I wake up with a start and smells of freshly baked bread fill my nostrils. I'm not used to waking up when the sun is already well up in the sky. Then I realize today is Reaping day. The one day in the year that I'm allowed to sleep in, the one I have been dreading most for the last four years. "Two more years to go" I immediately tell myself. Then it will be over, and I will be, like Bron, my twenty-year old brother who is already up and about at this time of day, arranging the trays for the cakes and pastries which will hopefully sell well today. In fact, I can hear them now. My mother is cleaning the shop and grumbling against him, while my father is at the rear working with the ovens, emptying full trays of bread and loading new ones. I wonder if he has already finished with the cakes. They take more time to make, with the frosting and all, and since I'm not supposed to help today... I guess I should be pleased that I don't have to work, because this does not happen very often although we are five to run a small bakery. I get up still feeling sleepy, thankful for a bit of time for myself. Daydreamer, that's what my mother thinks of me, though she does everything she can so that I don't remain idle more than a couple of minutes. She's a small woman with light brown hair tied in a tight bun, and she hardly ever smiles, except when a customer comes in. If he doesn't come from the Seam, which of course limits the possibilities quite drastically, since in our District, most people live in the Seam. It is how we call the living district of our city, where miners live. Most of them are so poor, their bodies so worn out that they look like ghosts. But my mother despises them, for being dirty, for being too poor to buy more than our worst quality brown bread. She believes that we are above them, because we live in a nicer part of town and make a more decent living. But to be honest, it is mostly about looks. A fair quantity of food is produced here, but we have grown used not to care about its presence, because the price of the ingredients is so high. If we don't sell, because the rare upper-class doesn't want cakes, or if too many miners fall short of money and cannot buy our bread, we could lose the bakery.
I sigh and get up. There is still plenty of time before the Reaping, but I have no idea what to do. Of course, I can't meet my friends. Not today. I think about them, Baldo, Ersty and Timee. What if their name gets called? What if it's mine? I shiver. Those games are horrid. Every year, we get to watch the Capitol getting mad with excitement at the prospect of Districts' kids killing one another to death for the pleasure of their entertainment. Us. Kids. As far as I can remember, we have been terrified at the idea that one day, our name might get called. It is a hard prospect to grow up with. Hard to make friends, when the first thing that comes to your mind is that one day, this strong child may have to kill twenty three other to survive, including another one of our District. Boys and girls. No special treatment is given to girls, which I think is unfair because most of them lack the physical strength. Though in our District, very few boys actually get enough food to grow into strong men. Back at school, I hang around with a group of friends – not from the Seam mind you, because my mother wouldn't allow it – and we sometimes discuss how we could do it. Survive the Games. Some say we should train, like the 'Careers' – the kids from the richest Districts who win almost every time. Most of the time, I don't want to give into this kind of conversation. It is dangerous enough to talk about the Capitol, so our parents have raised us into avoiding that subject. And I don't believe that any of us could win anyway. I did pay a little more attention to the last Games, when two kids from the Seam were reaped. Rils I knew a little because he was a year younger than me and I had to intervene at school to prevent a rumble between his gang and some of my friends. The girl was even younger. They got killed almost minutes after the Games started. The girl couldn't run fast enough from the bloodbath, and Rils tried to grab a knife from the Cornucopia, but he was beaten to death by three other boys. Trying to discard the memories of his agony, I start pacing in the room, but it's no good. I see the clothes my mother has prepared for the special occasion, but don't want to put them on just yet. I grab my pants from the floor and an old T-shirt smelling from flour. I decide to go down and help my dad anyway, but make sure to avoid seeing my mother and Bron. My father is shaping dough into rolls when I enter the room. He looks up at me and I see a flicker of pain run through his eyes.
Then he looks down at his work again and says "No need for you to be here today". He pauses. "You should eat something. I bought a squirrel from the Seam boy, you know, the hunter, and I baked meat rolls especially for you and Cal".
