Chapter One
I wake up suddenly, hearing a scream. I sit upright on my bed. For a moment my eyes scan the darkness, my body tense and alert. Then I notice the lights outside my room, in the hall. I relax. It must have been my mother screaming; she must have had nightmares again.
I lie down again, and pull the blankets snugly over myself. It is easy to tell myself to calm down, but it is difficult to actually do it. How can I, when my mother is scarred for life? How can I, when I feel useless every night? I cannot help her; no one can.
My father, the mayor, told me that when he married my mother, her headaches actually reduced. For a few years they both thought she had recovered completely, that she was free from her post traumatic stress.
Until I was born.
I am the spitting image of my mother's twin sister. The twin sister who died when she was my age. The twin sister who was murdered by the Capitol.
Anger jolts through my body, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
My mother and my aunt were not identical twins, but somehow I ended up looking a lot like Aunt Maysilee. Dad says it's rare, but it happens. Sometimes a child resembles a relative more than a parent.
It is too difficult for my mother to look at me every day and not remember her dead sister. She loves me, and I know that. I know that my father has tried every medication available in our district to rid my mother of her illness.
But I also know that the only thing that can ever bring my happy-go-lucky mother back is the downfall of the Capitol.
And this year, I'm going to make that happen.
The next morning, I wake up early, feeling uneasy. I can't understand why until I remember what day it is: Reaping day.
To me, this is the worst day of the year, ever year. I'm sure every single citizen in the districts feels the same way. Nobody could like reaping day, not even the men who are in on the betting. Even they can't be that sadistic.
I dress quickly in some pants and a brown jacket. It is quite expensive, but months of hunting have worn it down. I am glad. It seems more comfortable now.
When I walk into the kitchen, I find my father dozing at the dining table, his head between his hands. I'm not surprised. He's been doing this every day, ever since I started hunting. He wakes up early, earlier than I do, and waits for me here. But he falls asleep before I come downstairs. He is a tired man, my father.
I grab an apple from the fruit basket and bite into it. It must be sweet – Gale's apples are always sweet – but today it tastes like paper.
"Dad," I say softly, giving him a tight hug. He awakens, looking around for a second before catching my eye. "Morning," he mumbles. "Are you going already?" He sounds unhappy.
"I'll be back early today," I answer. "Have you seen my boots?"
"Near the door, I'm assuming," he replies groggily.
I locate them and put them on. I run my hands over the supple leather once, remembering the day I had meekly asked my father for hunting boots.
"Why would you want something like that?" he'd asked, chuckling. He had been eating strawberries that day; I still remember.
"Because Katniss and Gale are going to teach me to hunt."
My father had turned abruptly to stare at me, wide-eyed. I was the mayor's daughter, after all. Nobody would have expected me to learn how to hunt. They thought I didn't need to. But I knew better.
"Do you have to go?" he asks me now, and I snap out of my reverie. "I know what you're planning, you know," he adds carefully. I look at him, and a smile eases its way into my face. "What am I planning, Dad?"
His face tenses. He shakes his head, sighing. "Never mind. Go, then. Just be back soon."
I nod at him. Then I am out of the front door and on my way to the woods.
I pass the meadow, where there are never any flowers blooming, and find myself in front of the fence that surrounds District 12. It is supposed to be buzzing with electricity, twenty-four hours a day. But in a place like this, where two meals a day is considered a luxury, nobody cares about a stupid fence.
My father knows about its many holes, but he does nothing. Why would he? He may not need to depend on the woods to survive, but most of his citizens do. He is a good man.
I know that I should climb the fence quickly and get it over with, but the thought of putting my hands on the barbed wire scares me. What if I get a cut? It has happened twice before, and though I pretended then that the blood was no big deal, it scared me to death.
How am I going to survive even a day in the Games? I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the fear, and crawl underneath a gaping hole in the wires. Thankfully, none of the sharp edges touch me.
I jog into the heart of the woods, and find the hollow log where I keep my knife. Actually, it's Gale's knife; he just lets me borrow it. Sometimes I think he does it against his will. He doesn't seem to like me that much.
My knife is there, but the bow and sheath of arrows that usually accompanies it is missing. So Katniss has already been here.
