I wake up just as the rays from the slowly rising sun reach my bed. I rub my eyes sleepily, throw back my threadbare sheets, and sit up drowsily, carefully observing the room in the dim light. My siblings are sleeping soundlessly on their two shared cots, their chests rising and falling rhythmically. My mother is sprawled across her bed, her sheets tangled around her feet. She must have had a sleepless night, sobering up for the big day. I tiptoe over to the icebox and see that the few bottles of liquor we had yesterday are still untouched. I scowl regardless, snatch the bottles from the box, and set them on the creaky wooden table in the middle of our kitchen/living space. I go back to my corner of the house, which is really just one large room carefully divided up, and tug on my worn work boots and thin faded blue jacket. I dip my hand into the water bucket and then run my hands through my hair, hoping to make my hair a little cleaner. Then I braid it into my usual style across my head and a little over my shoulder and brush out my side bangs that I cut myself last month. I look fine enough for a trip to the market, and I'm hoping I'll make it back before my siblings wake up and I have to dress them up and feed them. I grab my messenger bag from its resting place across a kitchen chair and sling it across my back. In one hand I take the bottles of liquor and pour in a little bit of water into them like I always do, so they look fuller then they are. I drop them into my bag and then make my way silently to the door on the far side of the room, open it as quietly as I can, and slip out the front door and into the fresh air.
I jog down the steps of our house and onto the faded green grass. Out in Thornwood, we don't even have the dust and dirt roads that Stone Hill has, just the same worn grass as any yard. I walk down the road and up six houses until I reach number 7, Liam's house. I gather a few tiny pebbles on the ground and pile them in my hand, then gently toss one against the window. After I'm sure he's heard the tapping, I step back, drop the pebbles back on the ground and wait for him. About five minutes later I hear the door crack open and Liam steps out, wearing his father's old leather jacket and gripping a black sack to hold any purchases. He gives me a tight smile and taps down the steps.
"Hey," he says as we set off down the street.
"Hey, yourself," I say back, like I always do. "What are you going to buy today?"
He grimaces. "I'm not sure. Check's coming in day after tomorrow, so we're tight right now, but they're just so nervous, you know? So afraid they're gonna get picked. I want to get them something, but I don't know if I can," he says, shifting the bag back and forth in his hands. I reach into my bag and draw out my worn wallet and carefully count out the bills and coins inside. Not a lot, but after I sell the liquor, it should be enough.
"Don't worry 'bout it. I'm selling Mom's liquor and I should get a good price for it," I say, without needing to say anything else. He knows I'm offering to help him out. Liam breathes a sigh of relief and gratitude.
"Thanks so much, Ayd," he says, his normal smile returning. He doesn't mention anything about paying me back or owing me, because we already know that if we counted, we would always be indebted to each other. We have an unspoken agreement to just help each other out, not worrying about payment. Besides, I know that in a day or so, I'll be short for some food and he'll give some, just like always. It's perfect for both of us.
"No problem," I smile back, and mean it. We walk along the nearly empty roads, talking and occasionally laughing, until we reach the almost deserted market. I find Valerie, a middle aged woman who always buys my liquor, over by the dried up fountain. She resells it for the third time to some of her alleyway friends who are always scrounging for the money to buy alcohol. Valerie is a little shady, but she's alright. When she sees me coming, she gives me a small wave. With a few tattoos she got before the Rebellion and bleached hair and bright clothing, she sticks out like a fresh flower in a dead wood. I raise my hand in greeting.
"Got some liquor for me, girly?" Valerie asks, standing up. I nod. Liam stands awkwardly behind me, only having met Valerie once before. "Good. Gonna need it if I'm gonna get through today," she says, half serious, half joking. I smirk slightly and tug at my bag, eager to make the exchange.
"So, let me see," Valerie says. I open my bag and draw out the bottles. I always feel bad when I sell Val the watered down alcohol, but I do what I have to. Besides, Val's not poor; she just misuses her money, so I think it evens out in the end. With a family of six to support, I do what I have to. Valerie picks them up and examines them, swirling the bottles around in her hand. I lick my lips, hoping she doesn't notice they're watered down. Thankfully, she seems to find them satisfactory, and says, "I'll take them."