Wow, I think when I look at the neat pile of fresh rolls he waved his hand at. This is real feast. I mean, we usually get to eat a bit of meat every week, but we have to share it between us five, and a squirrel isn't exactly big, but one only for my brother and I? The smell is tantalizing, and I squash a full roll in my mouth, letting the juice roll down my throat. My father mixed the meat with herbs, rosemary and thyme I think. And mushrooms. Trying to figure out the recipe, I take my time to chew one more roll and swallow. "Do you need any help with the cakes?" I ask.
"Don't you want to rest?" he asks and quickly glances at me before starting to arrange the rolls on a tray.
"What for?" I shrug. "I'd rather keep busy and besides, who's going to do the icing?"
"Well I can't say I don't need help, but…"
"Roil?" yells my mother from the shop. "I sent Bron deliver bread to the mayor and I need more brown bread! And cheese and basil buns!"
The door's bell rings and she immediately changes the tone of her voice and starts talking to a customer.
"Better give her what she wants now" my father says and he starts taking two trays of buns towards the door. "The cakes are by the window if it helps you relax. But don't worry. The hunter, he's got his name in so many times compared to you…" He rattles his throat and leaves.
I go to the small storeroom opposite the door he took. This is where we keep the ingredients which cannot stand the heat and where I usually work when I'm not at school. Since I was younger than my brothers, my first task at the bakery was the errands, but my mother thought I was too slow and distracted. Then my father taught me how to decorate cakes, and I loved it. So Cal took my place and Bron and my father worked with the ovens, while I spent all afternoons crafting sugar flowers and cream curls. At first, my mother yelled that I was useless and complained for Bron and Cal who had to do all the work. I still had to help carry the flour bags from the District Granary before going to school every morning. But the customers started commenting on my work and buying more cakes, and my mother left me alone. I love sitting at my table by the window, all alone in the storeroom. I have patiently managed to get my parents buy more ingredients: food coloring agents of various shades, bright sugar balls, snowy icing sugar and soft translucent jelly… Of course, this is nothing to the crazy ingredients they seem to have in the Capitol, but then we don't have so many buyers for those, apart from the Mayor and the Head Peacekeeper and official ceremonies. While I settle everything I need on the table, I take a glance by the window. Across the courtyard, past the other few merchant houses, I can see trees in the distance. The sky is soft blue, without all the smoke that usually comes out of the mines. Nobody is supposed to work today, because it is Reaping Day. The big show is about to begin, and the Capitol wants to make sure that no one misses it. I wonder what it must be like in the other districts. Did they get up in fear this morning, dreading for their children? Why do we stand this? A soft wind blows through the trees and groups of birds fly high in the sky. At least, they are free. We are not. We cannot run from the District. An electric fence surrounds us, and they say wild animals would attack us otherwise. The only way out of the District is the railway, controlled by the Capitol. I feel a lump in my throat, not only for what may happen to me in a few hours, but also for the people of my District who share this hopeless fate. So I turn my eyes to my cakes, and start decorating them with all the beauty I can to forget about all this.
A few hours pass without my knowing, which is probably much better. Then while I'm putting away the half dozen of cakes I have finished, I catch a glimpse of movements by the hedge across the courtyard. Kids. I quickly sneak out of the storeroom and walk towards them.
"Hey" I say "I saw you. Get out of there". One by one, five heads appear. They are boys and a girl from the Seam, 7th grade I think. First reaping, most likely. Wide eyes in hollow faces, wearing little more than rags.
"What do you think you are doing? You shouldn't be here. You know what will happen if they find out you are missing." I try to reason them.
One of them snaps back "Oh yeah? Because you're going to give us, aren't you?"
"Don't be stupid, why would I do that? Won't save me from the Reaping, and you know it. But you can't walk out of it. Besides, where would you go?"
The girl hisses "We can't stay. Our names would be called. You don't know what it's like, you've never signed up for tesserae. My name's in twelve times, and his" she points one of the boys on her left "sixteen. We had to do it because we'd have starved to death. But we don't want to die." Her voice has taken a high pitch and she's slightly shaking.