Hunting is illegal in District 12. Actually, it's illegal in all of Panem. Maybe not in the Capitol, but then again, why would they need to hunt?
But if you want to survive, you have to grit your teeth and make your way to the woods every morning and search for food, hoping you don't get caught.
That's what Gale and Katniss do. They hunt and gather enough food for their families, sometimes extra so they can trade it at the black market for necessities. They were shocked when I asked to join them a few months ago. I think Gale wanted to turn me down, but Katniss stopped him.
Katniss Everdeen is probably the only friend I have. Most people either avoid me because I'm the mayor's daughter, or befriend me for that sole reason. But Katniss sees me as myself, Madge Undersee, just a simple girl trying to lead a happy life. Just like everybody else.
I respect Katniss a lot. She is brave, much braver than I could ever hope to be. If my family members were starving, I would never be able to provide for them all by myself. But that is what she does, every single day.
I conceal the knife in my hand and make my way to our usual spot. I climb the hills to a rock ledge overlooking a valley. It is concealed by berry bushes, making it the perfect hiding place. I feel at home here; I feel happy in these woods. I'm not sure why. Maybe because in the woods, I am not just a rich girl – I am a rich girl with a plan.
Gale and Katniss are already here, busy talking. They are eating berries, and I hear laughter. I have never seen them laugh anywhere else, or with anyone else.
They could pass for siblings, both of them. They have that Seam look. Olive skin, grey eyes, black hair. But more than siblings, they look like a team. They are a team.
I stand still for a minute, wondering if I should even disturb them. Maybe I should just head back.
But then a twig cracks underneath my foot, and Gale's sharp ears turn in my direction. He gives me a glance and looks away again, shaking his head. He's probably thinking how clumsy I am. Katniss smiles at me.
"Hi," I say, running up to join them. She pats a spot on the ground next to her, so I sit down. None of us says anything for a while.
Then Gale speaks. "I saved some berries for you." He hands me a couple of blackberries, and I smile weakly at him. He just nods tensely, and I shrug. Gale is not my friend, I think. He is my teacher. He has been helping me build snares, even though I refused to tell him why I wanted to learn.
I pop the berries into my mouth. It feels like an explosion of sweetness on my tongue. This is another thing I love about the woods. Every single one of my senses is heightened here.
"We could do it, you know." Gale speaks so softly I can barely hear him. Then again, maybe these words are not meant for me.
"What?" Katniss asks, but I already know what he means. I have been wondering the same thing for years.
"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I –" he looks at me sharply, almost angrily, and I look away. "You and I, we could make it," he says.
Katniss doesn't say anything. I frown. That isn't what I've been thinking, at all. I haven't thought once about escaping. I have thought about rebelling.
"If we didn't have so many kids," he adds quickly.
Gale and Katniss don't actually have any kids together. They might, in the future, but right now, he's talking about their siblings. Katniss has a younger sister, Prim. She is beautiful and innocent, just like a rose. I think it might be her first reaping today. She must be terrified.
Gale has two brothers and a sister, all younger to him. He's the man of the household. His father was blown to bits in a mine explosion many years ago. Katniss' father died the same way. They've been supporting their families ever since.
"I never want to have kids," Katniss mumbles. She looks fierce as she says it. It is because of the Games, I realise.
"I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale.
"But you do," she snaps back, looking annoyed.
"Forget it," he finally says. There is an edge to his voice, which we both hear, but a blush on his face, which only I notice.
I wonder if Katniss has ever noticed the way Gale looks at her. It is the same way my father looks at my mother - with respect, with love, and with need.
But even if she notices, she does nothing about it. She has more important things on her mind, like keeping her family healthy and happy. But Gale is a part of her family, isn't he? I wish she would realise that.
Gale is a good-looking fellow. He is strong and intelligent, and almost all the girls in school have a crush on him. They whisper about him, sometimes to me. They see me talking to him, and they pester me to tell them what kind of girl he likes.
But the only girl Gale has eyes for is Katniss.
There is an awkward silence now that neither of them wants to break. So I do, instead. "What are we doing today?" I ask.
Katniss shrugs. Gale says, "Let's fish at the lake. Something nice for tonight." His face darkens. Maybe he is thinking about the reaping. Of course he is thinking about it.