"Thanks, Val," I smile, watching her as she carelessly counts out coins and bills for me. In the end, she gives me a flat amount, giving me more than she should for second hand liquor. "Keep the change, hun. Know you need it," she says tightly.
"Thanks," I say again, more genuinely this time. She nods, and then turns to go. At the last second, she bends down and whispers in my ear, "The boy's cute. Keep him around, alright?" I let out a little breath when she says this, and she backs away, smiling.
"See you, hun! And make sure to hold on to… well, you know!" she waves, winking.
I realize she's talking about Liam. I turn around and look at him to see his reaction, but he seems to be watching the sky intently. I don't say anything and let him think in his own little world while I think in mine. Even though Liam and I have been best friends for about three years, there's never been anything romantic about what we have. I know he has friends besides me even though I don't, although we never talk about it. I see how the girls look at him, hoping he'll notice them or talk to them, and some of the bolder ones even approach him. But he never seems to pay attention to them, and when they try to talk to him, his eyes get this far off look, the look he gets when he's thinking of something else. Those girls never like me, although some of them try to befriend me in hopes of getting to him. Jade and I usually treat them bluntly, ignoring their attempts at friendship, and Liam usually starts picking at his food or goes off to talk to some guy or to the school yard. I don't like most of those girls, because they're normally shallow and irritating, and because of the way they look at me with a mixture of hate, envy, and disgust. I've never been interested in any of the boys at our school either, mostly because I never bother to. Even the boys from Thornwood don't exist in my thoughts, despite the fact that we live close by and typically under the same circumstances. Truthfully, boys are the last thing on my mind, because my thoughts are ruled by work, school, and keeping my life together.
"Well, where we going next?" Liam's voice wakes me from my thoughts. I realize he's been waiting for me for a bit now.
"Oh, sorry," I say, shaking my head. "Just thinking."
"About what?" he asks curiously.
"Oh, um… nothing, really, just, you know, stuff," I say casually. Liam squints his eyes and looks at me distrustfully like he always does when he knows I'm lying or hiding something, but I ignore it and move on. "Let's head over to the general store. Maybe we can pick up something nice for the kids," I say.
Liam nods and smiles. "Good idea. I bet Rosie would love a hair ribbon for the big day," he says, referring to his four year old sister who loves pretty things. We head over to the general store near the center of the town square. After about an hour, we've bought hair ribbons for our little sisters and wooden blocks for our brothers. They're a definite luxury, something we'd never think of buying normally. But with the looming event later today, this is an exception. With our purchases tucked safely inside our respective bags, we leave the practically bare market. In the distance, I can see Peacekeepers and Capitol workers setting up for later. I shoulder my bag and we make the trek back to Thornwood.
Thornwood is the poorest neighborhood in D2. Like I said, we don't even have streets. The houses slump and sag, and most of them are just large rooms. We don't always have running water either. Electricity comes and goes with the weather and if we've paid the bills. Most kids from Thornwood have lives as hard as I do, struggling to make ends meet and keep food on the table. A fair amount of them are taken to the community home, torn from their heartbroken (or uncaring) parents and put into the care of Capitol workers; more than any other neighborhood, that's for sure.
When we get to Liam's, he stops mid-sentence and pauses for a moment. Then he says quietly, "What if it's one of us?"
I realize what he's talking about and gulp. "It won't be, Liam. It really won't. I mean, I know we have a lot of entries, more than a lot of people, but really, there are thousands of people here. We'll be alright, okay?" I say, less than confidently.
He nods slightly, but we both know that we might not be lucky. The odds aren't in our favor.
"I've got your back," he says, softly. He wraps his arms around me in a hug suddenly, and after my initial shock, I hug him back. We stand like that for just a minute, our heads resting on each other's backs, taking each other in. And in that moment, for a heartbeat, I fall apart with the only person I ever could. Liam senses it, and squeezes me tighter, holding me together, for just a moment.
"We'll be okay," he whispers. "We'll be alright, come morning tomorrow, okay? You and I'll be safe and sound. Okay?"
"Okay," I whisper back. I pull myself together and let go slowly. We stand there and look at each other for just a second, and then I take a breath.
"I better be getting back. See you at the square?" I ask hesitantly.
