The Matchmakers

By Zara Hoffman

Are you ready to meet your Match?

Love is a science in the 23rd Century. After World War IV ended, the remains of North America became The Heartland, where knowledge is power and all marriages are arranged.

 

Rosemary Katherine Young can't wait until she meets her Match on her eighteenth birthday. But when a terrorist attack occurs, she is hastily Matched to the President's son, and her sister is accused of treason.

 

Is it possible to find love in a society controlled by logic and science?

 

The Matchmakers is a young adult dystopian romance novel. Zara Hoffman's immersive world, three-dimensional characters, and political intrigue will keep you hooked from the start.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ZH Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9780986427930

Zara Hoffman

Zara Hoffman is a self-published author of young adult paranormal romance and new adult scifi romance. She spends most of her time doing homework for her NYU MS in Publishing Program, hosting livestreams on YouTube, and writing new stories. When she isn’t wrapped up in projects, Zara can be found relaxing in her room, listening to music, watching Netflix, or playing with her dog. Connect with Zara online: www.youtube.com/zarahoffmanauthortube www.ko-fi.com/zarahoffman www.instagram.com/zarahoffman

Book preview

1

My sister looks like a goddess as she waits for the Couturier to finish taking her measurements. Her waist-length hair is braided in a crown and precious gems encased in white gold hang from her ears, wrists, and neck.

The only thing missing from her appearance is a smile.

She frowns at the holographic display of her outfit. You’d think after seventy-five years there would be more flexibility with the color scheme. She whispers, but not quietly enough.

I frown. It’s our family’s lavender, which has always been a flattering hue on us. Some people are stuck in garish oranges or washed-out yellows. Before I can ask what her issue with the color is, Mother turns away from the Couturier and gives my sister a sharp look. Kalliope, we talked about this.

It’s Kalli, she corrects.

This can’t continue, Mother says, ignoring my sister’s comment. Kalliope is the name I gave you and it is the one by which your Match will address you. You should be setting a good example for your sister.

I interrupt, not wanting to hear their bickering on what was supposed to be a celebratory day. But aren’t you excited? I ask my sister before she can dig into our mom. It’s nerve-wracking, I’m sure, to be Matched with an unknown individual but it’s also the start of the rest of your life. The happiest occasion that exists except perhaps having a child.

Kalli rolls her eyes. But before her frustration can be channeled toward me in her usual lecture on my adherence to tradition, the Couturier retracts her measuring tape. Please get dressed, Miss Young, gesturing to the dressing chamber.

My sister’s expression softens as she regards the woman. She always was nicer to the working class than was proper in Mother’s opinion. Kalli steps onto the round platform and is immediately shielded from sight by a rounded metal door.

There are machines that can do it easily but for such an important event, every future Match is attended to by a human expert to make sure nothing goes wrong. Today is too important, and the schedule is too tight, to allow for any errors.

The woman places the dress in the adjoining tube and selects the parameters of the outfit, making the last few necessary adjustments on the panel. The outfit begins to shimmer until it disappears completely. The panel transforms into a holographic display of my sister in the chamber and I watch fascinated as the dress slowly materializes on her body. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

Aside from the technology panels and tablets, the room looks like a forest. Vines cover the ceiling and walls and they gather in the corner, turning into a swing. In the center of the space is a large tree with shades of pink and purple fruit hanging from the branches. We’re underground in an old bunker—how can something grow here? There’s no sunlight here, natural or artificial. And yet, it looks like the plant has been here a while, rooted in the ground too deeply to have been recently planted here for the event.

I stand, intending to walk closer when Mother turns to me. I expect you will handle this with more grace, Rosemary.

I wince at the comparison. It’s not so much that I resent the compliment, but I don’t like accepting it at my sister’s expense. Thankfully, I am saved from needing to reply when Kalli reappears.

