"Cadmus, are you coming?"
"W-what? Where?" My cot groans as I shift beneath the covers. Camden stands before me, fully clothed and ready for the Reaping. Oh shit, the Reaping. My eyes widen.
"It's only six o'clock," he says with a smile. "Me and Dad are going to the market, you wanna come?"
"Yeah, I'll get ready." I swing my feet onto the floor, taking in the sunlight beginning to come through the window. I grab my reaping clothes, neatly folded in a pile under my bed and cross the room to the shower. It stands in the corner of our one-room tenement behind a makeshift curtain. I start it up and wait, listening to the pressure build. Yes! A smirk spreads across my face that only grows wider when warm water sprays into my palm.
"Camden! I asked you not to wake him." Mom says from the kitchen.
"I asked him to," I say matter-of-factly from behind the curtain, "I wanted to beat the Lorenzo's to the warm water." Mom doesn't respond but I can almost see the glare she must be giving my brother. I step into the steel tub feeling my muscles relax in the warmth.
I dress in my reaping clothes, handed down from Camden, which are the common button-up shirt and khaki pants. My mom hemed the pants perfectly, I notice as I slip into the dress shoes Camden used before his growth spurt. Unfortunately hand-me-downs no longer included shoes. By the time my father makes it back with firewood for tonight's meal, I'm at the table drinking a cup of tea. Dad shoots Camden a disapproving look before turning to me. "Hey bud, you coming this morning?"
"Yeah, Mr. Martin said he'd give me any leftover produce he didn't sell this morning."
"That was kind of him," Dad says with a furrowed brow. For a moment I feel guilty and wish I hadn't said anything. Sure it's weird to accept handouts from Mr. Martin considering people in our district never have enough food never mind any leftover. But today is different and on Reaping Day you can barter with pity.
After Camden and I finish our tea we kiss mom goodbye and follow Dad down a couple flights of stairs out into the cold morning. It's a short walk to the market in our district, I shove my hands in my pockets, taking in the crisp air. Normally I'd visit the market once a week usually on Fridays before work but with the grain mill closed for Reaping Day the market is crowded and noisy as people barter for supplies.
"Sorry. About Mom and Dad giving you a hard time," I say to Camden.
He lets out a sigh. "It's okay, I should have listened to them."
"We go to the market every year on Reaping Day, why should this year be different?"
"They're just worried about you man," he says.
"Babying me doesn't help." I drop the conversation to greet a family in passing. Dad shakes hands with the man and his wife. It takes a moment to recognize them from the grain mill, it's strange to see people out of their work clothes and dressed up for once.
Dad stops at a stand with canvas bags filled to the brim with beans and rice. The merchant is an elderly woman with gray hair so thin you can see her scalp. She smiles a toothless smile but from her hollow cheeks it's clear she has little, if any teeth. I take this as my cue to wander off, leaving Camden behind without explanation.
Mr. Martin's produce stand is one of the last in the row between brick buildings that once served for grain storage. Our district's market once lived in one of these abandoned buildings but was forced outside without reason; other than so they can police us better. We are told to avoid the alley after the market closes at six. Talk is the buildings are used as a base for Peacekeepers...But I know the truth.
"Hey Cadmus," Mr. Martin's waves me over. "How you been?"
"Good sir, how are you today?" I reach across the table to shake his hand. Mr. Martin is luckier than most. His home garden allows him an extra income on top of working at the mill. His table is almost depleted of produce. He isn't rich by any means but better off than most, and his children have never had to put extra names in the reaping lottery in exchange for food.
"Good Cadmus, it's good to see you. I set aside some produce for you." He reaches under the counter for a canvas bag and offers it to me.
"Thank you sir, I really appreciate it."
"Don't mention it my boy," He comes around the counter. "Remember," he places a hand on my shoulder, "I'm here if you ever want to talk. I know Jacob was good friends with you and my daughter."
My gaze drops to the ground. "Thank you sir, I appreciate that." I manage to look at him in the eyes. I can't reciprocate a smile and I find myself desperately wanting to run away and be anywhere but here when Daniela appears behind us.
"Hey Dad," my stomach sinks at the sound of her voice. I turn to see Mr. Martin's daughter standing slightly taller than I remember, or maybe it's her reaping shoes. "Hey Cadmus," she manages a smile.
"Hi Daniela. It's nice to see you," I lie. I force a smile but my heart is racing. Her hair is curly, falling at shoulder length. Her brown eyes regard me with an intense curiosity I feel my body starting to sweat.
"It's nice to see you too, you look nice."
"Thanks. You look nice to. May the odds be."
