Chapter 1
"Dad, it's time." When I shook my father's shoulder, the nauseating smell of last night's campfire celebrations forced me to turn away. Normally, I would never dare wake him during one of his rare days off, but today was different. Wearily, I shook him a second time. "Dad, wake up."
His hand swatted at me as if I was a mosquito. "Go away," he said, scolding me with his deep, raspy voice.
"You told me to wake you 30 minutes before we had to go. It's 10 a.m."
An ominous groan emanated from my father as he reluctantly rolled onto his side. Shading his eyes from the light seeping through the ragged bedroom curtains, he squinted at me. "Thanks, son." Groaning, he rolled onto his back before covering his eyes with his pillow. "Do we have any eggs?"
"A couple," I replied. "I'll cook them for you."
"Thanks."
In the kitchen, as the single piece of toast rose from our dilapidated toaster, my father stumbled shirtless out the bedroom in a clean pair of work jeans. With a moist washcloth from the bathroom, he wiped his face a final time before washing behind his neck. He dropped the washcloth onto the corner of the table before taking his usual seat.
I set his breakfast plate before him. "We're out of jam. Do you want butter?"
"Sure. Coffee?" he asked.
"We ran out last Friday. I didn't have any money to go shopping this past weekend."
He sighed heavily. "We can go shopping after the reaping."
"Okay," I said, taking a seat at the table.
Swallowing a bite of eggs, my father studied me. "Did you eat?"
"No," I replied. "I'm too nervous to eat."
"You're always nervous," he muttered, shoving his next bite of eggs into his mouth. Swallowing, he reached for his water glass. "I never allowed you to take tesserae, just as I promised your mother. You only have six entries in the lottery compared to the 40 plus that most of the seniors have; you have nothing to worry about."
"I know, but it only takes one."
"Argh!" he retorted with a sneer. "You worry like your mother."
Silently staring off into the distance, I tried unsuccessfully to divert my thoughts to happier images of the future.
Once my father had finished breakfast, I took his plate to the sink and returned to the table with a sheet of paper to present to him.
"What's this?" He snapped the paper out of my hand.
"It's for summer school." I shoved my fidgeting hands into my pockets. "My biology teacher recommended me for the forestry program. The jobs are few, but if I do well, I may get one of the apprentice openings after I graduate next year. I just need a parent's signature."
My father dropped the paper onto the table. "No."
"Why?" I asked in a cautious tone.
"I arranged a summer job for you at the paper mill." He reached for the washcloth and wiped his mouth.
"But, the summer program will get my foot in the door at the forestry service. My teacher says that I have a good chance at—"
"No. You're going to work at the mill."
"But, dad—"
"No!" His hand slammed down on the table, catapulting the salt and pepper shakers onto their sides.
Wringing my hands, I took a step back from the table. "Why don't you like the foresters?"
With a deep breath, my father glared at me. "They're weak and useless, running around the forest with their little saplings, telling us what we can and cannot cut. All they do is get in our way."
"If we didn't have the foresters, you wouldn't have trees to harvest."
Face flush, my father pointed his finger at me. "You belong in the paper mill."
Staring at the floor, I mumbled, "You just want me out sight of your friends."
"Enough!" He stood from his chair. "Do you hear me?"
Glancing down at the paper on the table, I swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"Go on now." He gestured towards the door. "I'll meet you in the square after the reaping."
Feeling my face flush with anger, I snatched the paper from the table and rushed out the door.
When I reached the square located next to the Justice Building, most of the teenagers had already gathered and were chatting nervously in whispers. Around the square, worried parents and other relations began filling the remaining space.
To keep order, numerous Peacekeepers armed with black riot batons patrolled the crowd, their shiny white uniforms a constant reminder of the swift punishment that the slightest dissent could bring.
Signing in with the Capitol registers, I progressed to the row amongst the students that was reserved for 17-year-old boys and girls. I began searching for my friend Birch, noticing how glum everyone appeared, which was normal considering that the older students had their names entered significantly more than any of the first time 12-year-old's.
Spotting me first, my friend waved me over. "Hey, Pahl."
"Hey," I said solemnly, surveying the square.
