Chapter 1
The sun is barely up, its early rays streaking through the dark sky with bursts of yellow. It's pretty to see, and I've always loved watching the sunrise, but today the sunrise is a bit dimmer, everything is covered in early morning fog, rolling in across the water like a slow doom.
The ocean is a mix of calm and harsh waves as it slaps up against the dock, the water misting across my cheeks and lapping against my feet as they hang over the dock, my toes twisting in the sea foam. I watch the early shift fishermen on their boats, bobbing on the shoreline as if they were toys, like I could grab them in my fingers and hold them in my palm.
They would be excused from today's festivities because of their work, but they were the only ones. They were the lucky ones. When I was little I used to sit with my mother on the dock and stare out at the boats, wondering if my dad was watching us from his ship, and we'd wait until the sun was high in the sky to go back home and start the days work.
But those days were long gone now, a distant memory as dim as the sunrise through the murky fog. I slowly swung my pale legs back and forth through the water, my hands planted on either side of me. What would happen if I pushed off, threw myself off the side of the dog into the violent waves and rocks, would a shark eat me? Or perhaps one of those lost gators everyone loved to talk about. Or would I just drown, and drift away on the waves never to be seen again? Maybe one of the fishermen would catch me in their nets.
I'd never do it, but I thought of it often. I liked the way the water was both calm and violent, never the same, always changing, breeding new life and killing other life, the way it was strong enough to hold up a ship and strong enough to seep through the cracks to sink it.
A large wave crashed against my legs, soaking the bottom of my tattered pants, the salty water splashing into my eyes. It used to sting but it happened so often now it didn't bother me in the least. What did bother me though, was the sound of boots coming up behind me, while I just wanted to learn how to grab those toy boats and put them in my hand.
"We need to keep running." I blinked slowly, pulling my eyes away from the toy boats to meet Ryder's dark brown eyes. He looked like he didn't want to keep running either, and I doubted it would be hard to convince him to sit down and join me, but I didn't care to have anyone else sit here and watch the boats with me.
"What for? It's the Deering's turn." I mumbled, "What's one day off from running going to hurt?"
"Come on." He nudged my shoulder playfully, grinning down at me, his eyes flickering out to the boats. On one of those boats his father was hauling in a net full of fish. Sighing I swung my legs up onto the dock and shoved my feet back into my boots, casting one final look at the stormy sea before I followed Ryder back onto our running path.
It was reaping day, but if you looked around you'd never guess today was any different from any other day. Reaping days here were likely very different from in the other districts.
We already knew who we were saying goodbye to, Clara and Heath Deering, and they'd be celebrated tonight for their daring and bravery, but we'd still all go check in, line up and stand waiting to be reaped, but the girl and boy reaped would probably take less than two steps before they were replaced by eager Clara with dark hair and doe eyes and Heath with the dusty blonde hair and large almond eyes.
I stared at the back of Ryder's head while he ran. Next year would be our year, we'd go into the games as allies and one of us might come home. But this year it'd be Clara and Heath we were cheering on, their family would boast with signs hanging off their doors and parties if their children killed another. Their children were tributes, they were careers, and they were something to be proud of.
At least to most families.
Next year I would not be celebrated, my father would not hang a sign for me, he would not cheer for me or throw a party, and he would not clap as I stepped onto the stage. He would watch me, with the same defeated expression he always wore, and later that night he would drink himself into a stupor.
He never wanted me to become a career, he wanted me to stay safe and stay home, but I knew the reality. No career would ever volunteer to replace a mayors child. Ever. Two years ago my brother's name was drawn, and the career stepped down and watched a 14 year old boy walk to his death with a smug expression on his face.
So I'd joined the training center, I didn't want to have the same fate as my brother; if my name was drawn I wanted to live. During training I'd accidentally hit him across the face with a fishing spear, and the long scar ran from the top of his right eye down to the left side of his chin. I'd been happy with myself, but it also put my name slightly higher on the list of careers who would be allowed to volunteer. The more dangerous we were the more likely the trainers would choose us to volunteer.
And now my name had been drawn, next year Ryder and I were selected to bravely volunteer to join the 66th Annual Hunger Games. While I could keep my mouth shut and not volunteer, the odds had already been taken out of my favor, and the dishonor of not going through with volunteer could be worse than volunteering, and in the process saving some other girls life.
The training center came into view half an hour later, I could see everyone was already gathered in pre-celebration, but instead of stopping at the training center with Ryder I kept on running, while the training center was on the outside of town my house was on the other side of town, near the Victors Village which was easily another twenty minutes away. As I ran slowly I dodged in and out of peacekeepers setting up the reaping stage, my boots pounding on the hard ground loudly. My lungs were burning and my throat felt like I'd had an ice pick lodged in it.
I slowed when the gates of the victor's village came into view and walked the rest of the way to my house, my eyes scanning across the village. Out of all of the houses only ones lights were on. This years mentor, Finnick Odair, was up and being prepped by his team to sit on the stage and lead the tributes to their games. Outside of his house Annie Cresta, his not-really-but-actually-really girlfriend, was twisting her long dark hair into braids with long pale fingers.
She looked over at me and smiled when she noticed me standing there; I smiled and gave a short wave back before I slipped up the steps and into my house. The living room was filled with white suited peacekeepers and our escort, Tressa, whose hair was down to her butt and neon pink. She grinned at me as I passed her. I forced one back.
