Part One: Career
Chapter One
The stillness of a sleeping house is unnerving. That's what I think when I open my eyes on the day of the reaping. Today is the day when the elected boys and girls from all of the twelve districts will be sent to the Capital to prepare for the twenty fifth Hunger Games; the first of the Quarter Quells.
I sit up and look around my room, thinking that this could be the last time I see it. This could be the last time I sit in my bed, greeting the day. For the last few years, this thought shook me with fear. This year, it wasn't fear that shook me; it was excitement.
Later this morning, our escort, Andie Meyers, will be here, wishing the entire population of District two a "Very happy Hunger Games," as always. Then a boy and a girl will be chosen to represent our district from thousands of names in two gigantic glass orbs. But there is a catch, this year. Since this is the year of the first "Quarter quell," a celebration of twenty five years of gruesome, televised death, an odd twist has been put on the Games, just to shake things up a little. This year, the citizens of each district has to vote on which two kids would be sent to their deaths in what the Capital calls the arena. But in Districts one, two and four, it is an honor to be chosen to participate. So since the Quell was announced, many of the children of these districts have been out campaigning for the votes of our citizens, including myself. We are unlike any of the lower Districts in Panem in this way. We are the only kids who train beforehand to be tributes. That's why our tributes are always called the careers.
I stand up, shaking out my limbs to get the blood flowing to them. Immediately, I go to the bathroom and turn on the hot water in the tub.
I need to look nice if I'm going to the Capital.
The water burns as I lower myself into the tub. But slowly, my skin accepts the sensation. I scrub the thin layer of sweat and dust away that had collected on me the day before.
I'm about to move onto my hair when there is a knock on the bathroom door. It could only be my mother. After stepping out of the water and wrapping up in a towel, I open the door and let her in. The first thing I notice is the despair in her eyes, something I've ever seen only once before: when my older brother, Anderson, was killed in the Games five years ago.
"What is it, mom?" I try to be gentle; I know she's hiding her tears.
"Breakfast is on the table, Aridan," she murmurs. She is so quiet that I hardly even hear her.
I nod, swallowing the words that neither of us wants, or needs, to hear. I tell her to let me wash my hair, and I'll be downstairs after that. Then I give her a soft, warm hug. For the first time, I realize that I've grown to be at least a full head taller than her. It's amazing what reaping day reveals to us.
This was all too much for my poor mother. I feel her wipe at a tear and she then pulls away. She turns quickly and leaves through the door, not able to look at me.
Once she is gone, I quickly rinse out my hair and dry off, pulling on a robe for breakfast. Downstairs, I see that my mother has gone all out trying to make an extravagant breakfast for me and my father. She has piled pancakes, eggs, and various meats on our plates.
She must have saved up for a month to make this extraordinary meal for us. The pancakes and eggs weren't all that expensive, but the syrup and all of that meat…
The price alone makes me nauseous. But I sit down anyways after giving my mom a kiss on the cheek and dig in. For the past three years, since I was twelve in my first reaping, she would make these fantastic meals, to make the day special. We had them back when my brother was alive, too, but I was so young back then that nowadays, I hardly remember them.
After about five minutes of watching me eat, my father chooses to speak up.
"Ari," he says, "What will you do if you are chosen?" He is the only person I've ever allowed to call me that name.
I can't meet his cool gaze, but I know I must be honest with him.
"I'll most likely just join the pack, I suppose." Even when the Games were new, the strongest of the tributes, normally the Careers, would band together, forming a lethal "pack". For most of the Games, they would just run around together, picking off the weak. But sooner or later, they would all turn on each other.
The winner almost always turned out to be one of them.
I finally manage to meet my father's gaze, and I'm surprised to see him nodding his head.
"That would be the best choice, son," he says. Then he smiles. "I think you could easily win these Games, even if you are just barely sixteen. You're strong. Smart. Fast."