On the roof of the Justice Building, I spotted a television crew adjusting one of the many cameras that surround the decorated square.
Birch motioned to the row of 18-year-olds before us. "Just think; next year, we'll finally be in the front row."
Biting my lip, I glanced over the senior class in silence.
Birch eyed me. "Is there something wrong? You're more upset than usual."
"My father won't let me attend the summer forestry program."
"That sucks," commented Birch. "Why?"
"He has a summer job lined up for me at the paper mill. I get to spend the hot summer rotting in the stench of pulp."
Dutch, a giant amongst the seniors, turned around. "You usually reek like the mill anyway, so you should fit right in."
Birch and I tried to ignore him, but when Dutch's friend turned to face us, we knew there was no escaping their ridicule.
Dutch tapped his friend on the shoulder. "It's probably best not to let either of these two near an axe since they'd split their foot in two. At most, they could sweep up the twigs once the men were through." Sneering, the senior waited for some sort of response, which rarely came from those who did not want a beating.
Despite the reddening of my face, I remained silent so not to provoke him further.
"What? Don't you girls have a brainy comeback?" Chuckling, he crossed his bulky arms.
A veteran of his beatings, I bit my lip and focused on one of the decorated banners hung from the Justice Building.
One of the other seniors pointed at us, chuckling. "They look as if they're about to wet their pants."
Dutch guffawed. "You're probably right. Maybe we should leave them alone; I'm in no mood today to get my boots wet."
Bursting through the wall of students, a Peacekeeper jabbed a riot baton sorely into Dutch's back, dropping the senior to his knees in pain. "No talking!" The guard held his baton high in the air for all to see. "Silence, all of you!"
Frowning, Dutch climbed to his feet and promptly turned forward towards the Justice Building, as did everyone else.
Once the Peacekeeper returned to his post in front of the senior class, Birch leaned towards me and whispered, "And they say there's no justice in this world."
Unsuccessfully resisting the urge to smile, my insides suddenly began to twist when I caught Dutch glaring at me over his shoulder. Oh crap, I thought. This jerk is going to haunt me until the day I die.
On a temporary stage set up before the Justice Building, the mayor came into view, closely followed by District 7's escort, Harmony, who was dressed in blazing Capitol purple with flamboyant hair to match. Lastly, Blight and Johanna, our two district victors, strutted onto the stage.
"There's Johanna," whispered Birch, ogling the victor. "What I wouldn't give to go on a date with her."
I leaned closer my friend to whisper. "Since winning last year's games, she barely leaves Victor's Village. And when she does, she scowls at everyone."
"I know. Her scowling is what makes her so hot. Did you see the boots she bought with her winnings? They almost go up to her knee."
Ignoring my friend, I watched everyone on the stage take a seat.
However, Birch remained focused on the female victor. "My brother sees her running in the forest every so often. He says that she exercises like a fanatic. If I had victor's money, I'd vegg out on my couch and get fat off pizza."
"She's the competitor type," I whispered. "She probably just wants to stay in shape."
The town clock chimed with a single tone, indicating that it was 11:30 a.m. On precise queue, the mayor rose from his chair and moved to a center stage microphone to begin reciting the history of Panem—as required at each reaping.
As the mayor dawdled on, I found myself drowning in stress, wanting to throw up. My fidgeting hand swatted a mosquito on my neck. Glancing around the crowd, I began to notice the many swatting hands and whispered to my friend, "They forgot again to spray for mosquitoes."
Birch swatted his arm. "Ya. The mosquitoes are having themselves a buffet today. It could be worse, at least it's not winter."
The harsh hush from a Peacekeeper cut through the stillness, and together, Birch and I turned our heads to find a riot baton pointed at us from the one who had just poked the senior. We promptly returned our focus to the mayor.
Finished with his speech, the gray-haired man next introduced Harmony before returning to his chair.
Brandishing her familiar stage performer's smile, Harmony eagerly stepped up to the microphone as if receiving a standing ovation from the eerily silent crowd. "How is my favorite district this fine morning?"
Of the thousands of people packed into the square, only Johanna was heard as she sighed loudly, shaking her head.
