The Elite (The Selection #2) - Kiera Cass Page 0,69

oval-shaped beads, and Maxon wiggled the bracelet in his hand, which made me laugh.

“Do you want me to put it on?” he offered.

I nodded and stretched out the wrist that didn’t have Aspen’s button on it. Maxon placed the cool stones against my skin and tied the little ribbon that held them together.

“Lovely,” he said.

And there it was, pushing up through all the worries: hope.

It lifted the heavy parts of my heart and made me miss him. I wanted to erase everything since Halloween, go back to that night, and hold on to those two people on the dance floor. And then, at the same time, it made my heart plummet. If we were back at Halloween, I wouldn’t have a reason to doubt this gift.

Even if I let myself be everything my father said I was, everything Aspen said I wasn’t … I couldn’t be Kriss. Kriss was better.

I was so tired and stressed and confused, I started crying.

“America?” he asked hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asked quietly. I mentally noted that he was doing much better around crying girls these days.

“You,” I admitted. “I’m just really confused about you right now.” I wiped away a tear on one side of my face, and, so gently, Maxon’s hand moved to wipe the tears on the other.

In a way, it was strange to have him touch me like that again. At the same time, it was so familiar that it would have seemed wrong if he hadn’t. Once the tears were gone, he left his hand there, cupping my face.

“America,” he said earnestly, “if you ever want to know anything about me—what matters to me or who I am—all you need to do is ask.”

He looked so sincere that I nearly did ask. I almost begged him to tell me everything: if he’d always considered Kriss, if he knew about the diaries, what it was about this perfect little bracelet that made him think of me.

But how did I know it would be the truth? And—because I was slowly realizing he was the steadier choice—what about Aspen?

“I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet.”

After a moment of thought, Maxon looked at me. “I understand. I think I do anyway. But we should talk about some serious things very soon. And when you’re ready, I’m here.”

He didn’t press me; instead he stood, giving me a small bow before grabbing his camera and making his way to the door. He looked back at me one last time before disappearing into the hall, and I was surprised by how much I ached to see him go.

CHAPTER 25

“PRIVATE LESSONS?” SILVIA ASKED. “As in, several a week?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

For the first time since I arrived, I was truly grateful for Silvia. I knew that there was no way she’d be able to resist having someone willing to hang on her every word; and if she was making me do extra work, it meant I could keep myself busy.

Thinking about Maxon and Aspen and the diary and the girls was too much right now. Protocol was black-and-white. The steps for proposing a law were orderly. These were things I could master.

Silvia looked at me, still slightly stunned, before she broke into a huge smile. Embracing me, she cried out, “Oh, this will be wonderful. Finally one of you understands how important this is!” She held me at arm’s length. “When do you want to start?”

“Now?”

She was bursting with delight. “Let me go get some books.”

I dove into her studies, so grateful for the words and facts and statistics she crammed into my head. If I wasn’t with Silvia, I was reading up on something she’d assigned me as I spent countless hours in the Women’s Room, all but tuning out the other girls.

I worked, and I was excited about the next time the five of us had a joint class.

When that time came, Silvia started by asking us what we were passionate about. I scribbled down my family, music, and then, as if the word demanded to be written, justice.

“The reason I ask is because the queen is typically in charge of a committee of some kind, something that benefits the country. Queen Amberly, for example, began a program for training families to take care of their mentally and physically infirmed members. So many get deposited in the streets once the families can no longer deal with them, and the amount of Eights grows to an unmanageable number. The statistics