Two women wearing blue dresses enter and usher my sister through a secret door that opens in the wall. Their outfits made it clear they were Adorners, responsible for Marking the soon-to-be Matched couples, but I had only seen them in my textbooks until now. Like the Couturier, the role is filled by people less fortunate than our family.

There aren’t many opportunities to socialize with people like that—something Mother appreciated and Kalli hated. Like always, I’m caught somewhere in the middle of their opposing opinions.

Mother motions me to rise. We are not meant to see the Marking, but my sister calls out, Wait! I want Romy to come with me.

Mother purses her lips at the use of my nickname in front of others and the unorthodox request of me witnessing an otherwise private process but clearly decides not to argue in front of the Adorners. As a judge, truth is her first priority but even I can admit that she values appearances almost just as much. And revealing our family is not a picture of tranquility has never been an option.

Come find your father and me when it is time, she tells me then takes her leave back through the way we had come in hours ago. It’s only when the doors shut behind her that it hits me she left without saying goodbye to my sister.

Kalli holds out her arms and pulls me next to her. Together, we walk toward the dark passageway and continue until another door opens. I blink a few times, adjusting to the stark simplicity of my new surroundings. This space is much smaller and resembles an old hospital room I’ve seen in textbooks with its metal examination chair and garish white light.

After the War, the medical system had been redone to not only be as advanced as possible and become more accessible but accepted discomfort had been fixed. No one should be afraid of science, especially when it regards one’s or a loved one’s health.

Which makes me wonder why this room doesn’t reflect that mentality. Perhaps it’s an homage to the first Ceremony that had been conducted within a week of the Ceasefire? Visual records of that historic event show a much less lavish affair than the one my parents described when I asked about theirs at the start of the year. I’d seen it every year during the broadcast but I’d never thought to ask how it had felt for them until it hit me that Kalli would be going through it so soon.

I stand next to the seat and one of the women pulls a black, silk blindfold out of the cabinet and secures it around my sister’s head. She then takes my sister’s dominant hand, flips it over, and begins sanitizing the skin with a hand-held photoblade. Though it’s not touching Kalli’s skin, it peels off the top layer, revealing a smoother one underneath.

The second woman mixes a small vial of clear liquid with a packet of black powder. When she finishes, she funnels the solution into a smaller glass cartridge which she clicks into something that looks like a combination of an old-fashioned wax seal and table clamp. She places the instrument around her arm so the circular plate is centered over the prepared skin. Pressing a button, the thing clamps together and the ink begins to disappear into the machine.

Kalli squeezes my hand with surprising strength and I squeeze back, trying to ignore the tingling I now feel in my fingers. A sure sign I’ll be massaging the circulation back into my hands once this is over.

The woman removes the contraption and rubs a clear cream over the freshly Marked skin. I lean closer to see the Matchmakers’ insignia staring up at me. Though I’m familiar with the encircled serpentine infinity sign, one can’t live where we do without seeing it everywhere–including our parents’ skin—the two snake heads seem more belligerent than usual.

I close my eyes and shake my head, clearing the strange thoughts from my mind. It’s probably the lack of circulation messing with me. I start rubbing my hands together to get rid of the lingering discomfort.

With some help, my sister stands up and blindly reaches for my hands. The blindfold won’t come off until the Ceremony is underway.

I take hers in mine before she trips in her search.

You should go upstairs, she says.

I kiss her cheek and squeeze her hands once more before I withdraw and head toward the elevator to take me upstairs.

The metal doors close on the room and open on the President’s Theater. Sleek, platinum columns stretch to the circle of lights hanging from the domed ceiling, framing multiple tiers of red velvet loges and balcony seating. Above the stage is the Matchmaker insignia. In the center of the stage stands a long table with five empty seats. Beside it, there is a black marble podium. The sprawling, deco venue was modeled after the original Dolby Theatre, which was bombed in 2024. This one seats roughly seven thousand people, double the original capacity.

