Sixty-Eight Years Later

Delaney

"And in other news, the Superiors will be arriving on May thirty-first..." The bored voice of the school secretary coming over the intercom was instantly drowned out by cheers, claps, and whistles. I was probably the only person who didn't pee herself when this message was announced every year.

"Oh my god, I, like, can't wait!" That was Carlie Heights, who, being Ranked at 10+, was the most Popular girl in school. And she knew it, too. She flipped her honey blonde hair and laughed. The group of girls around her laughed too; I doubt they really thought she was funny, Carlie just demanded attention.

When she caught me watching, her face twisted up into a disgusted expression. "Take a picture, Loser," she sneered. "It'll last longer." Again, the group of girls laughed with her. I didn't know their names, but I didn't need to. They were Popular; that was all that mattered.

"No thanks," I replied calmly. "I only take picture of pretty things." Her gray eyes flashed as I turned back around.

"Freak," Carlie muttered. Her little posse murmured their agreements. I rolled my eyes, regretting not my words, but the fact that I had been driven to stoop to their level.

Our teacher, Ms. Shea, looked up at me from her desk at the front of the room and smiled. I gave her a hesitant half-smile in return.

"Aren't you excited?" someone asks. I turned to look at the girl next to me: Samantha Markowitz. Her Rank was probably somewhere around six or seven.

"Me?" I asked in surprise. I had assumed my attitude had made it clear that I was very not excited.

"Huh?" She gave me a confused look. Of course, she wasn't talking to me.

"Sorry, nothing," I said quietly, feeling my face turn red. It didn't matter, she had already turned back to the boy sitting behind her. I didn't know his name, but I caught his eye for a second before he looked away.

Ms. Shea didn't give anymore instruction after the announcement, so the rest of Art was a free period. Everyone talked, the air filling with the buzz of many conversations. I managed to catch snippets of some.

"Oh my god, so what if..."

"—and then I'm going to have Sarah call my—"

"But what if—"

"So that when the Superiors come—"

"—I just want to be Chosen!"

And me? I sat in my seat and doodled on the cover of the notebook in front of me, pushing my glasses up my nose whenever they started slipping down. Occasionally I'd look up and peek over at whatever Ms. Shea was drawing on the paper on her desk. But other than that, I was silent. No one wanted to talk to me anyway.

○●○●○●○

"I don't understand why she hates me so much." I looked up at my best friend from under my lashes as I licked the icing off a chocolate cupcake.

Lizzy frowned, obviously searching for a response that would cause the least amount damage to my self-esteem. "It's okay, Delaney," she reassured me, "she's just...jealous."

It was nice of her, trying to spare my feelings like that. But the answer was obvious, even though neither of us wanted to admit it: I was a Loser. It was as simple as that.

"Jealous of what?" I muttered darkly. Lizzy sighed.

"Del, I'm not going to get into this subject with you," she said. "You know I'm friends with her!"

"If by friends, you mean you follow her like a puppy while she only gives you the odd glance, then yes, I do know." I couldn't help but say it, because it was true. I loved my best friend, but she was a Follower.

Lizzy bristled at my words, which, in all honesty, were pretty harsh. "Fine, then, if that's what you think."

I closed my eyes and sighed heavily. There were two ways I could save this: the first would be to apologize profusely, to assure Lizzy that of course I knew she was friends with Carlie, and tell her that her hair looked pretty. The second would mean that I would have to come up with an excuse as to why I was being so snippy.

I went with the one that at least partially sustained my dignity.

"Sorry, Liz," I said meekly, "it's just that the whole thing with the Superiors coming has been, like, really stressful for me. Like, my parents keep pressuring about my getting Chosen, which I obviously won't be. So Carlie's comment, just, like, threw me over the edge. I know what I said was mean. I'm sorry."

Too many 'likes'? I wondered. For a split second I forgot to breathe, waiting for Lizzy to respond. Finally, her features softened.

"S'okay, hon," she replied, gently placing her hand on my arm. "I forgive you. Look, I'm sorry too. You're my best friend; I should be listening to you, not worrying about Carlie Heights." I smiled at her.

"How did I ever get a best friend as amazing as you?" I asked, because that was what she wanted to hear.

Lizzy laughed and swatted my arm. Seriously, though, I had no clue how Elizabeth Marshall had become my best friend. I think the only reason is that we were friends before middle and high school, when Ranking and Popularity were smaller matters. They still existed back then, of course; they just weren't as important.

But that was then. Since we had entered Junior High, Lizzy had maintained a steady five, right smack in the middle of the scale. It wasn't too bad of a spot to be; definitely not Popular, but safe from the high-Ranked bullies.

Her Rank wasn't surprising; after all, Lizzy was pretty, with golden brown hair and big, dark blue eyes. She had freckles dotting her pale skin, but they were evenly spaced. The only reason she wasn't Popular was because she was easily pleased, and often came across as a pushover. Oh, and of course, because she was friends with me.

Don't get the wrong idea; I wasn't a complete Loser. My Rank was a two, which was, admittedly very, very low, but it wasn't rock bottom. I wasn't a total low, but I was still a certified Loser. Thing is, I really didn't know anyone lower Ranked than I was. And that was probably the point; if people were Ranked that low, no one knew their name, so they pretty much didn't exist.

