Match

CHAPTER ONE

My brother Lucas is shouting at me from downstairs. Katie, let’s go!

"Give me one second!" I jam what must be the 50th bobby pin into my hair. Usually, it’s a nice thing to have soft hair, but not today. Elegant buns are nearly impossible, with hair as feathery and thin as mine.

We have to leave! he shouts, footsteps rushing up the stairs. He barges into my room in a flurry of too-long arms and legs.

Knock, you jerk! I laugh, moving over to look in the mirror. My laughter is just a cover-up of how nervous I am.

Tonight is our seventeenth birthdate and Matching Ceremony. We will go to the Hall and become Matched with our soulmates. We will marry these soulmates, have two children with them, and die by their sides many years from now. A piece of paper will determine the course of my entire life in less than three hours; I have not eaten all day.

"We have to go. Lucas nearly whines. It’s nine-thirty already."

I shove the 51st bobby pin into my bun and unleash hairspray upon it. Lucas, the Matching Ceremony starts at eleven.

Yeah, but the bus is always so crowded when it gets late, Lucas argues. He always likes to be early; somehow, I am always late.

But then we just have to sit there and be bored, I retort. My shimmering, dark blue dress clings to my legs, making me feel claustrophobic.

My room is the size of everyone else's to symbolize that we are all equal. These houses are cookie-cutter, and my belongings are, too. A black desk sits in one corner with a cream-colored lamp and some green and blue notebooks for school. My closet is filled with solid-colored clothes, symbolizing that I am not yet Matched. In one week, I will go to the clothing depot on my own and pick up my first set of multicolored clothes. The rest of the community will finally recognize me as an adult.

Lucas leans against my dresser in defeat, knocking over my hairbrush but ignoring it. At least I’m not as clumsy as he is, although I tend to trip over my feet occasionally. Ava’s tried to teach me some ballet, but I’m a horrible dancer.

He sighs. Fine. His eyes light up after a moment, letting me know he has a mischievous idea. He sighs dramatically, forcing a smile off his face and hanging his head. "I guess today isn’t the most important day of our lives. I guess today doesn’t decide our futures. I guess not."

He’s right—today is the most important day of our lives. We’ve been waiting to know our Matches since we were old enough to grasp the importance of the necklaces. I once tried to see if Chris and I Matched, but we were scolded by our teacher as soon as she saw. I remember how she shrieked, Matching is a sacred event that should not be spoiled. The crime is punishable with life in jail! She was probably making the last part up just to scare us, but I haven’t tried to find my Match since. Mrs. Gutale was vulture-esque and terrifying.

Oh, shut up. I toss a bobby pin at him. Don’t make me hairspray you.

No! he cries, cowering. Not the hairspray! Anything but that!

I spray a puff at him, and he shrieks, plastering himself to the wall to avoid the foul-smelling chemicals.

We both laugh, his being an octave above mine as I continue my assault. His voice used to be much higher than mine, but when we turned 14, he hit a growth spurt. Now he towers over me, and I hate to admit that he’s much stronger, too, but his laugh still sounds ridiculous.

Why do you sound… like that? I laugh. Only my twin can make me laugh like this.

Our giggles eventually subside, replaced by an uncomfortable silence as we remember how scared we are, and how important today is.

I study his face—there is a dusting of freckles across his nose that I don’t have. We both inherited our mother’s medium brown hair, which lightens into an almost auburn color in the summer. Our father gave us hazel eyes, although mine are greener than Lucas’s. His eyebrows are thicker than mine, but we both have the same stubby eyelashes.

Two years from today, we will be packing our things to move into our government-assigned homes to live with our Matches. We will be preparing to leave this house in exactly two years. Lucas won’t sleep in the next room over, and his toothbrush won’t sit next to mine in the bathroom cabinet. I won’t see him every day. What will my life be like without the constant there-ness of my brother? Did my parents think they would always be with the siblings they never see anymore?

You ready? he asks, voice filled with false confidence. I know he’s faking it because I am, too.

You know how I feel, Lucas, I mumble, voice low so our parents don’t overhear.

And you know how I feel, he replies. He’s right—I do.

We walk down the unforgiving wooden stairs to meet our parents in the kitchen without another word. He leads, coming to the same hard floor at the bottom. Our stairs sit in the center of our house, with a wall on one side and a railing on the other. Lucas and I used to fly down them in our socks and hook ourselves around the banister, flinging ourselves into a pile of pillows. Our mother told us to stop when Lucas hit his head against the wall hard enough to leave a dent in it. We did it when she wasn’t home—Father always let us.

My mother has laugh lines on her forehead and crinkles around her frothy green eyes when she smiles. She has a red birthmark under her left ear that Lucas also has and freckles on her ivory-colored cheeks. Unable to sit for more than thirty minutes at a time, she cleans when she isn’t at school teaching math to kindergarteners. That’s another trait she gave to me; I don’t think I’ve ever been still in my life.