Only families of those being Matched are invited to view the Ceremony in person, making it the first time I’ve ever seen the stage so close rather than from the comfort of our home. I applaud with everyone else when the President rises from his seat and ascends the steps.

Elected eight years ago by the Matchmakers, President Clark has continued his father’s legacy in maintaining and streamlining our society’s efficiency in all areas of interpersonal relations, especially in improving the conditions of the working class. A tall man, he stands out even without the distinction provided by his gray suit and pants, a white dress shirt, and a royal purple tie—the First Family’s color. His two sons and wife sit in the Presidential box off stage left.

He rests his hands on the rostrum. His gold cufflinks, which bear the Matchmakers’ insignia, reflect the bright overhead stage lights. He waits for the applause to quiet before introducing the five Matchmakers as they walk on stage.

The first to appear is Hathor Edna Mitchell, the oldest member of the panel and the leading sociologist in our society. Her silver hair is pulled back in a tight bun and she wears a black robe with a summer orange collar.

Next is Pan Elias Richards, who is also a senior member and a renowned behaviorist. He wears a navy tie.

Freya Lucille Tunstall follows. Her robe bears a cerulean blue collar. Though only thirty, she has already been a Matchmaker for ten years, chosen when she invented a new way of measuring stress levels and improving the immune system.

Enzo Joseth Houston, a genealogist, and pioneer in genetics is the next to appear. His tie is deep fuchsia.

The last member is Aphrodite Lillian Taylor, one of the expert neurologists who has been researching the causes for memory dysfunction. Her collar is cordovan.

When all five are seated, President Clark starts reciting the customary Ceremony speech. I silently mouth the words, having memorized them when I was five. Welcome to the annual Matching Ceremony. Your esteemed men and women take their job very seriously and deeply consider every facet of each person’s character before choosing their perfect Match. As you know, this Ceremony started after World War IV and continues to maintain peace and civility among our society. He surveys the crowd, his gaze stopping briefly on my family. When my parents both turn to me, I realize President Clark wasn’t looking at us, but at me.

The President clears his throat and continues his speech, one I’ve heard and seen broadcasted many times. And now, it is with great pleasure that I announce this year’s Matches.

I tune out the beginning of the list. Thankfully, Mother doesn’t call out my inattention. It is not until the last name is called—my sister’s—that I sit up straighter.

Miss Kalliope Esther Young and Mr. Geoff Gage Adams.

Everyone silently watches the projection of my sister and her Match enter from opposite sides of the screen. Their blindfolds have been removed and they walk towards each other until they meet in the center and shake hands—not hug or kiss as is customary. Then the screen momentarily goes black, and they appear on stage through a trapdoor. She gracefully steps forward with her head held high, hand in Geoff’s, and an almost too–serene smile in place. I glance at my parents, but they are wearing genuine expressions of pride and don’t seem to notice what I do.

From the few times our families have convened at joint judicial and scientific galas, I remember Geoff being more scientifically inclined. It will probably distract my sister from going on too many rants about our government. One thing she has never decried is our scientific achievements. Though I can’t recall them sharing more than five words beyond the perfunctory greetings. I wonder how The Matchmakers made their decision to pair them together. But I know my questions will be answered in the next part of the Ceremony.

Kalli and Geoff move to stand beside the President while the Matchmakers go down the line and explain why they are perfectly suited to each other.

Matchmaker Mitchell speaks first. Miss Young, your fearless attitude and ability to ask hard questions are valued assets that compliment Mr. Adams’ desire for knowledge. Your persistence and his methodology will no doubt yield many fascinating results. I am confident that the two of you will break down the mysteries of science.

It’s the nicest description of my sister’s rebellious streak I have ever heard. I glance at my mother and see a tight smile settled on her face. Her hands are clasped together in her lap and I can see her knuckles turning white.

