Hi everyone! So, due to some advice we've gotten, we decided to change up this chapter, to hopefully make it more interesting. Sorry about the change, but hopefully you all like this version better!

My life was surely going to fall apart.

It was the only thought that crossed my mind as I stepped into the dining room, taking in the anxious faces of my family. My mother, her ice blue eyes boring into me, spoke first.

"How did it go?"

I bit back a sigh. I expected this interrogation to take place soon enough. I looked away from my siblings and parents, trying to avoid imagining their hopeful, expectant expressions replaced by the bitter sting of disappointment. I gulped, my mind racing to find ways to break my test to them.

"It wasn't... bad," I replied, pulling back a pristine white chair and taking a seat in between Trent and Amara. Amara smiled at me sweetly, her doll-like features innocent as an Inferior servant scooped mushroom risotto onto her plate. She was only nine. She didn't understand the pressure I was under. She's too perfect to ever feel that kind of pressure anyways. For a minute, I couldn't help but feel jealous of her perfect face, her exquisite talents, and her charming attitude.

"Wasn't bad?" Mother asked suspiciously as the servant began to heap the dish onto my plate as well. Mother glared almost inconspicuously at her. "That's quite enough for Aisa." The servant pulled back hastily, nodding silently before stepping away, her black, hand-shaped tattoo bathed in the dim candlelight. The 'I', the sign of her Inferiority, was suddenly prominent. I averted my eyes quickly, looking back at my own bare wrist.

Someday, that tattoo might be on mine.

"I did much better than some other girls for sure." I added, carefully slicing a piece of tender meat with my fork, attempting to look unconcerned. Mother wasn't buying it.

"I do hope that etiquette and arts went alright. Dear me, with the amount of training you had, I'd be quite surprised if they didn't." A thin smile spread across her face, as if she expected me to say otherwise. In reality, though, those were the subjects I think I did the worst at. So much for the classes.

I glanced at dad and Trent. Father appeared to be in a state of oblivion, devouring his meat. Trent caught my gaze and smiled at me, heartfelt and sincere as his dirty blonde hair fell into his aquamarine eyes. A rush of gratitude for him threatened to overpower me as Trent spoke up, cutting through the awkward silence that had settled in the room.

"Mother, I'm sure Aisa did fine. She's more than capable enough, don't you think?"

"I just hope she put all her capability to use. Trent, do have a little more food. You look malnourished, my son." She beckoned for the servant, ignoring Trent's cry of protest as she turned to me. "You do understand what it means to fail this test, don't you, Aisa?"

"I do." It was true. I did. I practically lived and breathed for this test. Without it, there was no point to anything. If I failed, the consequences would be severe. My family would be put to shame. I would be stripped of my Superior status, and instead be downgraded to either an Inferior or Median. It couldn't happen. I couldn't let it happen.

"Aisa?" Trent asked gently, glancing at my plate. "You're scraping at non-existent food."

"Ah... sorry," I handed my plate to the servant behind me, ignoring the quiet rumble of my still empty stomach. It wasn't like I was going to be allowed to eat more anyway.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm a bit tired. I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Fine, Aisa," said Mother, pressing the backs of her eyelids, as if she couldn't bear to look at me right now. "I'll see you in the morning. Your results should be sent to my Receiver by then."

***

Once I reached my room, I didn't break down. There wasn't even a point. I felt empty, almost emotionless like I had fallen into an endless pit of nothingness. I was almost thankful for this ignorant bliss. But I needed to face the hard truth, even if I had to face it alone.

I had failed, or, if I got lucky, passed just barely. I sank down onto my plush, luxurious bed, knowing that if I didn't pass the test, I'd be sleeping on mattresses practically made out of cardboard. My hair slipped out of the elegant bun I had put it up in this morning, stiffly falling below my shoulders, unlike my sister's soft locks of hair.

I buried my face in my hands, my thoughts spiraling into a new realm of self-hatred. I had been training for this test since I could walk. Eighteen years of preparation, and I still doubted I passed. I've seen freaking Inferiors, with absolutely no training, do better than me, although hardly any of them really deserved a place in the Superiot. They wouldn't be able to fit in. But I should be able to. Was it my fault that I was still about as graceful as a two-year-old on a balance beam? Was it my fault that I still couldn't sing or dance to save my life?

Lost in my sorrows, I hardly noticed my bedroom door swing open. But when I finally came to my senses, I noticed, with bleary eyes, that a blonde boy was standing in my doorway, as familiar to me as myself. I sighed internally.