"And don't forget all this God forsaken training you've put me through for the past five years of my life," I mutter. But I can't help smirking. I find it hilarious that my father and I can discuss this sort of idea with such ease. He chuckles and goes back to reading his paper.
My mother, on the other hand, is a wreck. I can tell that she would be the happiest woman in Panem if I wasn't chosen today. For a while, I just sit in my chair, watching her move silently around our kitchen. She still won't look at me, even when I take her my empty plate.
"Go get yourself dressed," is all she says to me. I nod and go back upstairs, feeling hurt. It will be a very long morning at the rate it has started out.
I try my best to keep a level head as I choose my clothing. On the past reaping days, I have seen the outfits of the sons and daughters of all the mayors of the different Districts; they always look nice without fail. I feel that I should at least attempt to look just as nice as them. At least try.
I nice shirt, at least, is in order. I pick through my closet until I find a fitted black sweater and my black dress pants. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I discover one of my great grandfathers' gold wristbands sitting on my night stand. With a jolt of painful gratitude, I realize this is from my mother. She intends for me to wear it into the arena if I'm chosen.
I slide it over my hand, admiring how it still shines in the light, even after all of these years. I slip on my best leather boots and head downstairs once again.
My parents have gotten dressed as well. They are both standing by the front door, ready to leave. My mother is still taking her vow of silence.
We take the long walk to the square without speaking more than a few words about how nice the weather is. I'm grateful for this; it gives me time to think. Could it really have just been five years ago that my brother was in the arena? It seems as if it was so much longer ago than that. I grimace as I remember the distance my mother put between herself and the rest of my family; I remember the final blow that I watched my brother take in the finale. For weeks, my father and I had to cook, do the laundry, all while my mother sat frozen in her chair with grief.
I know that I will break her heart again if I go into the arena. But if I'm chosen, I will have no choice. No volunteers will be taken this year.
Either way, it put that extra twist into the Games.
About ten minutes after leaving our house we arrive at the square. Already, much of District two is here. In the center of the wide, open space is the roped off area in which all of us kids await the reaping. The only sounds here are the winds and the gentle murmurings among one another. But once we are on live television, I'm sure that will all change. It always does.
After giving my mother a kiss and my father a hug, I slowly walk into the area for sixteen year old boys. Many turn their heads to look at me. On some faces, there are smiles, looks of hopeful congratulations. But everywhere else I look is sorrow and despair. These are the people who would never volunteer, the ones who fear the Games and the Capital.
I nod to each pair of eyes I meet, whispering "good luck" to many of the younger kids at the back. This is first time that the odds are against everybody. But District two has never sent a tribute under the age of fifteen to the Games. I wouldn't be worried if I were in any of those kids' shoes.
Ten or so minutes have passed by the time our mayor, escort and past tributes make their ways to the stage in front of the city hall. Andie Meyers, a bouncy woman with long hair and that odd Capital accent, sits down immediately and crosses her legs and arms.
Out of the twenty four years of the games, our District can claim five Victors. They are all smiles today, waving to the crowd, with who they are popular, and talking amongst themselves. One of them has apparently done something to upset Andie, and now they are laughing over it as they discuss who will mentor this year's tributes.
That's what I decide to pay attention to as we go live and our mayor takes his place at the podium and began reading the long, drawn out history of our country, Panem, that nobody ever wanted to listen to. He tells us of the rebellion and how the rebels were defeated by the oh so glorious Capital. The he recites the Peace treaty, and the anthem booms through the square. As Andie Meyers makes her way to the podium, I feel a nudge on my arm. I turn my head to see a smiling Eamon Mallory, one of my competitors for the spot in the Games. He is also my best friend.
"Good luck," he says to me, right as Adie addresses the crowd with her usual, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
I snicker, for the odds are most likely not in mine.
The crowd falls silent as she calls out a respectful, "Ladies first, now!" just like she does ever year. But what she does this year is much different. After all, it is the Quarter quell. Usually, there are two giant glass balls with the tens of thousands of slips with our names on them. This year, though, all that sits on the stage is a roll of parchment sitting on a stand. A pink ribbon is wrapped around it. I look across to the other side of the stage and see another scroll with a blue ribbon around it representing the boy.
