"Get up, Lazy Bones! There's bread to be made!" My mother calls to me, succeeding in her attempt at waking me up in the rudest of ways; you would think she would be kinder, on today of all days. While she has her moments, she is always focused on making the bakery my father owns as successful as possible. I find this odd, considering that it isn't actually hers to control, and that my father was doing fine before she came along; he was raised, just as I have been, around an oven, and knows how to run a bakery. I rise from my bed and lay out my clothing for later in the day, something nicer than my usual hand-me downs. After all, it was reaping day.
I look out the back door and it can't be later than six in the morning, but I figure my mother knows that it's sure to be a big bread day, since all the industrial workers are off of work and school is out. I poke the fire in the brick oven, trying to coax a flame out of it since it's smoldered idly all through the night; I then start to work on mixing different dough and batters for breads and cakes and tarts. I work at that for a while, producing loaves and loaves of bread. I get distracted when the bell in the doorway rings, signaling a customer has come in. It's Gale Hawthorne.
He's two years my senior, so I don't know him in really, other than just in passing. I know that the girls in my year at school gush about him. I know that he has four mouths to feed at home since his father died in a mining accident four years ago, and that his mother runs a laundering service for the district. I also know that he hunts illegally in the wilderness outside of District 12. With Katniss Everdeen. Katniss is my age, and she comes in here with her sister. In fact, the bright parts of my day are those when they stop by to admire the cakes that I ice for the bakery. I like these occasions because I can pay attention to her without it being weird or awkward. To be honest, I had never spoken to her, unless it involved bread. I thought she was beautiful, and I could tell that she couldn't see that. Guys at school stare at her as she passes, but she never notices anyone, of course. Except for Gale. Anyone who knows either of them knows that if there wasn't anything going on between them now, there would be in the near future. I had to admit that I was jealous of him, more jealous than I ought to be.
My father helps Gale. He trades a squirrel for a fresh loaf of bread that I just made, which would bring down the wrath of my mother if she were there, but she was in the back room. I wondered who he was taking it to, where he was going this early in the morning, was he going to hunt with Katniss, and if she would be sharing my bread with him. I sweep the thought away.
He leaves and I make small talk with my brothers Lyca, who is in Gale's year in school, and Mykalie who is twenty. Lyca is going on about how he's been fortunate not to be picked in the reaping for the Hunger Games, and how he's glad that this is his last year in the tribute pool. My mother scorns him for this; she was the last Mayor's daughter, and was brought up to believe that it was an honorable way to die, in the Games. In reality, it is despicable, the fact that after the reaping, two families will go home with two less children.
The Hunger Games are our government's cruel way of telling us that they, the Capitol, are all powerful, and that they can do whatever they want to the twelve districts of Panem, even throw a boy and a girl from each district between the ages of twelve and eighteen into an arena to fight to the death for their entertainment. These Games are viewed by every citizen of Panem, not for entertainment, but to show them that everyone is expendable. That they can kill us all…
I dress in my nice clothes and comb my hair. It's one thirty when Mother calls me so that we can start making our way to the town Square. Once we're there, I take my place in the sixteen year-old section with the rest. I don't speak to anyone, but I am constantly looking for Katniss. I find her, walking her sister to the twelve year-old section, Primrose, I think, is her name, and she looks beautiful, even though this is such a sad occasion. On this day, we should all be wearing black.
Mayor Undersee recites the history of Panem, which I tune out. I look at the full reaping balls, and think of how many times my name is in it. Just four. Then I think of how many someone like Katniss has in there. In the districts, you can sign up for tessarae, which supplies each member of your family with a year's supply of grain and oil. Unfortunately, this means that your name goes into the reaping ball one more time for each member of your family, including yourself, after the collective years your name has gone in since you were twelve. I have never had to sign up for tesserae, because we have always had more than enough food, even if it was just stale bread. You can sign up as many times as there are members in your family, plus the one time that you have to every year. Katniss's name would be in twenty times. Her chances of not getting drawn weren't good.
Mayor Undersee finished the treaty. The only Victor 12 had ever had, Haymitch Abernathy, has just walked onto the stage, and staggers over to a chair that has been empty since the beginning of the reaping. To avoid further nationwide humiliation caused by our drunken Mentor, Mayor Undersee quickly introduces Effie Trinket, 12's Capitol escort. A petite woman in very high heels and a pink wig stands, and Haymitch gives her a hug which she barely comes away from. She skitters to the podium, wig slightly askew, and peals in that weird Capitol accent, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She says a small introduction, but otherwise, she wastes no time getting to the reaping. She starts with the girls. She digs in the large glass ball and draws her hand back out with a slip of paper. She reads it.
