Rite of Rejection (Acceptance Book 1) Read Free Page B

Day Parade every summer to commemorate the election of the Cardinal.
    “Why are they there?” I ask.
    “They’re going to film the ceremony, of course. Do you think they’ll show it to all the Territories?” Cheryl grabs my hands and pumps our arms up and down, nearly hitting several other people on the tightly packed sidewalk. “Just think, everyone back home will get to see us in our Acceptance gowns when it’s our turn at the Machine.”
    Thanks to Cheryl’s speculation, my mother is now fussing with every part of me within arm’s reach. My dress is smoothed, my curls bounced and hairpins checked to make certain that no rogue strand of hair can mar my on-screen debut. “Stop twisting your necklace, Rebecca,” she says, batting at my fingers. “It makes you look nervous.” I am nervous.
    I push my arms down to my sides, but it’s hard to keep them still. It would be nice to have everyone from home see me in something other than the plain, collared dresses that make up my normal wardrobe. But this isn’t a fashion show. Not everyone on that stage will make it to the ball tonight. Some among us will be Rejected and sent to the PIT. There isn’t any tolerance for heathens who threaten our peace. The PIT keeps them away from us where they can only hurt each other.
    I take a deep breath and release the fists knotted at my side. I can’t go into the ceremony expecting the worst. It doesn’t matter how horrible the PIT is. I won’t be going there. A strong, deep voice calling out from the loudspeaker brings me back to the present.
    “Ladies and Gentlemen, would all those participating in today’s Acceptance ceremony please report to the right side of the stage. Our ceremony will begin momentarily.”
    Sure enough, the banners all around the square show less than thirty minutes on their countdown.
    “Oh, Rebecca. My little girl all grown up.” My mother gives me a quick peck on the cheek and a light hug, careful to avoid wrinkling my dress.
    “We love you,” my father says, pulling me into a deeper hug despite the clicks of disapproval from my mother. My father is a man of few words, so the ones he does say count extra. I lean in and hug him back, tighter than I have in years.
    Cheryl and I head off arm in arm toward the stage that will mark our true entrance into society.
    Despite the need to corral close to one thousand teens into order, the waiting area is well organized. An official-looking man is collecting names of everyone as they join the line and entering them on the flat, rectangular screen of his Noteboard.
    “Hurry, Rebecca. I don’t want to be at the end and have to wait all day to be called.” We slide into line behind another girl in a butter-yellow dress. Somewhere by the stage a band is playing, its trumpets and drums adding to the holiday-like atmosphere.
    “Good morning, ladies.”
    I turn around and stare straight into the pair of sky-blue eyes that held me captive yesterday at lunch.
    “Becca, you are lovelier than I remember.” Eric takes my hand in his again, raising goose bumps along the bare skin of my arm. “Perhaps I should ask for a second dance now, before the other boys get a chance to fill your dance card.”
    I want so badly to say something smart back to him, but my mouth is completely dry. My fingers twirl the knotted pendant of my grandmother’s necklace. The best I can manage is a tight smile, but it feels weak compared to the wide one he’s giving me.
    “Your necklace is beautiful.”
    I smile wider because this time we are in complete agreement, though most people don’t see the beauty in the chain’s simplicity.
    “It’s a shame, but you won’t be able to wear your gloves on the Machine. May I?” he asks, holding the tips of my fingers.
    Eric is completely in his element while I can’t manage to string together two words in a coherent sentence. I nod and hope he doesn’t think I’m a complete moron.
    Eric turns his attention to removing my gloves.