My father has skin the color of peanut butter with hair and eyes like thunderclouds. He is naturally tall with arms the size of tree trunks and hands so calloused that he’s never managed to cut himself with a knife while cooking. Those larger-than-life hands are black with soot at the end of every day from building train engines, which is one of the only jobs we have that requires physical labor, but he enjoys getting to spend time on his feet. I’m like that, too.

Everyone ready? my mother asks. We can catch the early bus so you two can sit with your friends. She smiles nervously—I wonder what this must be like for her, sending the both of us off at once.

Let’s go, Lucas says.

We tug on our boots; he helps me lace mine, as it’s hard to bend over in this stupid dress. On any other day, he would tease me about not being able to tie my own shoes, but today is different. Today there is nothing but unspoken kindness in the face of our fear.

Next are our heavy coats, which help me feel a little more dressed. The Matching Ceremony dress code is different than that of everyday life. We don’t get to pick our own dresses, but we get fitted for them so they’re flattering. I must admit that I look good in this dress—it hugs what little curves I have to offer, with a wide neck to show off my collarbones. This is the first (and probably only) time my male friends will see me like this. I wonder what they’ll think of me, if they’ll avert their eyes for the sake of remaining proper. I don’t know if I want them to or not.

The four of us leave without another word. My father double-checks the lock, as he does every time, and we walk to the bus stop at the end of the street. The Ashborrows are already waiting, thank Ankou.

Hey, Chris says as we come to stand under the streetlamp with him. You guys look nice.

Thanks. I smile bashfully, wondering if he was allowed to say that. So do you.

"Katie, wow, his older sister, Melissa, says. Wait, can you take off your coat real quick? I wanna see the top."

I shrug off my jacket and hand it to Lucas, offering a little twirl. Melissa whistles and Mrs. Ashborrow nods her approval. As I’d expected, Chris averts his eyes when I look at him. I still don’t know whether I want him to or not.

Stunning, Melissa says, hugging me.

Thank you, I say, putting my coat back on. Are you nervous?

Not at all, she says. All packed up. We’ll move everything tomorrow. I hope we’re near the park. That would be so nice.

Tonight, Melissa and her Match will receive the key to their forever home. The Key Ceremony takes place after Homecoming, when babies are given to their parents for the first time, but before the Matching Ceremony. I think they save ours for last to keep us on our toes.

Oh, that would be lovely, my mother chimes in. And not too far either.

Exactly, Melissa says, wrapping an arm around her own mother. Can’t leave just yet, can I?

We all laugh as if she ever could.

Nervous? Chris asks me quietly.

I look up at him, his eyes piercing my own like ice. Are you seriously asking me that right now?

He laughs a little. Fair. You have any guesses on who you’ll get?

Every year the rumor goes around again that they don’t make the list until the day of the actual ceremony, that they observe us in school up until then and pick the best Match that way. I don’t know how much I believe that; Melissa’s Match was practically a stranger to her.

Not a clue, I reply. You?

No idea.

The bus arrives, and our families clamber on. As usual, I sit in the back with Lucas and Chris on either side. Our parents and Melissa are up front.

The ride is mostly silent. We stop at one or two other streets, but few people get on. It’s still early, only 10:00, and Homecoming doesn’t start until 11:00. Why they keep the babies up that late only to send them off to their parents for the first time, I’ll never know.

My mother says I was the easy baby after Homecoming, Chris says as if reading my thoughts. Mel? She was a nightmare. It took her three days to get back on a semi-normal sleep schedule.

How do you think our parents felt? Lucas laughs.

Oh, yeah, Chris replies, laughing as well.

I was easy, I chime in, pointing the finger at Lucas. You? Not so much.

He puts a hand over his heart, feigning injury. "Me? But you’re the one who’s still a nightmare!"

I reach over to Chris to swat my brother on the arm, accidentally leaving a little glitter on his jacket as collateral damage. Oops, sorry, here— I make to wipe it away, but he grabs my hand, eyes pointed up front.

I follow his gaze to our parents, who are watching us intently. I offer a small wave, returning my hands to my lap.

And just like that, we're at the Hall, and everyone is clambering off the bus. My father offers a hand to every wobbly girl like myself.

As I near the huge wooden doors, I start to count my breaths—1, in, 2, out. Soon I am mere feet from the inside, and I take my last breath as a free girl.

One last exhale, and then I am inside, shaking so hard I momentarily think my knees might buckle, thankful that I can chalk my tremors up to the cold. I can barely sign my name as I register, only thinking about what could potentially happen to me. The only good outcome would be getting Matched with Noah or Chris, and I would protest even that.

After winding through the outer corridors, we arrive at the Hall itself.

The Hall is a massive dome with seats on all sides and a stage in the middle. The glass roof represents how this is not just an affair for us but the whole country. Anyone could come by to watch, even President Ankou himself. We are out in the open here, at our most vulnerable.