"Trent, what do you want?" I wasn't in the mood for him and his sister protection schemes.

His vibrant blue-green eyes found mine, and he took in the scene, his brows furrowing in concern.

"It can't have gone that bad."

"Oh, it can. You don't know what I'm capable of, Trent." Anger and sorrow were practically battling each other in my head and I had no idea which was about to take over. But Trent didn't seem to mind. He strode over, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.

"Intelligence must have gone okay. I mean, I've seen those other Superior girls. They can't tell an atom from a molecule."

But they can tell a brow pencil from an eye pencil... And that's what matters, in the end.

"That was hardly one subject." I leaned my head against my headboard, remembering the way I had completely blanked out when the intelligence paper was placed in front of me. The answers just spontaneously disappeared from my head, as if they were pollen grains picked up by the wind and carried away elsewhere.

Trent wrung his hands together, staring at the ceiling for a moment before responding. "Father has connections."

I let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. Think of me then. Aisa Farrow, the girl who only got into the Superiot because her dad has 'connections.'"

"That's not what I meant. Maybe you can't sing or dance, but I'm sure the etiquette and beauty portion went fine. Unless you burned off part of your hair while trying to curl it. That would be bad." He looked at me with his familiar, half-hearted smile, the one that had encouraged me all throughout my childhood.

"I wish I could tell you about it," I said, fidgeting with the hem of the annoying pink dress I was in. "But it's against the law. You know that, Trent." Sadly, the beauty portion of my test required me to look like a cupcake.

"No one will know, Aisa."

I stared at him in shock. Sure, Trent was never one who cared about the rules too much. But to talk about my test? The one that would determine if I would get into the Superiot and stay Superior or not? I couldn't.

"Trent, there's no way I can do that. You know the consequences if someone finds out."

"I know. I just thought you would desperately want to talk to someone. Zander, at least." His eyes flitted to the photograph of me and a tall, pale boy with platinum hair and stark sky-blue eyes, smiling slightly, his arm around my shoulder. It was taken a few years back- I was fourteen, and Zander was seventeen, in his last year before he went to the Superiot. It had been three years since I'd seen him in person.

"We don't have much time to talk anymore, Trent. He's busy. He's a third year, after all, and a well-known one too."

"But wouldn't he spare ten minutes and call to ask about your test? You haven't seen each other in three years." Trent bit his lip and lowered his head as if worried he'd gone too far and made me upset.

"It's just how it works. We're still close. We'll be even closer again if I get into the Superiot."

"If?" He asked, still staring at the bedsheet as if it contained all the answers in the world. "Aisa, it's clear you'll get in."

It wasn't. But as I glanced at his worried face, I knew I couldn't tell him the truth. He was only fifteen. This was my problem, anyway.

"Maybe. But Mother's gonna hate me if I mess up beauty, art, or etiquette. Do you remember how many classes I took for those?"

"Honestly, it wasn't a pleasant experience for any of us." He looked up, his eyes slowly meeting mine, and out of nowhere, burst out laughing.

"Seriously? Now?" I asked, hitting him with a fluffy pillow as he rolled over on my bed. "You're making it impossible to mourn, you know. If I forget everything I did on the test, it's all on you."

"That was the goal." His laughter finally died down, and he sat up again, eyes twinkling with amusement. "You should sleep now. Or at least get out of that dress. I don't know about you, but I can't stand seeing you in that anymore."

"Neither can I. Now get out and give me some privacy to change. Unless you want to stand guard by my door, which you're welcome to do, you should go to sleep too. It's getting pretty late anyways."

"Alright, alright, I get you don't want me here." He held his hands up as if surrendering and began to make his way to the door.

"Goodnight, Aisa," he said, looking at me one last time before shutting the door behind him.

I stared after him for a moment. When did he get so grown up? He really wasn't the same little boy who had hung around my dance classes anymore.

I pushed open my closet door, my hands instinctively reaching for my favorite pair of (Trent's) jeans stuffed behind some more cupcake dresses.

That's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A diamond-shaped face with acne scarred olive skin, blonde, waist-length hair the texture of wheat. Dull blue eyes fringed with thin blonde lashes, and shoulders too broad and muscular to be considered feminine. I looked pretty much the same as always. I had never considered myself to be remarkably pretty, but I was okay.

I had never cared much, either. So why did I care now? I realized, with great regret, that I should have cared more. So much more.

Unable to look at myself any longer, I crawled into my bed. Pulling the sheets over me, I tried to distract myself from today's events, and somehow, was dragged down into a deep and relieving slumber.