She smiles and repeats: "May the odds be." A blessing our district says to those up for the reaping lottery. Luckily her name is only in the lottery four times since she's fifteen years old and has never taken any tesserae. My name is in nine times at fifteen years old, since I've put my name in five times, once for Jacob's family and the others for mine.
I turn to Mr. Martin. "Thanks again sir, I can't thank you enough. See you around Daniela." I turn to leave, taking deep breaths until I've put some distance between us. Pretending to be drawn to stand with leather wallets and belts I stand among the crowd.
I can't avoid her forever, especially at school. But it was stupid to go to her father's stand, even if he did offer to give me this. I clutch the canvas bag in a fist
Finally I wander the market in search my dad or brother but they aren't at any of the stands dad frequents. When I work up the courage to go back in the other direction, towards the Martin's stand I stop short. My dad speaks with Mr. Martin insisting he takes money from him. Daniela stands between them watching her father shake his head, respectfully declining.
I take a sharp breath. All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and soon I'm away from the market and tears are burning in my eyes blurring the ground before me. I stop next to a tree, allowing myself a few minutes to hide the fact I've been crying before walking the rest of the way.
When I get home my mother stands in the kitchen. I drop the canvas sac on the table, mumble a excuse about feeling tired, and go to my cot pulling the blanket that dives the room shut. The coat groans as I plop down and pretend to fall asleep; however my father and brother arrive a moment later.
"Is Cadmus here?" Camden asks.
"Yes, he just got back. Why didn't he wait on you? He seemed upset" My mother says. I hear my father sigh and a chair scrapes against the floor.
"I think he saw me paying for the produce Mr. Martin gifted him."
My blood boils and before I can stop myself I'm pulling back the curtain and shouting. "Why would you do that? He offered to give me that!"
Camden stares back in shock, lowering the banana he pulled from the sack on the table. All my father can do is sit there and stare, so it's my mother that comes over. "Honey, please calm down. Your father—"
"No Mom," I sob. "He offered!" I walk over to the table. "What did you say to him? Huh? Did Daniela hear you?"
"Please Cadmus," my father starts but I am so angry I won't allow him to explain.
"You shouldn't have done that!" I continue.
My mother comes over. "Sweetheart you know your father doesn't like for you to accept anything from anyone."
"He offered Mom," I take a deep breath. "I didn't steal. Didn't take tesserae from the Capitol. I just wanted us to have a little more for dinner tonight."
"But Cadmus," my brother speaks up. "You know Dad tells us not to accept things out of pity. That men work for their daily bread."
"Shut up! I wasn't asking you!" I fire back. "Dad if you care about pity so much why have you and Mom been fussing over me ever since Jacob died? Like it helps to ask me if everything's okay, every single day. You only make things worse. And now you go and embarrass me like that."
My father lowers his gaze for a moment and when he finally gathers his thoughts he motions for me to sit. I begrudgingly take the seat across from him and wait for an explanation.
"Son, what I did was wrong. I'm sorry."
I meet his eyes. "That's it?"
He continues, "I can't imagine how rough things have been since your friend died and I'm sorry if your mother and I haven't handled this well. Thank you for thinking of us," he glances at the canvas bag on the table. "Will you forgive me?"
Tears stream down my face. "Yes, I do." I move over to hug him, burying my face in his shoulder to cry. "It was my fault Dad. I shouldn't have told Jacob about the warehouse. If I had stopped him from breaking in he'd be alive."
He doesn't react. And I can't be sure if he heard me but it feels good to finally speak those words out loud.
After helping mom prepare tonight's meal we sit around the table sharing a loaf of bread and fruit from the canvas bag. We talk and enjoy the tart strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries. Dad plants a kiss on my head and does the same to Camden and says "It's time to go."
At 7:30 we head into town. The walk into town is about fifteen minutes from our building. Along the way we cross a rusty bridge over a dry ditch and a few tenements. Almost everyone in District 8 lives in tenements, except those slightly better off like Daniela's family. Usually about four stories tall tenements pack each family in a single room. As we walk I recognize several families that converge on our path but no one says a word so the walk remains painfully quiet.
Armed peacekeepers roam the streets around the square. Spotting them from a distance is enough to make me uneasy, when one of them appears next to us my body tenses. They are the reason parents tell their children to stay away from the square. We're right to be afraid when they guard this area day and night, and won't hesitate to kill you for so much as a staring too long.