Matchmaker Houston clears his throat and I turn to face the stage again. Neither of your families has ever been Matched together, maintaining a pure gene pool and minimizing the chances of birth defects of any future children. Both your families are protected against many diseases, none of which are overlapping, giving your offspring a great chance of survival. Your physical traits are also compatible.

Moreover, Matchmaker Taylor says, neither of your families has a history of any neurological diseases. Your children will be free to achieve many great things as contributing members of society without the fear of a ticking clock.

Matchmaker Richards speaks next, addressing Geoff. Miss Young will help push your boundaries while you temper her sometimes overzealous personality. He shifts in his seat to talk to my sister. Both of you will give a part of yourself, completing the other, while never feeling at a loss. Together, you will provide the support for both of you to grow into your best selves.

Your similarities and differences will not only balance out your characters, but also your stress levels, Matchmaker Tunstall begins, addressing them simultaneously. As a Match, it is not only your responsibility to cherish your partner, but also to take care of them when they cannot do what is best for themselves. Miss Young, your mentorship of your younger sister clearly exemplifies your ability to fulfill this role. Mr. Adams, your caring disposition and determination can be seen in your work at the hospital. Your shared empathy will strengthen your relationship even more.

A beat passes before the theater echoes with the polite clapping of the audience. It becomes white noise for me as I continue to watch my sister’s blank expression scan the families of those being Matched. They are wrapping up on stage. Kalli and Geoff walk to the side with the other couples.

The President steps back up to the podium and addresses them. Please face your Match and hold hands. They do so. You are about to embark on a new chapter in your lives with your partner. It is a great gift and responsibility. Are you prepared for this change?

I am, they say in unison, smiling at each other.

Do you promise to care for your Match to the best of your ability?

I do, they answer. I notice Kalli step forward until the only distance between her and Geoff is because of their arms.

In sickness and in health? Through good times and bad?

I do, they repeat. I don’t know if I imagine it or not, but it looks like my sister is practically leaning into her Match like our parents occasionally do—especially at public events. But never in a million years would I have pictured my defiantly independent sister doing the same.

The President turns to face the audience. I declare this Matching Ceremony complete.

Everyone stands, applauding. Moments later, the Matches are making their way toward their families.

Mr. and Mrs. Young, my brother-in-law addresses my parents, bowing to her and extending a hand to my father. They shake.

I see Mr. and Mrs. Adams walking toward us. They wear the Adams family’s traditional color of scarlet, a striking contrast to our family’s tame lavender.

My sister and Geoff approach me. Goodbye, Rosemary, she says.

I hate hearing her call me by my full name. She only does it when we’re in public, but her using it in our farewell leaves me with a strange, unpleasant feeling. Bye, I whisper, trying to sound happy for her. I hadn’t thought past the Ceremony and the inevitable farewell we’d have to share and now I’m unprepared to see her go.

Rosemary? my father calls, pulling me out of my wayward thoughts. It’s time to go.

Our car is waiting for us and the door automatically recedes, rolling up and disappearing into the center of the car’s ceiling for us to enter without fear of bumping our heads. I can’t help but notice the emptiness I feel without Kalli.

2

Iwalk carefully with my drink so the pink concoction doesn’t spill over the rim of the wide and shallow glass as I make my way toward an empty marble coffee table on the President’s front lawn.

I sit down on a nearby purple leather banquette and cross my legs, a habit I picked up from my sister much to our mother’s dismay, though I only cross at my ankles and my sister does it at her knees. It’s indecent according to Mother, but Kalli has never actually had a mishap of accidental exposure.

I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the sweet, fruity taste that explodes on my tongue. I could do without the carbonation, though. I go back for more as I scan my new surroundings. I’ve never been on the Presidential property before, but it’s as grand as the reporters have made it out to be.

The house is about twice the size of a normal citizen’s but it maintains the same rectangular shape. What they do with all the extra inside space is a mystery since their family is the same size as mine.

