The Selection (The Selection #1) - Kiera Cass Page 0,72
I could see a bit of Maxon’s world, but it was just as unimaginable as ever. How could you deny the voice of your future sovereign?
“I’m sorry. On the plus side, you’ll have more of a say in the future.” I rubbed his back, trying to encourage him.
“I know. I tell myself that. But it’s so frustrating when we could change things now if they’d only listen.” His voice was a little hard to hear when it was directed at the carpet.
“Well, don’t be too discouraged. Your mom is on the right path, but education alone won’t fix anything.”
Maxon raised his head. “What do you mean?” It almost sounded like an accusation. And rightly so. Here was an idea that he’d been championing, and I’d just squashed it. I tried to backpedal.
“Well, compared to the fancy-pants tutors someone like you has, the education system for Sixes and Sevens is terrible. I think getting better teachers or better facilities would do them a world of good. But then what about the Eights? Isn’t that caste responsible for most of the crimes? They don’t get any education. I think if they felt they had something, anything at all, it might encourage them.
“Besides…” I paused. I didn’t know if this was something a boy who’d grown up with everything handed to him could grasp. “Have you ever been hungry, Maxon? Not just ready for dinner, but starving? If there was absolutely no food here, nothing for your mother or father, and you knew that if you just took something from people who had more in a day than you’d have in your whole life, you could eat … what would you do? If they were counting on you, what wouldn’t you do for someone you loved?”
He was quiet for a moment. Once before—when we’d talked about my maids during the attack—we’d kind of acknowledged the wide gap between us. This was a far more controversial topic of discussion, and I could see him wanting to avoid it.
“America, I’m not saying that some people don’t have it hard, but stealing is—”
“Close your eyes, Maxon.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
He frowned at me but obeyed. I waited until his eyes were shut and his face looked relaxed before I started.
“Somewhere in this palace, there is a woman who will be your wife.”
I saw his mouth twitch, the beginnings of a hopeful smile.
“Maybe you don’t know which face it is yet, but think of the girls in that room. Imagine the one who loves you the most. Imagine your ‘dear.’”
His hand was resting next to mine on the seat, and his fingers grazed mine for a second. I shied away from the touch.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking my way.
“Keep ’em closed!”
He chuckled and went back to his original position.
“This girl? Imagine that she depends on you. She needs you to cherish her and make her feel like the Selection didn’t even happen. Like if you were dropped on your own out in the middle of the country to wander around door to door, she’s still the one you would have found. She was always the one you would have picked.”
The hopeful smile began to settle. More than settle, it started to sag.
“She needs you to provide for her and protect her. And if it came to a point where there was absolutely nothing to eat, and you couldn’t even fall asleep at night because the sound of her stomach growling kept you awake—”
“Stop it!” Maxon stood quickly. He walked across the hall and stayed there for a while, facing away from me.
I felt a little awkward. I hadn’t realized this would make him so upset.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
He nodded his head but continued to look at the wall. After a moment he turned around. His eyes were searching mine, sad and questioning.
“Is it really like that?” he asked.
“What?”
“Out there … does that happen? Are people hungry like that a lot?”
“Maxon, I—”
“Tell me the truth.” His mouth settled into a firm line.
“Yes. That happens. I know of families where people give up their share for their children or siblings. I know of a boy who was whipped in the town square for stealing food. Sometimes you do crazy things when you’re desperate.”
“A boy? How old?”
“Nine,” I breathed with a shiver. I could still remember the scars on Jemmy’s tiny back, and Maxon stretched his own back as if he felt it all himself.
“Have you”—he cleared his throat—“have you ever been like that? Starving?”