"Can District Seven win two years in a row?" Placing her hands upon her hips, Harmony paused to look back at her two relatively young victors before flashing her enthusiastic smile towards the crowd. "I don't see why not. There's something special about this district, and I'm not talking about mosquitoes."
Except for the occasional cough from old and infirm, the large mass of people remained silent.
"Well, it's time we find out. Ladies." Harmony strutted to one of two large glass bowls filled to the brim with folded white slips of paper. Plunging her hand into the girl's bowl, the escort removed a single slip.
This was when—as he did every year—Birch began to mumble inaudibly the names of all the girls that he did not want reaped—despite having zero chance at a date with any of them.
Personally, I wished that no girl's name was about to be read—even those who have been mean to me.
Returning to the microphone, Harmony smiled luminously for the cameras as she unfolded the slip of paper. From the surrounding loudspeakers, Harmony's voice boomed as she read aloud the name, "Maevery Aspen."
A woman in the surrounding crowd cried out as a collective gasp rose from students on the other side of the square. Ever so slowly, the surrounding teenagers began parting and the chosen girl began walking towards the stage.
When the traumatized girl reached open space, she began to stagger, triggering a female Peacekeeper to rush to her side. With assistance, Maevery Aspen made her way up the steps towards Harmony, who then guided the girl center stage.
Wrapping an arm over Maevery's shoulder, a zealous Harmony leaned the microphone closer to their mouths. "Hello, sweetie. Aren't you a doll."
"Hello," said Maevery with a weakened voice.
"You're dark hair is so lovely. It shines like mahogany."
From below, Birch and I watched in confusion as the escort winked peculiarly at the camera.
Despite the amplified loudspeakers, Maevery's voice was barely audible when she forced out a simple, "Thank you." Her pale face had reddened, and she began taking deep calming breaths.
"And now, in Hunger Games tradition, I ask the females before me: Do we have any volunteers who hunger for the honor of competing for District Seven?"
The town square remained motionless as none of the girls raised their hands.
Though I had never seen anyone volunteer, I began turning my head, wishing that someone would. I knew that I would feel just as bad for her replacement, but at least the tragedy unfolding before me would be the conscious choice of the volunteer.
"No?" said Harmony, smiling fervently. "Very well." The escort guided Maevery to the female tribute's spot on the stage and promptly returned to the center microphone. "Let us now discover who will be accompanying Maevery to the Capitol." Harmony strutted over to the boy's glass bowl and picked a random slip of paper.
As with my prior reaping, my hands began to shake. I shut my eyes and focused on my breathing. Balling my hands into fists, I began to wonder if the fear would ever subside. Will it ever end, I thought, thinking more of life in general.
The sound of Harmony unfolding the paper emanated from the numerous loudspeakers that surrounded the square. After a short torturous pause, Harmony's voice thundered over the space as she read aloud the name, "Dutch Fungee."
Relief flooded my body as various gasps rose from the nearby teenagers. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Birch's look of utter astonishment before he glanced up towards the sky, mouthing the words, Thank you.
Slowly, the kids parted as our lifelong tormentor began taking short steps towards the stage. A large Peacekeeper stepped up and began escorting Dutch forward onto the stairs, allowing the young man to climb up onto the platform on his own.
When the senior reached the top, Harmony gripped his arm and guided him to the microphone. "Well, look at you. With those muscles, I bet the trees shake in your presence."
Wide eyed, Dutch's face was drained of all its blood. When he opened his mouth, no words were spoken.
Ever the professional, Harmony did not let him suffer in silence and immediately addressed the crowd. "I ask the males before me: Do we have any volunteers who hunger for the honor of competing for District Seven?"
In the silence that followed, I could not help but stare at the ashen face of Dutch. His fear was palpable, and to my consternation, I found myself pitying him, for even bullies were not immune to this world's unquenchable thirst of worry and misery.
A blood-curdling scream erupted nearby, giving everyone a most frightful start—especially me. Then, almost in unison, my classmates turned to look at me. Did I just scream? I thought.
I turned to see Birch looking above my head and found my arm raised in the air. Stunned, I slowly lowered my hand, staring at my trembling fingers as dread flooded my body.