Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games.
CHAPTER 1
At First Glance
The warm fabric of my dress keeps my body heat wrapped around me, despite the autumn chill. Lily twirls down the street, her skirt flying around her.
"Stop that." I tell her, grabbing her hand and holding her still. She makes a face at me.
"You're no fun anymore, Wisty."
I scowl as best as I can. "Don't call me that. My name is Wisteria."
"Whatever." She pulls her hand out of my grip and runs off, giggling and hopping down the worn path. In the distance, I hear a dull bell ringing, signaling the end of the shift at the mine. No doubt, my mother is already cleaning up the apothecary shelves for the customers who will no doubt come in for their aches and pains of the day.
Welcome to District 12. Where each day is like the last.
Right now, we're walking from school to home. It would be quicker if we went right through the poor part of town, known as the Seam, but my mother doesn't approve of young ladies like me and my sister walking unaccompanied in the slums of our district and, frankly, I don't disagree. The dirty house and the dirtier people who stare out of them disgust me. Children running around in rags and covered in dirt and who knows what else. They are animals, no better.
When we get to the shop, Mother is pouring hot tea into cups for us. Lily grabs hers, along with a beautifully iced cookie, and scampers off.
"Good afternoon, Wisteria."
"Good afternoon, Mother."
"How was school?"
"Very good, thank you."
"You're welcome."
This has been my relationship with my mother since puberty. I think that deep down, she believes the icy stance she puts on towards me will drive me to find my own family, to leave the house and do very well on my own. Really, it just breaks my heart a little.
I go to the back and put on my apron to start working in the shop. As I straighten various jars and containers of crushed, pounded, dried, and preserved herbs and plants, my mother surprises me with a comment.
"Wheaton Mellark dropped off these cookies right after school." I glance over at my mother and she's holding a plate of cookies, like the one Lily took. They're beautiful, depicting flowers and animals and various wonders in various colors. But not so wonderful that they deserve to be mentioned in a rare mother-daughter conversation.
"They're beautiful."
"He asked me how you were faring now that the weather has taken a turn for the cool. He knows how you prefer the summer."
I raise an eyebrow. "How would he know that? And why would he care?"
Mother sighs. "Oh, Wisteria. What am I to do with you?"
I bite my tongue as to not reply. A few customers make their way in and the work day begins. I advice middle-aged soup maker Laurie Sae, who apparently is coming into the unfortunate nickname Greasy, that a simple brew of a few herbs, honey, and fresh milk will help soothe her sore throat. I help Mr. Sladrien, one of my teachers, pick out what ointment will stop his hair loss. I try and lose myself in this work but really, it takes no effort. It's like running on autopilot. What I dream of doing is following in my father's footsteps. He's a real doctor, operating and examining people and brewing up special concoctions for their problems. I helped him when I was younger and he praised my inborn talent, but my mother put me in the apothecary because a lady does not busy herself with dirty, sick people and blood and other less then pleasant sides to the business.
The door opens and, when I see who enters, my face splits into a smile. My father. I run over and wrap my arms around him.
"Daddy!"
"Oof!" He pretends to be winded. "Wisty, I can barely breath."
"Wisteria."
"Ah yes, what was I thinking? Wisteria is that other daughter I have, much more pleasant and pretty than this one." He smiles at me and kisses my cheek. "How was school, my dear?"
"Fine, it was fine." I say quickly. "Did you have any cases while I was gone?"
Daddy opens his mouth to respond but Mother yells, "Sequoya, I need you in here, dear!"
He rolls his eyes for me and goes to the living room, weaving around some people investigating some bottles of coltsfoot.
Our house is weirdly set up. Who knows who owned it before our family, because the setup is very particular for a shop owner. There's the main store, with a big open window in the front. Connected to the side is a narrow storage room we all call the backroom. Our living room door is adjacent to the backroom. There's one window, an old saggy couch, a dull T.V., two small chairs, and a stairway that leads to the upstairs where all the rooms are. Connected to the living room is a small kitchen with a stove, a sink, and a small refrigerator.
The rest of the day passes slowly. Eventually, somewhere around 5 o'clock, we close shop and retire to the living room for dinner. Mother serves us a flavorful soup with something like chicken and bay leaves, which we eat in silence. Occasionally, Daddy and I happen to lock eyes and we share a smile. Mother and Daddy sit in the chairs, not sharing so much as a glance. Lily and I are on the couch, one on each end. In between us, there is still a small indentation where Oak use to sit.
The memory of my brother brings tears threatening to break over my eyes. So I'm glad when someone knocks and I volunteer quickly to go answer it. In the trip from my seat to the door, I try and compose myself with a few, slow breaths.
I open the door and begin to say, "I'm sorry, we're closed" but the visitor surprises me. Standing on my doorstep is Rodrick Everdeen, holding an open bag with dead turkeys and squirrels in it. There are a few leaves stuck in his straight black hair that tell of his illegal trip into the woods. He goes to my school, is even in a few of my classes, but I've never had a conversation with him. No doubt, he's handsome enough to grab attention, but he's from the Seam. I could never be around someone from there. The fact that he's so close to my house kinda grosses me out a little.
"Hey, is your father home?" He says like we're old friends and he simply showing up for an appointment.
"Why? What do you want with him?" My response comes out ruder than I wanted it to and his face hardens.
"Because, Ms. Greenwood, I have some of my haul to sell to him." He holds up his bag for me to inspect.
"Get that away!" I step back. "That's disgusting! And illegal. I guarantee you that we don't do business with lawbreakers."
"Right." He says sarcastically. "Listen, if you can just get your dad-"
"Ah, Rodrick!" My dad is behind me, his voice hushed but happy.
"Daddy, I-"
"Here you go, young man." Daddy hands him over a fistful of coins and is given two plump birds and a squirrel.
"Daddy!" I say, shocked.
"What?" He says innocently. "You didn't really think that soup was chicken."
They both laugh while I blush. Yes, I actually did think that it was. I expect Daddy to dismiss the ruffian now that his black market business is over. But they stand and chat for a few minutes, talking about the weather and town gossip. And I'm awkwardly stuck in the middle, in no position to escape.
Finally, I try and say, "Daddy, maybe-"
"Ah, come on. You'll probably end up marrying this fellow anyway." They share a laugh and Rodrick has the nerve to sneak a kiss on my cheek and they go into a spree of laughter.
My cheeks burn like fire. As I stare at my Daddy and Rodrick laugh over our prospective marriage, I make a promise to myself.
I will never marry Rodrick Everdeen.