As Lauren Bennet unfolds the slip of paper, there is not a sound in the District 4 Square. I can hear myself breathing, and when she calls my name, I can hear myself stop.
"Lilly Monroe? Come on up, child, don't be shy!"
I order my feet to lift themselves up, and then put themselves back down again. Up, down, up, down, up—
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute! Please, I – "
Making my feet stop, I yell out "He can't, he's too young! He's 11, you have to be 12 to volunteer."
He catches my eye and I look away, not sure if I have the energy to deal with my little brother right now. The peace keepers push him back in line with the other children.
Just as I'm about to order my feet to move again, he screams out once more, "She can't go! She can't, we don't have a guardian, she's our guardian!"
"I'm sorry, child, but even if you don't have another guardian, she will have to go anyway. We'll send you one from the capitol, won't that be fun?"
Fun? I shake my head and try to let that go.
"Now, do we have any volunteers to be this child's guardian?"
Almost every hand in the square shoots up. I put my hand over my mouth, determined not to show any display of emotion, because the capitol doesn't deserve it. They don't deserve to see my tears, especially because these tears are not shed with the capitol in mind.
"Lilly, will you choose a volunteer?"
"Hannah," my voice sounds much too thick to be my own. I point to the girl in the third row, who has gone to comfort my little brother. Hannah is my lifelong friend, even if she is 3 years older than I am. I send up a quick prayer of thanks that she turned 19 a month ago; otherwise she would've volunteered for me too. There is no doubt in my mind that Hannah will care for brave little Henry.
"Wonderful! Come on up here, child," Lauren chirps.
Up, down, up, down, up, down, up…
I completely zone out once I reach the stage. I think about nothing and no one, only imagining things that make me happy.
Food. Food makes me happy.
I watch a pale little boy slowly make his way up to the stage. He tries to catch my eye, but I stare straight ahead.
Grapes. All kinds of fruit. Warm fireplaces.
When he reaches the stage, he looks so pale I'm afraid he might faint. He looks like he's only about 6. For this year's quarter quell, they lowered the official age minimum to 5 years old. He starts swaying next to me, and I grab his hand to steady him. He reminds me of Henry.