Quick A/N: This story was inspired by Kiera Cass's Selection series. However, this book does not take place in the Selection world and it has none of its characters, so this is not a fanfiction. There may be some similarities, but that is all. I hope you enjoy, and please comment and vote!

Some people are afraid of spiders. Some people are afraid of the dark. Some people are afraid of death. However, I am not afraid of any of those things.

I am afraid of the Appointment.

It's my turn. The prince has requested for me to report for my country, for my family and friends' welfare. I don't want to go. I don't want to go and fake smiles and curtsy and sip tea all ladylike.

If I go, I'm afraid I'll choke my prince to death.

"November, dear... are you all right?" My mother. She's the one who told me this news, who was led in by a guard clothed in the red-and-blue garments of the European army.  He was probably making sure she told me, and that I would agree to go.

You didn't have much of a choice. You had to go, and that's that.

"Yes, Mom, I'm all right. Honestly, I don't think I've ever been better." I forced a smile that cracked my face, making my eyes, nose, chin, and forehead to split and shatter into thousands of pieces. I directed my gaze toward the guard, my eyes burning with tears that are threatening to make a waterfall down my face. I will not cry. I will not break. "When will I go?"

"In seven days," he answered tonelessly.

I have a week to pack and say my goodbyes. I have a week, I mused, to find a way to kill myself before I have to go to Europe and stand before the prince.

"She will be gone for five days, right?" my mother asked the guard.

"Correct." His voice is clipped, even.

Five days of torture. Five days to report. Five days, maybe, for the prince to fall in love with a girl and call her his wife. It's happened before, but that is not the focus of the Appointment. It is a mere side quest, a side quest I will not volunteer for.

Six girls are sent to the Appointment, and there are three continents which house three different statuses in the world. The highest status, the Royals, are all in Europe. The royal family, guards, military, and court ladies and lords all frolic there like a bunch of spoiled puppies.

It isn't surprising. It's exactly what they are.

Except beneath that puppy disguise, a fierce hound snarls and growls, snapping its teeth and sharpening its claws. They will tear us apart and gnaw our bones dry.

The middle status are infamously known as the Entertainers, who basically bow to the Royals' every whim and wish in their houses in Asia. They have a limited option of jobs, but they're still way better than where I live. They can only play music, cook, make art, write, go into theater, do comedy, design fashion... They are the royal family's lapdogs, only kicked when they are bad.

Then there's the lowest status of all, nicknamed the Foodies. We are the unluckiest of the unlucky, and we are no more than slaves for His Majesty and his family. We are all farmers and fishers, forced to give almost all of our hard-earned food to the higher statuses. We starve and burn and freeze, left to be toyed with the elements. We are poor and have never seen a speck of glory, of richness, of happiness in our lives. We are looked down upon, even though we are the reason those mutts are still living.

Spoiled brats. I hope the king chokes to death on his suit tie.

My mom wrung her hands and put on a big, cheesy smile. "Well, thank you for choosing my beloved November!" she gushed, leading the guard towards the door. "I remember when I went to my Appointment! The king was just a young adult then, just as charming as he is now! Do you remember, back then..." Her voice trailed away as she went down the stairs and to our front door.

Lies, I thought. She hates the king and his family just as much as I do, maybe even more. Though saying anything bad about the upper statuses is a taboo for her, only spoken in her thoughts. She's gotten quite good at covering up her hatred, I have to give her that.

The door clicked shut, and a loud whoop! followed.

"'Honestly, I don't think I've ever been better.' Priceless! You really put up something, November." A tall, skinny but muscular man with long hair and sparking eyes threw himself on my bed. He bounced a bit, grinning at me. "I swear to God, you're gonna knock the prince off his feet!"

I scoffed and crossed my arms. "I don't sound like that, Zack."