"See you at the square. Wear something… wear something pretty," he says, faintly. He turns and runs back to his house, jumps up the steps, and looks back at me just as he's stepping inside. He flashes me a shadow of a smile, and then he's gone back into his house.
I run back to my house, telling myself that I have to stay strong, for the kids. For my depressed and drunk mother. For my fallen father. By the time I'm running up the steps, I've completely wiped my face of any conflicting emotion I have inside and I'm ready to face the kids. I slide the door open and see my siblings lined up on the threadbare couch, waiting for me to get home. My mother is sitting on her bed, staring into some unknown point beyond this place.
"Hey, guys," I say, smiling a little. I set my bag down on the floor and come over and pick up the youngest, Josslyn. I slide her onto my hip and then look down at the other kids.
"Hi, Ayden," Andrea says. Andrea, I have to say, looks almost nothing like me. With beautiful wavy dark hair, pale skin, shining blue eyes, and a thin frame, she's beautiful. They say she looks like my mother did when she was younger, before my father died and while she was still happy. I honestly don't remember my mother ever being as angelic and beautiful as Andrea. Even before my father died, she always had this tired and beaten down look in her eyes.
"Hey, Rea," I say, using her nickname. "How're you?"
"Okay. I dressed myself up, Ayd," she says, smiling shyly but proudly. Andrea has dressed herself in one of my old dresses from when father was alive. It's white, with a little bit of lace on the edge, and flows over her legs. She looks almost like a sort of spirit, floating off the ground. Her hair is down, and she's combed it out, looking as perfect as ever. Her eyes are so bright, happy to look pretty, but also darkened near the center, ringed with worry and sadness.
"You look so beautiful!" I exclaim genuinely. "I wish I was as pretty as you, Andrea," I say, a little in awe. Andrea smiles then shakes her head. "Never, Ayden. You're pretty too, you know," she says. I brush her comment off and just smile again. "So perfect. Now, what about you, Jossie?" I say in a small voice to the toddler on my hip.
"I wanna be pretty too!" Josslyn says, throwing up her hands. "Don't you worry, baby girl, I'll get you pretty too," I smile. I gently play with her soft dark curls in my hand, set her down, then get to work.
Almost an hour later, I've managed to get all the kids' dress clothes on, their hair brushed, and food in their stomachs. I wipe my forehead tiredly and watch them as they play with their new things on the worn rug, and then I hear someone speak.
"You… you need to look pretty too," my mother says softly.
I let out a small gasp. My mother rarely speaks to us, and when she does, it's usually asking or demanding something. I don't let my surprise and slight happiness show, and instead let my features harden.
"Don't worry about me," I say gruffly. My mother doesn't respond; she slides out a cardboard box from under her bed instead. She plucks out something the color of a lush forest, a beautiful green dress with thick lace bordering the edge. She feels the fabric gently, squeezes it, then holds it out to me.
"From… from before. Wear it, today. Your… your father always loved it," she says quietly.
I reach out and let her drop the dress into my hands. I carefully unfold it while my mother watches. The dress drops down and I gulp down my pride for a moment.
"Thanks," I say, gently. I know that it takes a lot for my mother to give up anything from her time before Thornwood. She just nods, then shuffles over to the hall closet to get her clothes. I quickly slip the dress on. It feels odd, leaving my shoulders so exposed with only straps of fabric, but I know I've made the right choice to keep it on when Andrea says, "Ayden, you look beautiful."
"Thank you," I say shyly. I smooth the dress with my hands and slip on my shoes. I let down my hair from its braid and instead pull it up into a sort of messy bun on the back of my head, letting my wavy bangs fall gently over my eyes.
"Amazing," Andrea breathes. I open my mouth to reply, but my mother speaks once more.
"Not perfect, though." My mother reaches her hands over my neck and drops a long silver necklace on my chest, and latches it on my neck. The necklace is a small silver heart, intricately carved with swirling designs.
"From a time before all of the wars," she says, stepping back.
"Perfect," she breathes. "So grown up."
"I'm only fourteen, mother," I say.
"Age is just a number, Ayden. You are stronger and wiser beyond your years. I'm not sure if… if that's good, or bad," she says. She looks a little confused, and then walks over to the door.
"Let's go."