Page 72 of The Artist
“Different how?” I tried to see my suite through her eyes. I’d been to France and knew they lived in small quarters and that to her, this might seem excessive for one person.
Belle walked around and stopped to poke her head into my bathroom. “This is bigger than my bedroom.”
I smiled and let her investigate.
She stopped to pick up a rotation frame that showed a mix of photos of me from sports events with my friends, hunting, survival trips, and fun family times. A picture from last year with Indiana and me standing with Aubri between us popped up. It had been a spontaneous decision to rock dive when we went hiking and found the perfect cliff protruding over the lake. In the photo we were all in our underwear with wet hair from swimming in the lake.
“It’s weird to see you laughing and smiling so much in these pictures.” Belle put the frame back. “During the summits, you’re usually serious and stern.”
“I wasn’t stern last night with you.”
She turned and met my gaze. “No, you weren’t, but still, I can’t remember seeing you laugh and smile like this.”
“The summit is serious business. We debate and compete.”
Belle moved to one of the four large windows in my suite and stopped with her back to me. “It’s supposed to be a time for us to make friends.”
I gave a small snort. “I would say you and I have becomeveryfriendly.”
She kept looking out the window. “Did you sleep with me to gain influence?”
“No, of course not.”
Turning, she leaned against the windowsill. “Good, because my presence at these summits have always been somewhat of a joke.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not like anyone back home ever thought I would grow up to become a leader in our society. I was chosen for other reasons.”
“Do you know those reasons?”
“Mhmm. Originally, our government chose the top five in the yearly Champion test for people under eighteen. It’s a big deal in Old Europe. Every student has to compete. The top thirty get to the final rounds, which are broadcasted nationally. Victor was the winner every year since he was nine, so he was an easy choice. Then there was Simon, who was number five, Sophie, who was number four, and Oscar, who was number three. Number two was a girl who was thirteen and blind.” Belle looked tired. Reaching up she untied her hair, making her thick brown locks cascade down over her shoulders. “Her name is Camille and she is both brilliant and kind, but…” She sighed. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but our government didn’t want to send someone who was visually impaired. They agreed that they would pick a substitute for Camille and chose me based on a set of criteria. I was artistic, which could prove useful if the Motlanders chose competitions based on creativity. I wasn’t academically gifted, but my ear for languages was well developed and I spoke better English than Victor and the others. And I was also chosen because I was pretty.” Belle’s eyes glazed over, and her tone turned monotone. “Never underestimate the power of beauty. It lures people in and makes them like you better. Unfortunately, it didn’t work with the other four members of the French delegation, who despised me from the beginning. I’ve always felt that I didn’t belong at these summits and every year I expect to be told I’ve been replaced.”
“I remember Oscar and Sophie. Is it true that they died?” I asked.
Frown lines appeared on Belle’s forehead. Moving away from the window, she answered, “The suicide rate is high in my country. I talked to Holly about it once and she said something that resonated with me.”
“What did she say?”
“That we French collectively suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome after being caught in a mindset of survival for more than four hundred years. We’re taught to numb ourselves and keep busy so our thoughts don’t get the better of us, but the constant pressure catches up to people eventually. Did you know that our average length of life is fifty-eight?”
“Fifty-eight?”
“Yes. In the Motherlands it’s ninety-one. Do you know what it is here in the Northlands?”
“I’m guessing late seventies, but I’m not sure. We’ve had issues with suicide too, mostly among the older generation who watched younger men marry and have families, which previous generations could only dream about. It’s especially hard on them because our society has changed so much around in the past twenty-eight years. Indiana was the first Nomo child, which means that he’s a mix. Aubri and I are purebloods, but Thor and Freya are Nomo children as well.”
“I’ve heard of this but remind me again. Why are they called Nomo?”
“It’s the first two letters in the Northlands and Motherlands put together. NoMo.”
“Ah, I see.”
I took a seat in the large sectional and put my feet up. “No society is perfect, I suppose, but I’m still happy I was born here.”
“I think the Motlanders would say the same about being born in the Motherlands. We prefer what we know.”
“You prefer France?”
