"ELECA BRIMSEL"
My name rung out all around me, like someone had clashed two pans in front of my eyes. Everyone stared, gaping, gawking, waiting for me to either stand up or faint like Isadora Gislee had last year when she was reaped. Like most of the tributes from District 4, she never returned home.
Next to me, a girl from school who I had never truly taken the time to get to know poked me in the ribs and gestured to the stage. Maya Reynolds, the renowned District 4 escort was watching me with a tight grin.
"Come along, now, sweetheart," she said into the microphone, holding her hand out. The girl next to me gave me a gentle push to get me moving, and suddenly, I was walking, walking with consent. No, I thought. I don't want to walk. I don't want to reach the stage. I don't want to become a tribute. Because as soon as my foot tapped the first step onto the stage, I was no longer Eleca Brimsel, quirky girl from District 4. Now I was Eleca Brimsel, District 4 tribute, sent to her demise.
Maya pulled me up on stage and did me the mercy of not commenting on my long delay. She only smiled and directed me to the center of the stage, that way I was able to see my entire district staring back at me with sympathetic eyes. I heard Maya speak into the microphone.
"Now, Eleca, how old are you, dear?"
I noticed she looked better from afar. Up close, with her breath hot and minty in my face, her blue hair looked fried and her overly dramatic mermaid make-up was comical. Maya was strange like that; she was always dressing to fit our district. Last year, she had been a dolphin, but this year, she had gone for the mermaid look. I tried to stare past her extremely long green eyelashes.
"Fifteen," I said so quietly, Maya held the mic to my mouth and instructed me to speak again. "Fifteen," I repeated into the mic. A few people shook their heads in pity.
"What a brilliant age," Maya exclaimed, grinning out at the crowd. Nobody smiled back. After a few moments of this strange situation-Maya chuckling and my district glaring-she waltzed over to the glass bowl and dipped her hand carelessly in.
"And now, for our brave boy tribute." She lifted out a parchment, and our district held their breath. I eyed my brother, Troy, from where the seventeen-year-olds were lined up. He was staring down and holding back sobs, his light blonde hair sticking to his forehead in the sweltering heat of the sun. Whether he was upset that I had been chosen or that his name was entered 48 times, I was not sure.
"Finnick Odair!"
My heart lifted; Troy's name had not been called, nor had my best friend Aleca Pillota. But then I registered exactly whose name had been called, and my hopes were crushed. Finnick Odair. I watched as he sauntered coolly up to the stage, much different from my awkward attempt at holding back. He was younger than me by about a year, but still taller and much, much stronger. Maya greeted him ten times more cheerily than she had with me, most likely because of his gorgeous looks. Everyone swooned at him, even the adults. He was just too handsome not to.
"Mr. Odair," She said, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him next to me. I felt awkward; I had never associated with Finnick, but I had watched from afar. Not like that, more out of curiosity. What was it like to be Finnick Odair, to be worshiped wherever you walked? He had always sat across from me at lunch, always with the same people, for at least six years. No, I didn't know Finnick personally, but I knew him vaguely. I knew his habits, like the way he never really would fully grin, but give a half smile. Or how when he was nervous, he'd always rake one hand through his copper colored hair. I watched as did so now, smoothing his hair back until one of the girls close to the stage sighed. Maya went on in a suddenly very-oh-so-interested tone.
"How old are you, sweetie?"
"Fourteen." He didn't even need a mic; he just spoke out into the audience, his voice spilling through them in one suave wave.
A few of the adults looked dismayed; Despite his gorgeous looks, Finnick was still young, and I was only a year older. The tributes this year were young, and the games were always ten times more painful when the kids were younger.
Maya grinned at the both of us, her coral painted lips curling up to reveal white teeth.
"Well," she concluded. "District 4, I give you your tributes for the 64th Annual Hunger Games!"
Finnick looked at me, and I at him. He recognized me, I could tell from the way his smile faltered. He quickly recovered and picked it back up, holding his hand out to me and shaking. His skin was soft and gentle, smoothened out from years of swimming in the salt water. Salt water. His eyes, I recognized, were the color of the sea. Green, beautiful emerald green. It made my heart tighten.
Maya's arms were suddenly around us both, and she was breaking apart, smiling deftly into the crowd.
"May the odds," she began, imitating a poor British accent like all the escorts tried to do. "be ever in your favor."
I took one last look at the crowd, my district, the sea line in the distance and the smell of salt and sand. Troy was watching me from the ground, his blue eyes welling up with tears, and Aleca couldn't even meet my eyes. They were all there, crying for us and smiling that they were safe another year, all that noise, all those emotions, all building inside of me-and then they were gone as I exited the stage into a dark, closed in room.