"Of course you do, sis. You sound like a mouse. Squeak, squeak!" My other brother, Ty, swaggered into the room. He always walks like he's bigger than everybody else. That walk is going to get him shot. "Doesn't she, Zack?"

Zack laughed and flopped onto his back. "What do you do to this bed that makes it so comfy, November?" he inquired, waving his arms like he was making a snow angel.

"Ooh, let me try!" Ty hopped on my bed and started jumping. "Wow, this is comfortable!" he shouted over the spring squeaking as soon as his feet sunk into the bed.

"What are you, eight?" I grabbed my brother's ankle and yanked it, causing him to crash on the bed. I could hear the breath whoosh out of him, and see his blue-green eyes widen with shock. "Haven't you read the Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed, Ty?"

"Why is that relevant?" he puffed out.

"It's relevant because you could've fallen off and snapped your neck." I slapped his bare ankle. "And I don't want your stinky feet on my blanket."

A slow, smug smile spread across his face. "Try me."

"Not now, boys. Do you know why the guard was here?" Mom leaned against the doorway, wiping her hands on her shorts. "Take a guess."

"Mom, we heard through the wall," Zack grumbled, letting his arms flop and dangle over the sides.

"Yeah, we were teasing November about her squeaky mouse voice. Ow!" Ty whined when I may or may not have punched him in the shoulder.

"November is going to the Appointment in a week!" Mom announced, twisting her russet curls in her hand.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Great."

"Oh, cheer up! You'll bring us back some food, won't you?" Ty pleaded. "Pretty please?"

"Yeah, you'll only have to be there for, like, five days," Zack added. "Then you'll come back home like nothing happened."

But before I go back home, I'll have to dig a hole and bury my memories of the Appointment there. I'll be tainted with the richness, and I'm gonna have to bury anything they send home with me, too, then take a nice bath.

"Does Dad know?" Zack queried.

"He must suspect something, with that guard hanging around," my mom pointed out. "Would anyone like to—"

"I will," I cut in. You have to be very fast if you want to volunteer before my brothers. So fast, you have to fit it in before the person reaches the end of their sentence.

Trust me, I've been with them all my life.

Mom blinked uncertainly before answering. "Okay."

"Cool. I'll be back before you know it."

I gingerly climbed to my feet and tip-toed downstairs. I held my breath in the silence, as if one exhale could break everything. I didn't want to do anything too loud or obvious, like the guard's presence could morph into a person and shoot me on the spot.

I approached the door and pushed it open. The hinges squealed like a hungry cat's wail, and I almost threw myself outside. In, out. In, out. I gasped in huge breaths of air, finally free of a cell of public appearances and expectations and the weight of being perfect. If Foodies so much as toed the line, guards and war veterans have the ability to blow our brains out.

Not to mention that the king and his disgusting brats are completely okay with them murdering their own kind. Just because they have money and working electricity doesn't mean they're better than us.

It's so not fair. I probably work in a day what they make in ten, but what do I get? Nothing.

A hunched figure stood in a field of corn, a watering can and a shovel dangling in his hands. His T-shirt looked soaked with sweat, limp against his muscular frame.

"Dad! I have news!" I jumped down the steps and raced across the fields to my dad, who glanced back at my voice. His face was brown and weathered, lined with old age and too many days of work. He needs a break, but then again, we all need a break. But we'll get in big trouble if crops stop coming for an unjust reason.

"November!" A grin split my father's face when I reached him, corn stalks whipping and scratching my bare legs. He dropped the watering can with a muffled thump before leaning on the shovel. "What is it, baby doll?"

I hunched over, my hands on my knees, not really catching my breath but really just enjoying the fresh air. When I rose, Dad gazed at me expectantly. My heart suddenly plummeted to my shoes because I realized, I need to tell him. I need to tell him I'm going away, his one little girl running off to a tainted rich kingdom—

"Spit it out, November. Cat got your tongue?" My dad reached over and prodded me in the shoulder affectionately.