Tension is building in the square as Andie slowly unties the ribbon. She unrolls the scroll and calls out the name "Erin Holl". She will be representing District two in the Quarter quell.
This is a good choice, I think. Erin is strong, deadly. She will stand a good chance in the Games.
Andie is now on the other side of the stage, unfurling the boy's scroll. I realize I've broken out in a sweat and my heart rate has sky rocketed—the blood in my ears is pounding so loudly that I don't hear the name come out of her moving lips—
It's Aridan Wolff.
Suddenly I am hearing words of congratulations in my ears. I put on a smile and make my way to the stage to thunderous, mandatory applause. Once on the stage I shake hands with Erin, observing the reactions of the mentors. All five are nodding slowly, smiling and taking us in.
Andie is then between Erin and me, congratulating the two of us, the tributes of District two, and going on about how exciting these Games will be. And before I know it, we are off air and being whisked into the city hall so that we can say goodbye to our families and friends. Each set of people gets only five minutes with us, not nearly enough time to say everything that needs to be said.
The room I'm given is nice, big with windows and luxurious, comfy furniture. The lights are off, which allows the natural shine to light up the room. It gives a calm feeling to the place.
I've just sat down when my father and mother burst through the wooden double doors. My father looks proud, pleased, even, but my mother is just the opposite. She is close to tears, hiding her face behind a handkerchief. These next few minutes will be painful, and they are already ticking away.
I don't know what to say, so we just sit, interlocked for a few of the minutes we have. My mother is crying full force now; I can feel her tears on my shoulder. I'm even more surprised when I find that tears are coming from my father's eyes as well. Our time is almost up when he speaks.
"Ari, I think you can win this thing. That girl may be something that gets in the way, but the odds of you two being in the final two are second to none."
"It's happened before, dad," I say, remembering the games from a few years ago. The tributes from District five, of all places, were the final two tributes. The boy had ended up feeling pity for the girl, and killed himself so that he could send her home instead. Those games went over very well in the Capital.
"But I doubt it will happen to you," he says back. His voice is shaking and he's close to losing it completely. "Aridan, you can do it. I know you can."
My mother is just beginning to speak when two Peacekeepers slam open the door. Suddenly my parents are yelling how much they love me, and I'm yelling how much I love them back, and then they're gone.
In the silence, I come to the realization that I may never see them again, never hear their voices, none of that. But I must remain strong. My friends are all going to be in here soon, most likely together. I highly doubt anybody else will visit me other than them.
I'm surprised when Erin's father, a doctor, walks into the room next. He looks uncomfortable, as if he doesn't know if he should be in here. But he holds out his hand, and I shake it.
"Try not to kill my daughter, Aridan," he murmurs. He is still grasping my hand, squeezing hard and giving me a terrible look.
"I could never do that, sir," I mumble back. "You know that." I squeeze his hand back and pull it from his grasp.
He nods, wishes me good luck and walks out. It is surprising to me that he chose to pay me a visit at all, even if it was for him to get a final request from me.
My next visit is also a surprise; our mayor, Michael Gebhard, walks through the door, and makes his way quickly across the room. He raises his hand, and I jump back, bracing for the hit I'm thinking will come. But it does not. After a few seconds of sitting there, I open my eyes and see just an outstretched hand, holding a golden ring.
"This ring has been worn by each and every male tribute from District two," he states, thrusting his hand out again. "It is a tradition. Will you take it?" His eyes meet mine, and I see all of the years of the Games etched in his face. His worry is in the lines of his brow.
My hand automatically goes to my opposite wrist, where the gold wristband is wrapped around.
"Can I have both?" Immediately I know that this is a stupid, selfish question, and I know the answer.
"You know that they do not allow that, Aridan," says Mayor Gebhard, "You have seen enough of the games to know that.
