me of something.
I may not be able to dodge the draft, but if I play my hand correctly . . . I can get cut well before the Final Six is deployed to Europa. All I have to do is stay focused, and let nothing—no one—distract from my purpose.
The others can be the heroes, the space pioneers. I have something more important.
Home.
Three
LEO
I SNAP OUT OF A DREAM AS THE VIDEO SCREENS MOUNTED TO the media room walls fade to black. Two dozen people I never knew existed, whose paths should never have crossed with mine, are about to become my entire world. And if I’m lucky, if I make the final draft . . . I will be tied to five of these strangers for life. The thought sends goose bumps prickling across my skin, and I’m hungry to learn everything there is to know about these twenty-three. I try to recall their faces, but even now, moments after the screens turned dark, I can only remember two: the girl with the deep brown eyes, who looked so sad in our moment of triumph—and the pale-haired boy who jumped in the air at the news, whooping with pride. It was the kind of unbridled reaction I might have had if I weren’t still in a state of shock.
Prime Minister Vincenti opens the door, stepping into the room where I’ve been sequestered with Dr. Schroder since just after the news broke.
“Leo, security is still trying to contain the crowd, but the public is demanding another look at you. Would you be willing to go back out there and just . . . smile at the cameras for a few minutes?”
“What?” I stare at the prime minister, wondering if I heard him correctly. “But most of those people already know me. They’ve probably seen me cross the passerelle hundreds of times. Why—”
“That was before,” he interrupts. “You may look the same and feel the same, but you’re someone different now. After today, you’re no longer just another neighbor or survivor—you’re a legend in the making.”
And as he speaks, I can hear their voices, growing louder as their chants carry toward our closed door.
“Leo, Leo, forza, Leo! L’italia é fiera di te!”
Emotion swells in my chest. It seems unthinkable that they’re cheering for me, of all people—the same me who came so close to throwing my life away in the sea.
But I didn’t, I remind myself. I’m still here, and somehow, I earned a place among the Twenty-Four. And I won’t let this second chance go. I’ll be worthy of it; I’ll make my country proud.
“Okay,” I tell the prime minister. “I want to see them.”
A security guard posted at the door springs into action as we step out of the media room. He leads the three of us into the marble hallway and toward the noise, his eyes darting over to me every few seconds, as though I’m the VIP to be protected instead of our prime minister.
We return to the Neo-Gothic Salon, and the crowd has nearly doubled. People are spilling out of the room, with barely an inch of breathing space between them. When they see us, their cheers escalate to a frenzied pitch.
“Leo, Leo, forza, Leo!”
They look at me as though I’m someone else entirely—like I’ve shed my old skin and revealed a superhero underneath. I want to laugh, to wave my hands in front of their faces and bring them back to earth, remind them that I’m just Leo from the crumbling Pensione Danieli. But then the realization hits me: if I make it to space, if I succeed in the