never moved before, soft and slow, sharp and fast, heels hitting and ankles flicking and fingers swimming through the air. Her skirts were a blur of color, her whole body seized by a need to know the elements, and when she was finally done, she fell to the floor.
Head bowed.
Hands folded in her lap.
Skirts billowing out around her.
Alice was a fallen flower, and she hoped she looked beautiful.
She slowly lifted her head.
The audience was looking on, only politely engaged, still waiting for her to finish. Still waiting for her talent. Alice got to her feet and felt the sun explode in her cheeks.
âAre you quite finished, dear?â This, from Mr. Lottingale.
She nodded.
âAh,â he said, his slack jaw quickly firming into a smile. âOf course. Please rejoin the line, Ms. Queensmeadow.â
There was a halted smattering of applause, the guests looking around at one another for a cue on how to react. Alice swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and walked back to her place in line, staring firmly at her feet and hardly daring to breathe.
Eighty-two others performed after she did, and Alice wouldnât remember any of them. There were a great many talents on display that day, and hers, as it turned out, was the strength to keep from bursting into tears in front of everyone.
Alice could not make herself sit with Mother.
After the ceremony she found a quiet branch in a very tall tree and tried desperately to stay calm. She was inhaling and exhaling in tiny gasps and she scolded herself for it, rationalizing all the reasons why she was being ridiculous. Surely, she considered, she was just being hard on herself. She was intimidated by her peers, this was normal. Besides, sheâd not expected such great talent, so she was taken by surprise. And anyway, everyone was probably feeling the same insecurities she was. Most importantly, she hadnât been paying attention to the other performances; certainly someone else couldâve done worse.
This went on for a while.
Alice pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tight. She would not cry, sheâd decided. There was no need. So maybe (probably) (well, definitely) she wouldnât get the best taskâthat was okay! Perhaps if her hopes hadnât been so high, her disappointment wouldnât have been so great, but shewould learn from this and be better for it, and whichever task she did get would be just fine. Sheâd be grateful for it. Maybe it wouldnât be a coveted taskâmaybe she wouldnât even get to leave Ferenwoodâbut still, it would be a task, and she would be happy to finally have a purpose. It would be the start of something new.
It would be okay.
Sheâd finally calmed her nerves long enough to make it down the tree. There she stood, half collapsed against the trunk, and promised herself, over and over again, that everything would be okay. She had done her best, and she couldnât have asked for more of herself.
She had done her best.
Finally, the Elders reappeared. They were all smiling (a good sign!) and this gave Alice great hope. Her shoulders sagged in relief and she managed to peek out from behind the tree.
Mr. Lottingale was the first of the ten Town Elders to speak, and each of them took a moment to say something encouraging and inspiring. They spoke with such sincerity that for a minute Alice felt silly for having reacted as she did. They were looking out at the crowd with great pride; surely sheâd done better than she thought.
She inched forward a bit more, no longer hidden from view. But just as Alice was considering joining Motherâs table, the atmosphere changed. A trumpet blared and there was glitter inthe air and thick, shimmery, plum-colored envelopes appeared on breakfast plates before her peers. The excitement was palpable. Everyone knew that an envelope contained a card of a specific color; each color represented a different score. There were five
Head bowed.
Hands folded in her lap.
Skirts billowing out around her.
Alice was a fallen flower, and she hoped she looked beautiful.
She slowly lifted her head.
The audience was looking on, only politely engaged, still waiting for her to finish. Still waiting for her talent. Alice got to her feet and felt the sun explode in her cheeks.
âAre you quite finished, dear?â This, from Mr. Lottingale.
She nodded.
âAh,â he said, his slack jaw quickly firming into a smile. âOf course. Please rejoin the line, Ms. Queensmeadow.â
There was a halted smattering of applause, the guests looking around at one another for a cue on how to react. Alice swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and walked back to her place in line, staring firmly at her feet and hardly daring to breathe.
Eighty-two others performed after she did, and Alice wouldnât remember any of them. There were a great many talents on display that day, and hers, as it turned out, was the strength to keep from bursting into tears in front of everyone.
Alice could not make herself sit with Mother.
After the ceremony she found a quiet branch in a very tall tree and tried desperately to stay calm. She was inhaling and exhaling in tiny gasps and she scolded herself for it, rationalizing all the reasons why she was being ridiculous. Surely, she considered, she was just being hard on herself. She was intimidated by her peers, this was normal. Besides, sheâd not expected such great talent, so she was taken by surprise. And anyway, everyone was probably feeling the same insecurities she was. Most importantly, she hadnât been paying attention to the other performances; certainly someone else couldâve done worse.
This went on for a while.
Alice pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tight. She would not cry, sheâd decided. There was no need. So maybe (probably) (well, definitely) she wouldnât get the best taskâthat was okay! Perhaps if her hopes hadnât been so high, her disappointment wouldnât have been so great, but shewould learn from this and be better for it, and whichever task she did get would be just fine. Sheâd be grateful for it. Maybe it wouldnât be a coveted taskâmaybe she wouldnât even get to leave Ferenwoodâbut still, it would be a task, and she would be happy to finally have a purpose. It would be the start of something new.
It would be okay.
Sheâd finally calmed her nerves long enough to make it down the tree. There she stood, half collapsed against the trunk, and promised herself, over and over again, that everything would be okay. She had done her best, and she couldnât have asked for more of herself.
She had done her best.
Finally, the Elders reappeared. They were all smiling (a good sign!) and this gave Alice great hope. Her shoulders sagged in relief and she managed to peek out from behind the tree.
Mr. Lottingale was the first of the ten Town Elders to speak, and each of them took a moment to say something encouraging and inspiring. They spoke with such sincerity that for a minute Alice felt silly for having reacted as she did. They were looking out at the crowd with great pride; surely sheâd done better than she thought.
She inched forward a bit more, no longer hidden from view. But just as Alice was considering joining Motherâs table, the atmosphere changed. A trumpet blared and there was glitter inthe air and thick, shimmery, plum-colored envelopes appeared on breakfast plates before her peers. The excitement was palpable. Everyone knew that an envelope contained a card of a specific color; each color represented a different score. There were five
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