"The girl tribute for District Twelve is… Primrose Everdeen!"
A murmur of dissent emits from the crowd, as it always does when a twelve year-old is selected. I see Katniss through the crowd, calling Prim's name, and the sixteens make a path. She makes her way through the crowd to the steps, where Prim is standing. "I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!" She says. This is not a typical occurrence in 12, or hardly anywhere. I found more respect for her in that moment. I knew that my brother would never volunteer for me, and I would not for him either.
"Lovely!" Effie says. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one comes forth, then we, um…"
"What does it matter?" Chimes the Mayor. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."
Katniss climbs the stairs, and her sister screams. She turns to Prim and speaks to her. Gale comes to take her away. Once she's on the stage, I can't hear what Effie says to her, but she asks for a round of applause for our newest tribute. I lose hope for myself after that moment. She's as good as dead now. I hope with all my heart that she makes it home, not for my own selfish reasons, but for her sister's sake. Haymitch decides to congratulate her then, and staggers over to her. "Look at her! Look at this one!" He says. "Lots of… Spunk! More than you! More that you!" He points at the camera, and then promptly falls off the stage. Some Medics take him away on a stretcher.
"What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She crosses again to the boys' ball this time, and reaches in for a name. She comes back to the podium and reads off the name from the sheet of paper.
` "Peeta Mellark."
I realize that she has called my name, and my face hardens as I register what is to come. And who I may have to kill. Effie asks for volunteers, and there are none. Mayor Undersee reads the Treaty of Treason, but I don't listen. I think of the moment that led us to this, the moment where, had I not made the decision I did, Katniss Everdeen may have been dead, and I wouldn't have the potential circumstances to kill this beautiful girl. The girl that the birds stop whistling to hear sing…
I remember that night as I remember every memory involving Katniss, with unusual crystal clarity. My father was teaching me how to make a fruit and nut bread, and I was having a little trouble with it. I'd tried several times to perfect it, but I was just not getting it. I gave the other loaves away, unbeknownst to my mother, to families that lost members in the mine accident in which Katniss also lost her father. I hadn't seen her; otherwise, I would have forked over all the bread in the bakery if I could have, but the burnt loaves would have had to do if she came in.
I remember hearing my mother scream out the back door into the heavy rain, probably at some poor kid who just wanted something to eat, even if it was garbage.
"MOVE ON! GET OUT OF THE ALLEY OR I'M GOING TO CALL THE PEACE KEEPERS ON YOU!" She screamed. "I am so sick of having those brats from the Seam pawing through my trash!"
What she said caught my attention. The Seam? I had to look. Just to know. I stuck my head out the doorway and saw a starving Katniss Everdeen, her oversized jacket drenched from the rain. Mother went back inside, and I watched the oldest Everdeen girl, who had seemed so strong even though she was now the sole provider for her family, walk around to the other side of our pig pen, and sink to her knees. She looked tired, and weak, hollow, her cheeks and eyes were sunken from mal-nutrition. I had to find some way to help her if I could.
I went back inside to the smell of burning bread. I cursed myself for letting the two loaves blacken. But I realized that this was my way of helping Katniss. I took them out of the oven, and my mother started screaming at me. She hit me with the butt of her rolling pin. I felt the weal begin to rise immediately.
"No one decent will buy burnt bread, Peeta! Take it to the pigs." She told me.
I walked into the rain cradling the bread in my arms. Once I got to the pig pen, I looked back to make certain mother wasn't looking, and I tossed the first loaf, then the second, her way, and ran back inside. I didn't check to see if she had picked them up, but the next day I looked to see if they were still there, and they weren't. I'd gotten a black eye for a good reason. I saw her later, and shamelessly stared at her in the school yard. She looked better, healthier, just because of a loaf of bread, because of something that I did for her. The color was back in her cheeks. She met my eyes and I didn't look away. She blushed and looked down. She kneeled and picked what I think was a dandelion.
The Mayor finishes reading and I shake Fatness's small hand, wishing that the first time I ever held it could have been under very different circumstances. But it couldn't.