Four main hallways on the floor lead into the cavernous space, so you have to climb to get to the seats. The hallways come in from the north, south, east, and west. Those waiting to be Matched sit in the northeast section, always able to fit because of population control. Young parents are in the northwest, and Matches waiting for their keys are in the southwest. The rest of the population may sit wherever they like, even mingled with those being honored, but they are required to attend.

We take our seats in the designated section; I feel exposed without my parents on either side of me. Some people chatter nervously around us, but our group does not speak.

Finally, Mayor Clearwater steps into the middle of the stage, raven hair rippling around her silver dress like a halo. She taps the mic with perfectly manicured nails to get the crowd’s attention

Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Homecoming, Key Ceremony, and Matching Ceremony! We applaud, and some people cheer. I'm sure you're all very excited! We applaud again, most people with even more enthusiasm.

It’s time to begin! Young parents, please come to the front.

We watch as first-timers, beaming with pride, are handed their infants. Some mothers weep with joy; others, it seems, with sorrow. And the second timers look mostly unphased, with a toddler clinging to one of them or sitting on the floor exhausted. The little ones are also required to attend so that a parent doesn’t have to stay at home to watch them. It seems cruel.

And those Matches eagerly awaiting their keys, please come forward! Mayor Clearwater calls. My leg starts to bounce.

Melissa and her Match receive a home by the park, just like she’d wanted. She beams with pride at her mother and then offers Chris a wave. Then the fateful words.

And finally, our sacred Matching Ceremony! All girls currently aged 16, please come to the front.

I turn and smile the best I can at Lucas, who sits higher up with his other friends. Tonight, after the Matching, marks the communal birthdate. This year we will turn 17.

I end up standing between Ava and Elizabeth Parker. Elizabeth and I have never gotten along, in the same way that mice and snakes don’t. I’m still not sure which of us is which.

Boys, please come forward and stand opposite the girls, Mayor Clearwater calls. I clench and unclench my sweaty hands. Ava doesn’t look much better.

I zone out until Ava is called, and because her last name is only three in front of mine, I start to pay attention.

Good luck, I whisper. She sends me a half-hearted smile

Tyler Sandoval, please come to the front, Mayor Clearwater calls. He steps forward, all messy black hair and too-baggy shirt, just as nervous as the rest of us.

Match necklaces, she instructs. It’s a perfect fit, and they both look relatively pleased.

A few more names are called, a few more kids are betrothed, and more than a few panicked thoughts run through my head.

Kaitlyn Davis. Mayor Clearwater’s voice echoes through the silent Hall. Please step forward. I take a deep breath and step to the middle of the stage, trying to look remotely calm in the face of my future.

Preston Harper, she reads from the list of names. Please come forward. Oh no. Not him, please, anyone but him. I hate him so much, and my parents tell me ‘hate’ is a strong word, but I do. I hate him. He shoved me off the top of the playground when we were kids; I still have the scar on my foot to prove it.

Too much gel keeps his hair slicked back, and his dark brown eyes may as well be made of plastic. His behemoth hands are clammy—I can see that they are clammy—and the last thing I want is them anywhere near my body. I don’t want to marry him. I can’t.

Match necklaces, Mayor Clearwater instructs. With shaking fingertips, I unclasp my necklace and place it next to his. The fit is seamless, with jagged edges coming together to form a perfect heart. My throat aches with unshed tears as we hold up our Match to the crowd's applause. His sweaty rock of a fist crushes my hand.

As other people get betrothed to my best friends and schoolmates, we stand to the side. Noah is Matched with my sort-of-friend Jocelyn, and Chris gets a girl named Danielle. Lucas, always the luckier twin, gets partnered with a good friend of his. Everyone, except me, seems to be somewhat pleased with their Matches.

The rest of the Ceremony goes by in a haze until Mayor Clearwater’s farewell speech.

In this hour, so much has happened! Parents have received their beautiful children; soon-to-be spouses have been gifted the keys to their forever homes. And, of course, our newly Matched citizens have all grown to become fine young men and women, she says, sighing happily and clasping her hands together like a swooning maiden. Girls have transformed into women; boys have transformed into men. Are you all happy? We’re supposed to chorus a ‘yes,’ as is tradition, whether we are being truthful or not. Disagreeing can be dangerous.

The air in the room shifts as people suck in a breath. I peer around Preston’s mass to see what happened, confused as to why the silence is now suffocating instead of placid. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to fall on the mousey girl who has stepped away from her newfound soulmate. "No, I’m not happy! I won’t marry him; I won’t! You can’t make me!"

Guards rush forward and begin to drag her away, but she keeps yelling and struggling against them. "Let me go! I said get off me! Mother! Father!"

I can see the fear in her eyes even from here. She knows she’s made the wrong choice, but it’s too late now.

She’s dragged