It didn't bother me much, being a two. I mean sure, I got pushed around a bit, I only had one friend, and my parents were always pressuring me to raise my Rank, but for the most part I was able to live in peaceful anonymity. Lizzy didn't understand it, and was constantly trying to convince me to go with her to parties and such. I blatantly refused every time, and after a while, her attempts became less and less enthusiastic.

"Delaney," Lizzy said after a long moment. I looked up from my now frosting-less cupcake. "I think you'd be less stressed if you, like, y'know...raised your Rank a bit."

I groaned. Here it comes, I thought bitterly.

"Look, there's a party tonight, at Stevie Jackson's place; you know, the cute blonde guy with like, the rich parents? It's an open invite, and everyone who's anyone is gonna be there, so if you want, you could like—"

"No, absolutely not." Her face fell, and I guess I felt a little bad. But not really. "Maybe. I'll think about it," I amended. It amused me how quickly my best friend's face lit up.

"Really? You're serious? You'll come?" She squealed. "Oh my god, Delaney, it'll be so fun! You can come over before, and I can, like, do your hair, and your make-up, and it'll be so fun!"

I sighed as she continued on about how much fun this was going to be, and how pretty I would look with mascara. She was so excited that I couldn't find the heart to tell her that I really didn't want to go.

"Maybe," I interrupted, smiling at Lizzy's excitement.

"Maybe is just another word for yes!" she sang, just as the bell rang.

We both stood up and gathered our books. There weren't many people in the arbor—the tree-lined field where we ate lunch—but the few who were there began heading inside. As I made to stuff the rest my cupcake in my mouth, Lizzy grabbed my wrist.

"Del, do you know how many calories is in that thing? So bad for you."

I devoured it all anyway, shoving the chocolatey heaven down my esophagus. Lizzy made a face.

"Salad eater," I teased through a full mouth, spraying crumbs everywhere.

We were both laughing as she chased me all the way back into the school.

○●○●○●○

I think it goes without saying that I had no intention whatsoever of attending Stevie Jackson's party. When I returned to my little suburban home, my only goal was to crash on the couch with a bag of chips. However, as soon as I unlocked the door, at approximately four thirty-nine, I was met with two screeching parents.

"Delaney Escott! Do you realize what is happening on the thirty-first?"

"Mom..." I groaned. She ignored me.

"You know how much importance we put on your being Chosen, young lady."

"Yeah Dad, never gonna happen," I grumbled, rolling my eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a Loser."

"It can!" Mom insisted, gesticulating wildly. "Popularity isn't the only way to be noticed. We have plans! And you know the time window for being Chosen is closing!"

It was true; most kids were chosen at somewhere around fifteen or sixteen years old, right in the middle of their high school career. After sixteen, everyone just started to fade into gradual obscurity.

And I couldn't care less. "Yeah, cool, plans, love it," I said sarcastically, pushing past my parents.

"No!" I jumped at the shrill tone of my mom's voice. No lie, I was actually kind of scared. "You will stay right here and listen to me!"

Meet my parents, Linda and Lewis Escott: highly-viewed members of the city board, and Rank-obsessed psychos. My mother was a college professor, and my father, a city correspondent with the government in the Capitol.

"What your mother is trying to say," said my dad, always the reserved one, "is that it would be very beneficial for you to be Chosen."

"No," I disagreed, "it would be beneficial to you."

Dad sighed. "Mom and I were thinking that you could come with me to work one of these days, see how government stuff works."

"Oh, I see. You're going to try and show me how cool your job is, so I'll actually want to up my rank."

Mom wrung her hands. "We just want you to be happy."

I snorted in a very loud and un-ladylike manner. "I am happy," I promised. "Right at the bottom of the social ladder. Now if you'll excuse me..." As I started to climb the stairs, my school bag weighing down my left shoulder, my mother called out to stop me.

"Delaney Marie Escott," she barked, "where do you think you're going?!" I had to think fast; there was no way I was going to sit through another one of my parents' plans to make me Popular.

"Actually, I'm going to a party tonight," I quickly informed them, completely without thinking. Mom and Dad looked utterly shocked. "Uh, yeah, it's at Stevie Jackson's house. You know his parents, right? Yeah, Lizzy invited me, so—"

"Oh, sweetheart, this is wonderful!"

"Yeah, yeah, wonderful."

Damn it, I thought. There was no way of getting out of it; I had told my parents I was going, and I knew they would expect a full report when I got back.

I trudged up to my room, the sounds of my mother gushing to my dad coming up from below. After a moment's hesitation, I dialed Lizzy's number into my cell phone. She didn't pick up, so I left a message.

"Hey Liz, it's me. I decided I'd go to Stevie's after all. I'll be at your house at six."

Sighing, I flopped onto my purple bedspread and stared up at the ceiling, following the rotating fan with my eyes. I had just agreed to go to a party. At Stevie Jackson's house. With all the Populars. I shook my head.

What was I getting myself into?

There's a picture of Delaney on the side! :)