So I do what I do best, reassure her, tell her about the number of children of age in the District, about two hundred, and the additional number of times most of them are in for tesserae, this wicked vision of a gift of grain and oil from the Capitol in exchange for an extra chance that your name may be picked. How unlikely it is that she, even with her name being in twelve times, may be called. How there is no way she could live outside the District, the wild beasts in the woods and the certainty of death there, without the help of the community. Of course, I'm slightly exaggerating. There can't be much solidarity between us. Too many of us lack the basic means of living. And the town people like my family do not particularly stand out for the Seam ones. Still, some of us try. I probably take it from my father, who I know has more than often forgotten to count the change properly when a single mother came in looking desperate with a couple of kids hanging to her gown. After a while, I get them to relax slightly and I even crack a few jokes of my own. It works, and to my relief, they promise to meet me up in the square.
I go back inside. How ironic I could manage to tell them to walk to a probably certain death, when I would so much like to run and hide myself. But I can't show it, so when I stumble into my mother, I keep a straight face and let her yell at me about the time and why I haven't washed and dressed myself properly already.
At noon, Cal and I are fully prepped with a fine cotton shirt, dark pants and shiny belt buckle. It feels awkward, why we need to dress up for the Reaping. But it's part of the show and absurd as it may be, we still seem to want to make an impression for the occasion. My mother insists on our good behavior, because anything we do wrong could reflect badly on the bakery. My father coughs and grumbles that we should go, so we all head for the square. The town people usually arrive first, so my parents can take a good looking from the side of the perimeter, next to the stage on which the officials will sit. My mother starts talking to the tailor's wife about this year's decorations, which could have needed a bit more work and money. The banners celebrate Panem's glory and there are some silly mottos such as 'Together and united' and glossy posters showing a fist-raised young boy against sunset with the title '74th Hunger Games'. But it is all feels a bit false. The only people showing enthusiasm are the Capitol camera crews which have invaded the rooftops, balconies and the space all around the stage. People from the District look rather grim, faces are a bit too white, many hold hands a bit too nervously. "Hush boys, and look good for the cameras" my mother tells Cal and I. My father gives us both a long and encouraging look. "See you soon boys".
We both head to the center of the square, where the Peacekeepers sort us according to age. I briefly shake hands with Cal but we are now too anxious to talk. At least, it'll be the last time for him, and his friends are already there, so I see him lift his shoulders slightly when he turns back and walks to them at the front row. We are not very close, but I still worry for him. But Baldo calls my name and I join him and Ersty and Timee. Soon, our friends from school are all there. The girls look nice in their best dress, their hair beautifully combed. Some even wear jewels, as if they were going to a ball. I see Baldo eyeing one of them, Furda I think. Seam kids arrive and quietly fill the perimeter, their parents trying to find a spot where they can get a glimpse of the scene. At two o'clock, mayor Undersee stands up from his chair, walks to the podium and starts his yearly speech on the history of Panem. I remember how I tried to question some of the facts in history class, like what happened before the destruction of North America, or why the districts started rebelling against the Capitol, if, like they said, the Capitol had done so much to rebuild the country and find new ways of living. The teacher had turned white as a sheet and explained me quickly at the end of the lesson that I should never ask this kind of questions again if I wanted to avoid troubles. I never saw him again. When I tune back to the mayor's speech, Haymitch, our only Victor, appears on the stage and literally falls on his chair, drunk as skunk. He's disgusting. He, who won the Hunger Games, who should embody hope for us, who should help us run the economy of the District with all the money he earned from his victory. But he mostly remains secluded in the Victor's Village and spends all his money in liquors from the black market. Because of him, we are the laughing stock of the Capitol. Because of him, tributes like Rils or last year's girl never stand a chance, because we never get sponsors. Mayor Undersee cannot get rid of him, so he introduces our escort, a woman called Effie Trinket, which you could only see in the Capitol. Not only is she dressed like some giant grasshopper with a strange strawberry-marshmallow wig, but her voice sounds like she's shrieking all the time. I can't listen to her nonsense so I take a look across the crowd. Being above average height, I can easily spot the kids from this morning at the back and give one of them a slight thumbs-up, but he just looks sick. Like many of us.
"Ladies first" Effie Trinket shrieks and she plunges her hand into one of the glass balls and pulls out one of the slips of paper. Then she trots back to the podium, unfolds the slip and reads out "Primrose Everdeen".