Hi there! So this is the sequel to my story "The Selection: Next Generation." If you haven't read that story, please do or else this story will make no sense whatsoever. This story will focus more on the political matters in Illea as well as the rebels. I hope you enjoy this story and please review!

-Love, AcademicGirl

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE SELECTION TRILOGY BY KIERA CASS OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.

I wake up and the world is on fire. Why? I can't remember. I don't know where I am. Every thought is disconnected, like someone used scissors to cut the synapses in my brain. I try to get up, but it hurts too much. My ankles hurt and I can barely breathe. My nails are caked with dirt and there are scratches and burns on my arms, my face.

The fires roar and I manage to stand. My windpipe feels like someone stuffed cotton balls in it. I can't breathe. I run and cough, almost trying to remember how to do both. When I lift my left hand to cover a cough, there is something that glints on my finger. I look at it closer. A ring? Wait, am I getting married? I keep half-walking half-limping away from the burning trees. There is a red backpack, untouched by the fire but covered in soot and ash. I pick it up. I have a strong feeling it's mine.

I see a large house after what seems like hours. It's away from the fire and I can almost hear the wailing sirens of a fire truck. When I reach the house, I stop on the front porch and wheeze. I can't breathe at all now. It's like the cotton balls just soaked up water in those moments I was running. The world is slowly tilting back and forth. My eyes focus then it blurs and the cycle repeats.

I knock on the door. A tall, pretty woman opens the door, and astonishment passes over her face. Then it smooths over when she sees the cuts and scrapes. My face must be covered in gunk. Of course a poised lady like her would think of me as disgusting.

I start to turn away when I see her initial reaction but she says with a gentle voice, "Wait out here for a moment." She closes the door on me for a moment, and I attempt to steady my breathing. I hear footsteps on stairs. Voices. They rise, they fall. The door opens again and there is the lady, this time joined by a handsome man with piercing emerald eyes. It's a stark contrast to his black hair.

The woman's brown hair is pulled up in a neat bun, and she's wearing a nice dress. I feel like a beggar in front of these polished people. Is that what I am? A beggar? My thoughts dissipate when the man says, "What may we do for you?"

I open my mouth to talk, but when I start to speak, my vocal cords burns as if the fire in the trees dripped into my throat. I cough. The single cough becomes hacking and wheezing and the couple takes me in. There is a warm hearth in the fireplace. I can't bear to stand looking at flames anymore. I turn my head away, and they lead me to a clean bedroom.

"Mom," a girl's voice says.

"Just a minute, honey," the woman replies. She turns to her husband and says, "Aspen, honey, can you get her a towel please? Can you also ask Marian if she can lend some clothes?"

"No, it's fine," I say, finally finding my voice. It comes out hoarse and cracked like concrete but I get the message across. I open my backpack and sure enough there are some spare clothes. "I have some clothes in here. Do you mind if I stay for the night?"

There is kindness in the man's green eyes. "Stay as long as you like. Dinner will be in a few minutes, okay?"

I just nod and the lady leads me to the bathroom. "Go wash up, honey."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She smiles softly. "Please, call me Kriss."

Then she leaves the room. I set my backpack on the floor and take out the clothes—a T-Shirt, track shorts, and a sweatshirt that says UM Symphony Orchestra. Is this mine? I'm in an orchestra? Wait, I play an instrument?! That's pretty cool. There's also a hairbrush and a toothbrush in here. Where did I come from? I must have been pretty rich if I have these things.

I look at myself in the mirror. I don't recognize the girl staring back at me. Black eyes, black hair, and a whole mask of dirt, cuts, ash, and a burnt patch on my back. I start the shower and cleanse myself. The stinging pain is everywhere, but I don't want to tell the family. I've caused them enough trouble for tonight. I wash my hair thoroughly and soap my body until I feel raw. When I dry myself on the towel, I look in the mirror again. Black eyes, black hair, chapped lips, tan skin, a mole above the upper left side of my lip. I look at the ring on my finger again and take it off. Inside there is an inscription that says I love you-Matthew.

Who in the world is Matthew?

I get dressed in my clothes—assuming they're mine—and slip in the lace-up boots. The insides are soft and my feet are comfortable. Good quality. I must be REALLY rich. After I tie my hair up, I return my backpack in a room then walk down the stairs to where I hear silverware.

There are four people sitting at the wooden table: Kriss and her husband, Aspen, a girl that looks about my age, and a boy who is probably fourteen years old. It must be nice to have siblings. You never feel alone.

Do I have siblings?

"Come, dear," Kriss says, patting the seat next to the girl. I walk slowly and the stares make me feel bare. It's almost as if there's a flash of recognition in the air, but it's gone as soon as I thought it was there. I sit down, and the family eats immediately. I look around, almost waiting for approval, but I'm guessing they want me to serve myself. I get a meager amount of chicken and cornbread.

"So," the girl next to me says, "What crazy shit did you go through that made you come to us."

"Marian, don't be rude," Kriss scolds. Marian holds up her hands and continues to eat.

"I don't care as long as the hot chick is here!" the boy says. I raise my eyebrows but continue to eat.

"What's your name?" Aspen asks.

"Honey, how about we introduce ourselves first," Kriss says. "I'm Kriss, but you already knew that."

"I'm Aspen Leger."

The girl tosses her hair over her shoulder like she'd rather be somewhere else. "I'm Marian Leger. We're Twos by the way." She says it like it's something to be proud of.

Before the boy goes I raise my hand. "Excuse me, but what's a Two?"

Marian rolls her eyes. "Oh dear Lord."

They quickly explain the caste system in Illea. So we're in a country called Illea where our social classes are marked by a number, with One being the highest, richest caste? Okay...

The boy then casually flips his hair and winks. "I'm Elliot, but you can call me handsome anytime."

"Eli, what is wrong with you?" Marian groans.

"I have a question," I say. "Where are we?"

"Oh, we're in Carolina," Aspen tells me.

Oh right. Carolina's a province in Illea, the country with the weird social classes. I glance down at the sweatshirt I'm wearing and remember that Midston is a province too.

"What day is it?" I ask.

"February seventeenth," Kriss supports. February seventeen... Why do I feel like today's important? There's a feeling inside that screams You've been waiting for this day to come for so long!

But why?

"So, sweet cheeks," Eli starts, waking me from my reverie. "What's your name? Because you look oddly familiar."

"I was thinking the same thing," Marian says. "Are you a celebrity? Who are you?"

I look around at the Legers' expectant faces. I gently set my utensils down, and calmly take a glass of water, despite the fact I am anything but. I gulp and say the words that have been clouding my mind since I woke up after blacking out:

I don't know.