What really sets the President’s mansion apart from all the others, however, is how far back it is from the road. With so much green before it, one could briefly forget they were on a residential street instead of a public garden, though the latter are few and far between since the War.

Every year, the President hosts a party on his grounds after the Ceremony. The newly Matched couples are never present. Instead, they go home to be with their new partners, and the families gather to celebrate. It’s also one of the few times that all the classes get to interact without the normal barrier of job responsibilities that puts some people below us.

Where were you earlier? Charlotte asks, coming up beside me and squeezing my arm as she slides into the seat next to me, holding a matching drink delicately between her fingers.

Her older brother had been Matched today but I can’t for the life of me remember whose name the Matchmakers had called alongside his. Despite Charlotte being my best friend, I’ve never been close to her sibling who never wanted to be around when I visited their home or the two of us huddled together at professional functions as our parents conversed with their shared colleagues.

I fiddle with the ridiculous lavender bow at my waist. If I knew Mother wouldn’t have thrown a fit, I’d have taken a pair of scissors to it a long time ago. It’s so large, it spans the bottom of my ribcage down to my hips, making me look shorter than my already small height of five-feet 2-inches and like a twelve-year-old. I don’t need people thinking I’m a child. I’m seventeen and will be Matched next year. I was with Kalli.

Charlotte leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, which are covered with the powder blue fabric of the Taggart family. You got to see the Marking? What was it like? She shakes her head and holds out a hand. Wait. Don’t tell me. I’m not supposed to know. She pauses. I wish I could have seen it…, she sounds almost dreamy as she muses out loud. How did you get away with seeing it?

Kalli asked and no one argued.

My friend raises a skeptical eyebrow at my implication that my mother—the renowned, rule-following, and opinionated Justice Young—let her daughters flout a rule of secrecy.

I shrug, hoping she’ll change the subject.

Anyway, she pauses and glances around to make sure no one is listening. I saw the President looking at you. What was that all about?

So, I wasn’t imagining things. I have no idea. And how had she noticed it from the other side of the auditorium?

Well, maybe they want you for—

I’m sure the Matchmakers will pick someone better, I cut in. I’m not special aside from being my mother’s daughter. I live in both her and my sister’s shadows, and I’m not upset about it. I don’t need a spotlight on me, and if I were to be Matched to the President’s first son, I’d be forced to live under the public’s scrutiny.

That’s not true. You’re great. They’d be lucky to have you.

Besides, the Matchmakers can’t have finished making their decision already. Otherwise, we’d be Matched when we turn 17.

She shakes her head with a small, smug smile. I’m calling it now. This time next year you’ll be—

She cuts herself off when Jasper slides onto the seat next to me. I scoot over to give him more space but he catches my hand, making me still. I don’t think he even realizes it because he lets go immediately and says, You two look serious. Is it a girl thing? That time of the month? he asks, wrinkling his nose like he used to when we were five. He’s speaking nonsense. Doctors figured out a way to make periods short and painless during the 100 Years’ Peace after the War. The elimination of those symptoms also rendered the mood swings obsolete.

He leans closer. Come on. It can’t be that bad.

We were talking about the Ceremony, Charlotte finally answers.

He turns toward her. Great job this year.

What do you mean? I ask. I must have missed something. I only remember Kalli and Geoff’s Matching. I wasn’t even paying attention to what happened with Charlotte’s older brother or Jasper’s older sister.

He rolls his eyes and tugs on a loose ringlet of my hair. He proceeds to twirl it around his finger. Sometimes, I don’t understand how you can be Kalliope’s sister. She would have picked that up in a second.

Even though he’s only a few months older than me, Jasper is almost as close to Kalli as I am. And whenever he says stuff like this, I’m reminded that I know next to nothing about their relationship. Maybe he feels the same way about me and Charlotte, but none of us are related. It’s different.

Scowling, I swat his hand away and he releases my hair. I trust the Matchmakers to make the right decision for me. What’s wrong with that? I