I relax once we reach the square. Camden and I nod at our parents and move forward, losing them in the tangle of people. Every kid up for the reaping, ages twelve through eighteen, lines up to sign in. Family members and remaining residents surround the perimeter of the square. I walk with my brother for a bit, but then I pick a slower pace and watch him disappear into the line. We promised before my first reaping to never say goodbye.
"Tributes have time for that once they're picked," he said. "But don't worry, they won't pick either one of us." It was reassuring, but it didn't stop the nightmares.
"Cadmus it's okay," he would whisper in the dark. "If they pick you...I'll volunteer."
"Really?" I could barely speak in between sobs.
"I'm your older brother. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise...Shhh, now go to sleep."
The woman at the sign-in table holds out her palm expectantly, brandishing a cylinder instrument. Without meeting my eyes she takes my index finger. I look away wincing at the sting. She presses my finger on a Capitol form, creating a red blotch. This is how they keep track of all the kids in the lottery. Apparently they don't see enough of our blood in the games. In a swift motion the woman in white scans the blotch with rectangular device, that beeps displaying my profile: Easton, Cadmus. 15. Male.
Keeping my gaze low I make my way to the section for my age group. A knot forms in my throat. Taking deep breaths I stare up a the Justice Building, studying the pillars, the stage set up before it, and the reaping bowl next to the microphone. After a moment the mayor of District 9, Clyde Barron speaks into the microphone welcoming everyone. As usual he begins by reading the history of Panem, a nation that rose from the ashes of a place once called North America. He proceeds to tell the history behind the Dark Days. A bloody war between the Capitol and the rebelling Districts that ended with the Treaty of Treason, which gave us the yearly reminder of our districts' betrayal: The Hunger Games.
He read it so proudly, puffing up his chest with each breath. I want to punch the guy. Clyde is not a popular man. When I was younger my mother warned me of playing with the mayor's kids, telling me that they were close with the Capitol and could
bring us trouble. I didn't really understand what she meant back then, but as I grew older I understood the resentment people felt. From the size of his gut and clothes on his back people can tell he's better off than all of us. And I have a hard time seeing his position being handed out without some sort of alliance with President Snow.
I tune in just as he introduces Ophelia, our district's only Victor. She stands to scattering applause offering a quick smile and a wave at the crowd. I stand on my tippy-toes, straining as I watch her return to her chair, her blacks curls bouncing as she walks. She looks about my mother's age but I can't really tell. Reapings are the only time she's ever seen in public and I can't really blame her. If I had her life and a home in the Victor's Village, you couldn't pay me to leave.
Next to her, Lotus Bertram, our district's escort, springs up as she's introduced. She ruffles her bright-teal dress and prances to the podium. Her nasal tone takes me by surprise every year as she expresses how excited she is. "Now it's time to select our tributes, who will be representing District 9 in the 66th Annual Hunger Games!"
"Ladies first," she announces. She reaches into the glass ball holding the girls' names. Still straining to see, I watch as she pulls out a slip of paper. Following it carefully with my eyes, the slip of paper is unfolded and the name is read into the microphone. "Leina Skeep."
Somewhere in the crowd there is commotion. Resisting the urge to look—like most of the boys around me—I keep my eyes trained on the stage, knowing if the girl does step forward she will be forced onto the stage by peacekeepers. A few seconds later the girl approaches the stage, two peacekeepers follow closely behind.
Lotus welcomes her to the stage, placing her off to the left. The girl is pale with strawberry-blonde hair and a thin frame. Her expression both scared and confused. I watch as her head scans the crowd, probably searching for her family in the crowd.
As usual, Lotus asks for a volunteer. Another girl of age willing to take the place of the tribute in the games. I don't think I've ever seen her around, so I can't be sure she has any sisters but even if she did it probably wouldn't matter. District 9 has never had a volunteer before.
"And now, for the boys," Lotus says. In the back of my mind I hear my brother's voice. "If they pick you...I'll volunteer. I'm your older brother. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise..." I silence his voice immediately and focus on Lotus as she walks to the second glass ball. Not me, please not me. Anyone but me... I tell myself over and over.
She reaches into the glass ball with the boys' names and pulls out a slip of paper. My heart is beating faster and faster, anxiety building in my chest. My thoughts running wild, focusing on all the things I tried to ignore before. Focusing on the nine slips of paper with my name written on them. I clench my jaw. I think back to my first reaping and the ones that followed. Each year the same cycle, year after year spent dreading this moment only to be appeased by a stranger's fate and even going off to celebrate afterwards with Jacob and Daniela...except this year will be different now that Jacob is dead. I think back to the night we broke into the warehouse. What were we thinking? It should have been me instead.
"Cadmus Easton," the District 9 escort calls my name.