The town square was packed to it's limit, hundreds of teenagers and even preteens standing anxiously together in packs. A large stage was set up in front of everything, accompanied by a huge plasma TV that was definitely straight from the Capitol. Peacemakers were setting up various speakers along the perimeter of the square, while others continued to check kids in. My finger still hurt from the prick they made in my skin to get my blood.
Parents stood solemnly along with their youngest, clutching fearfully onto them as if they were going to be taken away. But that wouldn't happen. That's not how things work.
I stood alone; okay, that's not true. Other boys my age were crowded around me, elbows digging into my sides whenever one of them on either side of me would shift uncomfortably. Not like I could blame them. In the next few minutes, that crazy woman from the Capitol would draw two names out of a ball. Two kids, a boy and a girl, chosen to fight ten others to the death.
Now, I wasn't too worried. Being a baker's kid, my chances of being picked weren't too high. My name was only in there 16 times; some people had at least 50 slips in there. Mostly kids from The Seam on the outskirts of town.
I let my eyes scan the crowd, trying to find a familiar face. It was easy to tell where someone was from based on their looks: people from town are fair skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes, while people from The Seam are olive skinned with dark hair and smokey gray eyes. When people first meet me, they think I belong to the latter group. Everything about me is dark; my hair, my eyes, even my skin is darker than that of townspeople. Still, the girls find my darker features attractive. As I catch the eye of several of my admirers, the tears in their eyes dry slightly and the corners of their mouths tilt upward a bit.
Until my gaze is filled with the shocking blue eyes of the only girl I can't seem to charm.
A scowl immediately hardens her features when her brain registers who she's looking at, her eyes turning to look in the other direction.
Jadelyn West.
Now she was definitely different. Sure, her hair is dark like that of someone from The Seam, but her skin is pale like fresh snow during the winter and her eyes are as blue as the sky during the peak of the afternoon. Everything about her looks soft but she's probably the hardest person I know.
Or wish I knew.
She wasn't the type of person you just approached without having a purpose. Either you tell her exactly what you want or you get the hell out of her face. Apparently, she's a hunter also - (which is illegal and punishable by death, by the way) because she comes around every once in a while to bring squirrels to my dad in exchange for bread or sometimes even a pastry for her sister.
My eyes don't leave the back of her head for a long time, even as the mayor drones on about the history of how Panem and the Districts came to be. Instead, I get lost in my thoughts, wondering if Jadelyn would survive if she were to get chosen. Probably. She's independent and strong.
It was only two years ago when an explosion in the mines injured and/or killed many of the District's men. Jadelyn's dad was along them. He was the only person bringing in money for his family: Mrs. West, himself and their two daughters. In the aftermath of his death, the West family became even more poor than the rest of The Seam. Everyone was trying to help them as much as they could, but they were all growing hungry themselves.
I was tossing out burned bread to the pigs when I saw her huddled up against my fence, her dark hair slicked back as the rain pounded on her. Her cheekbones were sticking out unhealthily from her sickly looking skin, a grayish color tinting the usual white. Even her eyes looked dead, looking more like an overcast sky rather than their usual blue.
Our eyes met at that moment but she didn't even bother holding my gaze, still able to muster up the scowl she always put on when she saw me. With a sigh, I turned around and headed back into the kitchen. I needed to get this girl to like me, even if it put my own ass on the line. When my mother wasn't looking, I let a loaf of bread fall into the flames of the oven, quickly withdrawing it before it got too blackened.
"You idiot!" She scolded, smacking the back of my head with the rolling pin. "Take that put the pigs! Nobody is going to buy that now." I rubbed the spot where she hit nodding and muttering a, "Yes mom," as I made my way outside.
Jadelyn was still sitting there, her arms wrapped tightly around herself while tears mixed with rain as they dripped down her face. She wiped as much water as she can off of her face with the sleeve of her thin jacket before looking up at me. Our eyes met again but this time she didn't look away. With a quick look behind me to make sure my mother wasn't looking, I tossed the bread in her direction. It fell next to her, inches away from a puddle, and she eyed it warily.
"I don't need your help, bread boy." She hissed at me, eyes flashing with anger. I couldn't believe it! How could someone be so stubborn?
"Just take the bread, please." I was pleading her with my eyes to just pick it up before it got too soggy and rendered inedible.
"I don't want your loaf."
"Jadelyn," I was full on begging her now, backing up into my house before my mom got suspicious. "It doesn't matter if you want my loaf. You /need/ my loaf." I turned around before she could answer, but I saw her pick it up and tuck in it her jacket from the corner of my eye.
As I came out of my flashback, I notice everyone else looking in her direction also. What is going on?
"No!" She shrieked, pushing her way through the crowd. "I volunteer as tribute!" Why would she volunteer? My head turns to the pathway leading up to the stage and I see her little sister, Caterina, making her way to the awaiting mayor with tears streaming down her face. Jadelyn snatches her arm before she can climb the steps, pushing her back. "I volunteer as tribute!" She repeats, standing tall in front of the crowd.
A collective gasp resonates through the square followed by a heavy silence, all eyes on the back of her raven-haired head.
"Ooh, a volunteer!" The woman from the Capitol squeals as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "Come up here, dear. Tell us your name!" She outstretches her hand to help Jadelyn up the stairs, immediately pushing a microphone to her lips.
"J-Jadelyn West." She croaks, her eyes widening as she looks out at the stunned faces staring back at her. It's as if she just realized exactly what she has done.
"So I take it little Caterina over there is your sister?"
She just nods in response.
My heart falls as I realize what this means. Nobody from District 12 has won the Hunger Games in almost 25 years. There's no way she would win, no matter how skilled she is with a bow and arrow. I watch her little sister run off to find her mother, sobbing into the woman's chest as the hold each other tightly.
I'll miss you Jadelyn West.
"Beck Oliver!"
Everyone turns to look at me now, moving away from me. I blink once, twice, then three times before I realize what's going on. Me? A tribute?! Impossible!
But no, everyone is staring at me with grim faces, Peacemakers coming on either side of me to lead me upstage. Before I know, I'm standing across from Jadelyn, who still gives me nothing but a scowl.
"I still don't want your loaf." She mutters, shaking my hand as the woman instructs. I can't help but crack a grin at her defiant tone. Working with this girl is going to be hard.
But hey, easy is boring.
A/N: This was probably so bad and I'm sorry if you actually read through the whole thing. I am NOT going to continue this, this is just a one-shot for a friend. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit. Don't be afraid to leave a review :)