I do not want to think about tonight. After the reaping, it's celebration time in the district for all those families whose children have been spared for at least another year.
Unfortunately, my family will not be celebrating tonight.
Fishing works well for them. They catch a dozen fish, collect some greens, and a bag of strawberries that will undoubtedly go to my family. Everybody knows how much my father loves strawberries.
I don't do much. I want to, but I can't. I find myself shivering even though it's a warm day. My hands refuse to move, and the knife feels like a dead weight in my palm.
"Are you taking the day off?" Gale asks me, looking sour. I don't blame him. An extra pair of hands helps to bring more food. But I can't bring myself to do it today.
"I'm scared," I tell them, voicing my thoughts for the first time in months. "I'm scared for the reaping."
Katniss pats my shoulder awkwardly, and I look away from her. Gale rolls his eyes. I know what he is thinking. I know what they are both thinking.
"Why are you scared?" he says, shaking his head furiously. "You have no reason to be scared. How many times is your name in today, huh? Five? I had that many entries when I was twelve."
"Shut up, Gale," Katniss tells him sternly, and he does. She has that effect on him, I've noticed.
"It's okay," I say, nodding at her. She looks at me sadly.
I know he doesn't mean to hurt me. The reaping system is unfair, so of course he's angry. The more times you put your name in, the more tesserae you get. That means more grain and oil for your family. Of course the poor end up having more entries.
The reaping is open for children aged between twelve to eighteen years, and the older you get, the more times your name is entered. I'm sixteen years old, and I have never needed any tesserae, so I have five entries to my name.
We walk out of the woods in silence, and all the while I'm thinking about the reaping and what I'm going to do. I shudder involuntarily again, and sigh. If just the thought of the Games scares me this much, then how will I ever survive the real thing?
Once we're in the meadow, I turn to Gale. I thrust some coins into his hands for the strawberries, and he hands me the pouch. "Thanks," I say. "My father will really appreciate it."
"You're welcome," he says, his face expressionless.
Katniss bids me goodbye and we go our separate ways – my house is located in the richer parts of town, whereas Gale and Katniss live in the Seam, full of coalminers and dust. But it's their home.
When I walk into my house, the smell of lunch wafts into my nose. The cook is preparing vegetable soup and lamb chops for lunch.
"For dinner, your favourite chicken!" he announces with a grin, when I enter the kitchen.
"Thank you," I tell him, although all I'm thinking is that I might not be able to taste it at all.
"I didn't have enough time to prepare any dessert for the afternoon, though," he adds in a loud voice, as Dad walks inside the room.
"Oh?" I say, my lips breaking into a wide grin.
"What is it?" My father asks, giving me a hug. He is relieved that I made it back from the woods. I wonder why he worries so much.
"Dad," I explain quickly, "Mr. Farina hasn't prepared anything sweet for lunch yet, and you know how much Mom loves cake. Could I maybe swing by the baker's house and see if they have anything for us?" My tone is hopeful; I hope he doesn't notice.
Dad has a knowing look on his face, and it makes me turn red. "Of course, go. Get me some sweet bread, too," he adds, handing me some money from his pocket.
"Thanks, Dad!" I say happily, and as I pass the cook, Mr. Farina, I wink at him. He winks back.
I don't walk to the baker's house; I skip all the way there. As I do, all thoughts about the reaping escape my mind. It's not just because I love bread and cake – I do, of course, but there's something else, too. Or rather, someone else.
The bakery smells like fresh bread and frosting. I inhale sharply, and I can almost taste the pink frosting in my mouth.
Mrs. Mellark, the baker's wife, looks at me as I enter. She grins. "Madge! Oh, so lovely to see you!" she exclaimed, walking briskly towards me from the counter. "How is your father?" she asks, her voice brimming with interest. Fake interest.
"He's great," I say chirpily, in a voice equally as fake as hers. She doesn't care about my father; she cares about the mayor's interest in her bakery.
"How can we help you today?" she asks. "Oh, I bet your father wants some more sweet bread, doesn't he? What about some dried fruit and nut loaves, too? Oh, and we also..." But I'm already tuning her out, because at the counter stands the reason I walk in here once a week, sometimes even twice a week.
Peeta Mellark, the baker's son.