Beautiful

I dream of being a dancer. If I am deemed beautiful, then I shall have my wish.

Today is my day. Today is my Judgement Day. For anyone who doesn't know, Judgement Day is the most important day of any Glen citizen's life. Judgement Day tells where you will be placed; if one will be Sinclaire, the highest class and the life of luxury, as I am now. But, one could also be Vanderbilt, York, or Fredrick. Or even worse, Unnamed. Unnamed are the lowest of the low, not even pretty enough to be classed at all.

I know I will be Sinclaire, of course, or a high Vanderbilt, since I am from one of the wealthiest, most dignified, most beautiful families in all of Glen.

I dress in my best clothes, a white blouse and slim white pants, as white is the custom; it suits everyone. My golden hair has been curled and brushed, and my face is devoid of makeup. I am not allowed to wear any as the Judging is based on natural beauty only.

"Katarine," my mother says, looking in my door. Some would say she popped her head in, but my mother does not pop. She has the posture of a regal queen. "Are you quite ready?"

"Yes, Mother." I fasten diamond earrings to my ears. She floats into my room, holding a box in her hands. "I had this for my day, and now I pass it on to you."

I open the lid and look at the necklace inside. It is a single circular disk, less than an inch in length. It is silver and shining, like a drop of moonlight has pooled to form the charm. "Oh, Mother..."

She smiles and helps me fasten it around my neck, where it sits in the hollow of my throat.

"Do not worry, Katarine," she says. "You are a Sinclaire, and you are gorgeous. You will do fine, love."

"Yes, Mother."

"Now be off. And no running. A lady never runs."

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I sit on the bus to the Town Hall with my best friend. I look out the window, pretending not to hear her comments on everyone on the bus, judging them herself.

"Oh, look at him," Arabelle says under her breath, looking at the Unnamed in the front of the bus. "He would be cute if he were not slum."

I follow her gaze. There are two boys in the very front seats, obviously of some relation. One has curly dark hair that is too long, nearly to his shoulders, but I know she is talking about the other one. He has a strong jaw, and bright, bright green eyes that stand out against his nearly black hair and tan skin. He's been hardened by the streets, tall and all lean muscle. Arabelle's right. He would be very cute if he were of upper class.

I roll my eyes, "If he were Vanderbilt you would not give him the time of day."

"Oh, you are right, I want a Sinclaire." She continues to stare at him through her extraordinarily long lashes. "But he is nice to look at. If he doesn't get classed, I bet he would go prostitute."

"Arabelle!" I am slightly horrified. A Sinclaire should never talk of prostitution in public.

She laughs, attracting attention from the entire bus. I feel my cheeks heat, but Arabelle doesn't care. I have no idea what class she will be put in. If she keeps up like this, then she may be bumped down to Vanderbilt, or even York. She'll be hard pressed to get back into Sinclaire if she keeps speaking of prostitutes.

Her looks are borderline as well.

Her hair used to be nearly as long as mine, but recently she cut it to chin-length, and while it is the color of oatmeal, it is very shiny. Her eyes are a boring brown, but her eyelashes. They're long enough to sweep a floor, and touch her cheekbones when she blinks. Those lashes may be her saving grace.

"Look at him!"

I refuse to look at the slum boy again.

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