I took a deep breath and almost choked on the air I used to think was so refreshing. "I-I... Dad... did you see the guard?" The monster clothed in red and blue. The lapdog of the king, turned brutal when needed.

"A guard came here? Is everyone all right? November... are you all right?" My dad was tense, his fists clenched.

"Everyone's fine, Dad." A lie. I would be fine if a meteor hit the Earth and killed everyone and everything, I would be fine if I had to farm day and night, but I am definitely not fine with going to the Appointment.

Everyone believes it's such an honor to be chosen to go to the Appointment, even though they're randomly selected, but for me it's a dressed-up word for a curse.

"Well, then why was a European guard in our house?" Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization. He's figured it out. Oh, God, he figured it out. "It can't be... the Appointment..."

I nodded, and tears pricked my eyes. No. I can't cry now. Not in front of Dad.

He let the shovel fall to the ground and hugged me, his cheek pressed against the top of my head. "I know how much you hate the royalty," he murmured, "but try to find the good things, too. Make some friends, enjoy the luxury."

Make some friends? Four of the six will be Royals and Entertainers. The only time I'll get to make friends will be my head dunked in a toilet.

"When will you leave?"

"In a week."

"Hey, at least it isn't tomorrow." He let me go and smiled, so kind and gentle.

"Yeah. It would suck if it was tomorrow, but I would rather it be never," I replied, and high-fived him before going back in the house.

At the end of the day, the sun dipping low with streaks of color painting the sky, Dad found a package on our doorstep. It was a chicken breast in a net, with a note attached to it. In fancy cursive, it read, More will come. Thank you for allowing your daughter to attend the Appointment. Sincerely, the High King and Queen.

Again, you didn't have a choice. One girl refused, and her mother got shot in the middle of town square.

I froze in the gravel streets as a girl with wild black hair got dragged out on her front steps, a European guard clutching her wrist. Another pushed an older woman out in the center of the square, her similar ebony hair tinged with gray.

"What are you going to do to her?!" the girl screamed, kicking and flailing. Tears fell out of her eyes and dripped to the ground, her gray eyes like storm clouds and her tears falling rain. "Please, please let her go!"

The guard kicked the older woman, and she fell to the ground with a huff. Her wrinkled fingers groped her side, which was stained with something dark.

"Miss Evelyn Kirra, your daughter refused to attend the Appointment," the guard announced to the village, his eyes boring into the woman. "Do you understand the consequences?"

Evelyn lifted her head, her hair hanging in front of her face. She turned and spit at the guard's shoes. "Choke on your own wealth," she rasped.

The guard was the face of calm as he drew his gun and shot the woman in the head. She didn't even cry out as blood trickled down her forehead, and then her body hit the ground. Someone screamed, but Zack pulled me into the safety of a market, and away from the example of disobedience.

"We'll eat well tonight," Mom murmured, weighing the bag in her hand. "Should we invite the neighbors over to celebrate?"

"It's November's party," Dad answered, glancing at me. "What do you say?"

"I don't care," I muttered. "As long as I don't have to make any speeches."

Guards aren't allowed, either. But if I say that, I'll be an example of disobedience, too. If they want, guards can crash anyone's party.

"All right! Maybe we can invite Astrid from next door," Zack whispered to Ty as they ran out of the house, set with the responsibility of invitations.

I sighed, and my body suddenly felt cold. I rubbed my shoulders and trudged up the stairs, planning to head into my room and sink under the covers.

I shut the door and gazed out of my window. Some kids played on the street, kicking a ratty ball with holes in it to one another. If we were Royals, we could have people do marvelous magic tricks, or set up a play, or even play music. But no, we can only twiddle our thumbs and kick a rugged old ball around.

My thoughts drifted to the Appointment. In seven days, I'll be stuck on a train with five other girls who are ready to kill for the prince's attention.

In seven days, I'll be swept up in a world of ball gowns and etiquette.