While Tressa was strange, and cheery, like most Capitol people, she was also hard not to like because she was so bright, not intelligence wise but in general she was like a streak of yellow across the early morning sky, hard to ignore and over the years she'd watched me grow up and told me about Capitol fashion and food, she was rather fond of me and I didn't completely hate her.
It was hard to hate someone who didn't realize the true awful nature of the games. To the people in the Capitol it was amusing, a true game that was fun to watch because they didn't know those who died, their children weren't at risk and they were safe to watch the games and place bets and drink and eat to their hearts content.
I stepped into my room and sat down on my bed, the frame protesting loudly through the silence of the upstairs. I bent down and undid my boots slowly, setting them aside followed by my pants which I hung up in my closet, and then my shirt with I folded up and put in my drawer. Then I grabbed my towel and darted across the hall into the bathroom, the floor boards cold against my wet feet.
After I filled up the tub I sank underneath the warm water and scrubbed my hair and skin clean and then stepped out, toweling off my long hair and then my skin, trying to hurry but slow down all at once, I wanted it over and I wanted it not to begin.
Once I felt fully dry I crossed the hall back into my room and opened my closet door, reaching into the back to grab my reaping clothes, a yellow dress that would look pretty on any little girl and a pair of nice white socks I wore once a year. The dress had belonged to my mother, it was her reaping dress and my father insisted I wear it, and to save any more arguments I always did. No matter how much I hated the light yellow shade of the fabric or how tight it was across my chest.
Sighing I tugged it over my head and tied the white sash around the middle in a loose bow around my waist, slipped the socks up my legs and pushed on my good shoes. I felt like such a child. I hated wearing dresses, especially this one. But I wore it, every year.
I stood in front of the little chunk of mirror in the bathroom and braided both sides of my hair back and tied them into a ponytail at the base. The ends of the ponytail tickled my exposed back in the dress, right between my shoulder blades; I rolled my shoulders trying to shake the ends of my hair away.
"Are you ready?" my father called up the stairs. Had it already been an hour?
"Yes!" I called back, smoothing out the front of the dress nervously before going slowly down the stairs, wishing I could hide in my bed instead of going to the reaping. My father, Tressa and the peacekeepers were all assembled at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.
Slowly I took the steps, each one making my inside twist into an even tighter knot. By the time I made it down I thought I may puke. My father rested one hand on my shoulder when I joined the small group and we stepped out of the house, but while he went left with the others I went right and joined the long line of other girls getting their fingers pricked to go stand in the square and wait to be reaped.
My stomach was a mess and my fingers were quaking, the peacekeeper doing the logbook had to crush my hand to still my finger enough to prick it with their needle, she gave me a nasty look after she rolled my finger across the space next to my name, waving my on impatiently.
I hastily moved to the roped off section for my age group, forced to stand to the front alone. Nobody wanted to stand near the mayor's daughter. All around me they were talking and gossiping about the party later and I heard more than a few people discussing next year, when I'd be reaped. I tried not to listen.
Next year was 365 days away, all I had to do was make it through this reaping and I could go crawl in my bed for the night while the others partied and I could go run with Ryder in the mornings and I'd be okay for 365 days. I glanced up at the stage, I don't know why.
My father sat between Tressa and Finnick, adjusting his tie and tapping his foot nervously, eyes flickering around at all the faces gathered and then to the two glass balls on either side of the stadium. My name was in there only a few times, but that was still a few chances I would be reaped.
A name could be put in the bowl multiple times, and it's never taken out unless you're reaped. So if you have one your first year and one the next you've got two and so on and so forth. You can have it in additional times if you need more tessera, you can add your name once for every family member you have, though around here not many people need to take that option. We were one of the lucky districts.
Once everyone was accounted for and in their proper sections my father stood at the mic, welcomed everyone and introduced Tressa who hobbled up to the stage in her outrageously high shoes and smoothed down her pink hair, which at first I'd thought was a wig. But it wasn't.
While Tress gave the opening speech and stepped back so we could watch the video they played every year about the importance of the games my father sat with his eyes focused on his shoes.
When the video ended Tressa grinned and stepped up to the mic, "and first, the girls." Her hand dove into the bowl and swam around for awhile, she would pick one up and set it down, just like she did every year, and finally she plucked one out, a twinkle in her eye.
She opened the paper and started to read but paused, the sparkle in her eye fading slightly before she smiled again and locked eyes with me for just a fraction of a second, long enough for girls to notice, the whispering started. "No…" I whispered under my breath, fear gripping my heart painfully.
"Jadelyn West." I didn't move, I couldn't, my feet became part of the ground, surely Clara would volunteer, still go to the games. Everyone was whispering about hwo soon I'd die, already and I haven't moved to the stage. Clara didn't speak and pride wouldn't let me look to her for help. Clearing my throat and shaking myself I stepped into the isle and walked up to the stage, refusing to look at my father, refusing to think of my brother, "and now for the boys."
I kept my hands knitted tightly together, staring down at my feet, trying not to bite my lip so hard it bled, she must've spent five minutes digging around before she plucked a name, "Mason-." She was cut off.
"I volunteer as tribute." My eyes went wide-I could see it on the screen, searching the crowd to pinpoint the voice within the crowd of 16 to 17 year old boys. That mop of dark hair, and there he was, pushing his way into the center of the isle.
Ryder. He's so stupid.
He marched up to the stage and took his spot, whispering his name to Tressa, "and there we have it this years tribute's, for the 65th Hunger Games, Jadelyn West and Ryder Daniels." My heart dropped into my stomach as we shook hands and I couldn't feel my legs as I was herded into a side room where I would wait to say goodbye.
My father didn't come.