Reluctantly, I remove the golden band and exchange it for the ring. He nods as Doctor Holl had just minutes before.
"I'll return this to your mother," he mutters, reading my mind. His mouth turns downward in a grimace. With a sigh, he stands to leave. He's nearly to the door when he turns and faces me.
"You're a good soul, Aridan." This startles me; what could that possibly have to do with anything?
His shoulders heave. "How are you planning to do it, child? The Quell is something that the Capital is taking very seriously. There will be many traps; you must understand this. Do you really think you can take home the crown?"
By the end of this, his voice has shifted to a near whisper, so soft that I am straining to hear his words. I realize that the ring in my hand is leaving and imprint because I am squeezing it so hard.
For the first time today, I feel truly frightened, because all of his words are true. The Gamemakers have promised Games that will be truly remarkable because of all of the "exciting twists" that will be thrown in. I feel my heart beat escalating, as it does whenever I am frightened. I take in a deep breath.
"I honestly don't know, sir." That's all I can muster up, all that can escape from my mouth without me breaking.
He just stands there for a moment, and slowly gives an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
"Good luck, Aridan. I think you will do well," he says. Then he is gone, and I am once again alone.
At least five minutes have passed before my next group of visitors comes in. Outside the door I hear yelling, that of people protesting. But once the door is open, everything is quiet, but you can feel the anger coming off of the five people who walk in: my friends.
The first to reach me is my longtime girlfriend, Elise Whitenburg. She is to me in barely four gigantic, gazelle-like steps, and her arms are around me, her face at my neck. I look up from her soft hair and see who the others are. Eamon, of course, is there, along with some of my better friends: Rayna, Joseph and Alek. All of them accept Elise had been hoping for a spot in the Games, but I can see now that all of them are glad it isn't them.
Elise is crying into my shoulder, her gentle sobs shaking her ever so slightly. Eamon has this dark look on his face, as if I had already been killed.
"They are only letting us see you off," he says. "They won't let any of the others say goodbye."
"Oh," I mumble, feeling a bit relieved that I won't have to say goodbye to any of the others. I really do care about my friends, but right now I have no need for tears, from them or myself. Those can be saved for later tonight, while I'm on the train on the way to the Capital. I try to calm Elise, knowing that I have only minutes to say all that I need to say to her; everything I need to say to all of them.
"You'll be fine without me," I whisper. "I promise." Now I'm shaking with grief. I meet Eamon's gaze, and I have to keep myself from breaking and pulling him down to hug me as well. A single tear leaks from my best friend's eye.
It's amazing, how just an hour before, he had been itching with excitement in hopes of being chosen to be in the Games. But now, seeing the reality of being chosen, all of that hope and excitement was gone. The familiar twinkle that was usually in his eyes had all but disappeared.
I looked away, hiding my face in Elise's brown hair. Through this touch, I try to relay everything I feel about her. How much I will miss her. How much I care about her. How much I hope I can make it back for her, if for anything else. He shaking has slowed to a minimum, and I no longer feel her tears on my neck.
"You'll be okay, Elise," I say, "I promise." I want to say so much more, but in front of my friends, all it would be is awkward. Instead of words, I lift her chin and give her a long, drawn out kiss; one that is long over due in this situation.
"I love you," I breathe, my eyes still closed.
"I love you, too," she whispers back. I open my eyes and see hers, large and bright blue, swimming with unreleased tears. She's trying to be strong. When I see this, my eyes water, and some tears run down my face. But I have to say goodbye to the others as well. I stand up with her and pull Eamon into a hug. His familiar smell hits my nose and another few tears leak out. I will miss him greatly, and I tell him so. He stays quiet, and it's obvious as to why. I move on to the others, earning a few "Good lucks" and "I'll miss you'd" from each of them. I hug Eamon once more and kiss Elise, and then the Peacekeepers escort them out.
"I'll try to come home," I whisper. "I swear it, I will."