A/N: I know this has been done a million times before, but this idea has been swimming around in my head for the better part of a week and I just had to hammer it out. I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know if you want to see more :D
Most people my age, when they don't know what to do, when they feel like the world has just randomly decided to stop liking them, go to their mom or dad. Maybe an older brother or sister. A grandparent. Aunt. Uncle. Maybe even a goldfish. They might even knock on a neighbor's door. Not me. Whenever I'm having trouble I always go to Esther. She always helps me sort myself out. Which is why I'm feeling especially nervous to break the news to her.
I drop slowly out of bed and slip into my boots, supple leather that's molded to my feet over the years. Nobody in the Seam has enough money for new shoes. As far as I'm aware my Grandpa Sooty wore these boots when he was a teenager like me. Not bothering to change, I hurry out of the bedroom and slip out the door.
I don't wake my mother before I leave just because I know how worried she'd be if she knew I was out and about on the Monday. The Monday. The day that peacekeepers are patrolling the streets three times as intently because rebellion springs up in the districts more than ever the week of the reaping. Not to mention their rewards for capturing rebels are far higher this time of year.
My sprint to Esther's house takes me within feet of the tall metal fence encircling District 12. In school we're always taught about the fence. It's designed to keep animals out, bla bla bla. Its curved structure somehow protects us from the dangers of the outside. But that fools nobody. There's nothing in those woods that a peacekeeper's gun couldn't take down.
I suddenly stop dead in my tracks, because there are alien footsteps. A dark worm of dread settles in my gut and terror trills through my veins, and I duck into the alleyway between two short slum houses, panting heavily. Do I take another peek? Do I dare?
Suddenly I can't control myself and I allow myself a short glance out of the alleyway.
"What're you doing down there, Haymitch?"
The crash of relief is so intense I actually let out a laugh.
"Really, what brings you out here?" Mr. Pick asks, holding out a helping hand. "The sun's hardly up in the sky."
"Nothing." He helps me to my feet. Mr. Pick's worn the same burlap apron every single day as far back as I can remember, and by now it's frayed or torn or patched virtually everywhere.
He raises his eyebrows. "Seriously kid, it's dangerous to be out this early. If a peacekeeper finds you, you're toast. Now skedaddle."
I turn to sprint away, but a low, gruff voice makes me pause dead in my tracks.
"What is this?" the peacekeeper shouts.
I whip around and find myself face-to-face with Peacekeeper Bristel, the head peacekeeper of District 12. Nobody without suicidal tendencies ever comes anywhere close to him. His eyes are as cold as ice and his mouth is set in a way that tells everybody he means serious business. Really serious business.
"Answer me or I'll shoot!" Bristel repeats. "Minors out before seven without an adult are punishable in the highest regard. Explain yourself!"
"He was with me," Mr. Pick says.
"You're lying," Bristel barks. "You've not got a wife and I know this kid. Abernathy, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
Bristel chuckles, humming smugly to himself. "Abernathy, Abernathy. I've got more than just a bone or two to pick with you. It turns out the fingerprints on that stolen bread didn't come from nowhere, did they?"
It's as though I've been punched in the gut. I'd gone through every effort not to get caught in that scheme. I hate stealing from my friends and neighbors but it's literally the only way to survive in these parts of 12. Everyone here is out for themselves. We'll do anything to survive, live, gain another day.
I eye Mr. Pick, hoping he understands I've got this under control.
All I do is reach into my pocket and pull out the gold locket. Bought from the merchant's area for an entire month's salary. My mom would kill me if she knew where all of my salary was really going, but I have to give Esther something substantial to remind her of me after I leave.
Bristel laughs. "And I suppose that was stolen too? I'll get a pretty handsome load of cash for turning you in."
But I know how greedy these peacekeepers are and I know this is my only chance of escape. I hold the locket close to his face, and he stares greedily at the gold before finally snatching it out of my hand. He turns it over a few times, grinning. Then he stares back at me and his gaze turns back to ice.
"Get out of my sight."
I don't wait for him to change his mid.
Esther is a girl who likes to kiss. Really likes to kiss. The kind of kiss where it feels like she's trying to pull your face off.
"I need… to tell you something," I choke out.
"Just five more minutes," she says, pressing her lips against mine for the millionth time.
"I've been thinking…."
That makes her pull away. "What?" she demands.
"I've been thinking that… maybe we should break up."
Esther looks more than a little peeved. "What? Why?"
"My mom just got this big promotion. For being extra cooperative in the mines or something, I dunno. We might be moving to the merchant's district sooner than later."
"So you think we should break up?" Her eyebrows twitch, and flecks of spit fly from her mouth. "Well, I think we should break up!" She storms into her bedroom. "Bye, bye, see you later, won't be missing you."
The thing that's always confused me most about girls is the way they can go from adoring somebody more than life itself to hating them in five seconds. That, and the way they form impenetrable chat circles. But that's irrelevant.
"Haymitch! Over here! I saved you a seat!"
Carlo holds up his hand, smiling. I smile back and walk over the table, sitting down on the old wooden chair that probably hasn't been replaced since the Dark Days. Carlo's just as thin as everybody else in District 12, and he's so tall and lanky that he looks like a scarecrow. Lunch started five minutes ago and he's already devoured his small helping of cheese and bread.
"So I heard you and Esther broke up," Carlo says.
I nod. "I just didn't think we were working out. And besides, you know that I might be moving…"
"Hey, Carlo, you look great today," someone says.
Maysilee Donner is literally the prettiest girl I've ever seen and that's saying something. Her long, golden-blonde hair tumbles in waves down her back and her skin is as clear as porcelain.
"You look fine, Maysilee," Carlo says. "How've the flowers been?"
"The usual," she says, making a face. "The coal dust keeps killing them. One or two lilies managed to blossom, though. Precious ones, those were. We could've made ourselves millionaires by charging the neighbors to come see them."
"Ahem!" a different voice coughs.
It's Esther. And she's not happy.
"So you think she's pretty, do you?" Esther fumes. "Come on, answer me."
"I guess so," I respond. "I already told you, we're done for. I'm sorry. It was nice knowing you and being your boyfriend. But I don't really have a choice."
"Don't really have a choice!" Esther repeats mockingly.
"Calm down, Esther!" Maysilee warns. "What's this all about?"
The two girls start away bickering. Then it's just me and Carlo and the rest of the staring cafeteria. The cafeteria is even more silent than they normally are when they're staring. Everyone is quieter around games time. And everyone is even quieter when a Quarter Quell is coming up.
"Any thoughts on the twist?" I ask quietly, deciding to change the subject.
"Don't talk about the games in here," Carlo, says, shivering. "But, if you don't mind me asking… how many times is your name in this year?"
I have to count. At the age of sixteen I have a total of five entries by default. Ten extra entries for the tesserae I've taken for myself and my mother makes fifteen.
Carlo says he has twenty-four, and I don't know how to respond. I don't know how to do anything but apologize and tell him how bad I feel for him.
Carlo shrugs. "It's just a fact of life in Panem. Nothing to say or do about it."
"Yanno, I really like you," I say, finishing my crust of bread. "Who's your partner for the history project?"
"Rachel Hansel," he answers, making a face. "You?"
"Maysilee."
"Lucky," he sneers. There are a few moments of silence and then the lunch bell rings.
"They'll be announcing the twist tomorrow, right? The day before the reaping?" Carlo asks.
I nod slowly, sadly. "Good luck, Carlo."
"Good luck, Haymitch."
We go our separate ways.