Chapter One:Reaping Day
"Arris, wake up!" My mom screamed from up the hall. I woke with a start, startled by the ringing noise filling my ears. As I searched for the source of the sound, my eyes landed on my clock. 12:15; obviously the alarm hadn't woken me up. I turned it off and stood up.
"Arris, get up! You need to get ready!" I heard my mom's footsteps coming up the hallway. She came in and pulled the covers off of me.
"Mom!" I yelled. All I had on was a pair of old underwear, the only clean pair I could find the night before, and let's just say that they was a bit too tight. "God, give me some privacy!"
"Just get dressed, Arris," she said, sighing. Normally, she would have yelled at me more, but she just wasn't up to it, I guess. Today was a hard day on all of us. It was the day of the Reaping.
I pulled on some shorts and a blue t-shirt. Blue was my signature color. The light blue of the shirt I was wearing matched my eyes. Blue always had a calming effect on me, too. Maybe because it was the color of the ocean.
I grabbed my surfboard and ran out of the room, headed for the ocean.
"Not so fast, Arris," said my mom, stepping in front of me. She was a beautiful woman. Her hair was blonde, like mine, only lighter. Her eyes were a pale green, striking on her creamy white skin. Men always turned to look at my mother when we were walking up the street. She paid them no attention. As I looked into her eyes then, I saw nothing but sadness.
It had been four months since my father died. We were told he was fishing out too during a storm when his boat crashed into some rocks, and he hit his head. No one on the boat survived. My father was a great fisherman, the best in town. He knew when a storm was coming, he said that he could smell it in the air. He also knew not to venture out too far, where the waves were unreadable and the rocks too plentiful. My father wasn't stupid.
For those reasons, it makes me believe that my father didn't die in a fishing accident. For those reasons, I believe he was murdered. My father was always talking about the Capitol and how much he hated them and their ways. He didn't scream hatred at them in the streets, but he could've been a bit more careful with who he said things too. Peacekeepers were always around.
During the last few months of my father's life, I began to notice Peacekeepers watching him more carefully, following him. They didn't even try to be discreet about it. They wanted my father to know that he was in danger. They wanted my father to know that he would be killed for speaking out against the ever so amazing Capitol. The odds were never in my fathers favor, but hopefully, today, they will be in mine.
"What, mom? I was just going to the beach," I said.
"You're just like your father, Arris. You need to be presentable." She lead me over a table, where I sat in front of a mirror. She pulled out some scissors and began trimming. I have to admit, my hair was getting a bit shaggy, hanging down in my eyes. I guess I hadn't really been concerned so much about personal hygiene in the past few months.
My hair was the color of caramel, a dark blond. It looked weird against my skin that had been turned a dark brown from the many hours on the beach. Freckles that weren't there in the winter had popped up on my face. My eyes looked even more vibrant against my dark skin.
By the time my mom finished fussing over me, it was time to leave. I didn't even have time to eat breakfast. I was corralled over to the section with the other fifteen year olds, feeling like an animal ready for slaughter. Most people were talking quietly to their friends, wondering who would be chosen as the District Four tribute. I didn't have anyone to talk to, so I just stood there praying that it wouldn't be me. I turned to look at the sea, which I could barely make out in the distance. I focused on the waves, matching my breathing up to their rhythm. The sea had a calming effect on me.
The mayor steps up to give a speech, but I don't pay much attention to him. It's just the same boring speech every year. The list of past District Four victors is read. It goes on and on for what seems like forever. I would hate to be in District One or Two, who have the most Victors. But we have our fair share, too. Traditionally, Districts One, Two, and Four Tributes are the Careers who choose to be in the games. Why anyone would want to murder innocent people I don't know.
The mayor finally comes to an end, stopping at Finnick O'dair, who won six years ago. He is sitting on stage, holding the hand of a girl. Annie Cresta, who won last year. They will be the mentors of the Tributes. Annie's leg is bouncing up and down. She looks scared, and seems to see something in the air that no one else can see. She went crazy after her games. Finnick could have any girl in Four that he wanted, or even any girl in the Capitol, but he picked Annie. I've heard some girls at school talking about him, disgusted. These are the same girls that send me candy and flowers on Valentine's Day. They get nothing in return. I guess, in a way, I'm like Finnick. I could have any girl that I wanted, but I didn't like any of them. I just hadn't found my Annie yet.
Phineas Hark, the District Four escort, stepped up to the mike, his bright red shoes squeaking.
"Happy Hunger Games!" He said in the mike, a bit of feedback escaping from it. The crowd moans. No one likes Phineas. His curly hair had been died a bright red that year. To me, it looked oddly like blood. I wondered if that's why he chose it, to signify all the blood that would be spilled during the Games. "Ladies first!"
He walked over to the girls ball and reached his fat hand in. He swirled it around for a moment, and then pulled out a name.
"Nyx Carter," he said, enunciating every syllable. Nyx, who was also in the fifteen year olds section, didn't even hesitate before walking up towards the stage. She carried herself confidently, her long legs not shaking one bit. Remember those girls I was talking about? The ones that were always claiming their undying love to me? Well, Nyx Carter was the worst of them all. I have to admit, she was beautiful. She'd get sponsors quite easily. But, even though she was beautiful on the outside, swallowing fifty pounds of sugar couldn't make this girl the least bit sweeter on the inside. She was cold and mean. I could see her murdering all of the other tributes with one cold, hard stare.
Phineas smiled an unrequited smile at her before returning to the other glass Reaping Ball, the one that held my name in it four times.
"Now for the boys," he said, reaching his hand in. Not me, not me, I thought.
"Arris Orion," he called. My heart stopped for an instant. I allowed myself one last look at the ocean, and then looked back towards the stage. I walked up with as much confidence as I could muster. I would not let these Games break me.