My hand shakes as I finish locking up the house. The deadbolt clicks shut and I look out the front window checking on the storm rolling in. I bite my lower lip as I methodically double check that all the windows are secure and the back door is locked. Storms didn't always make me this nervous. There used to be a time when I'd curl up in a blanket with my twin sister Megan and listen to the ghost stories our father would tell us by the fire place until we fell asleep as the thunder rolled through and lightning cracked. Every morning we woke up side by side in our bed, content and happy. Those days ended five years ago when Father left to go fishing. Nick Vandermill, a district four tribute had just won the 8th Hunger Games and everyone was full and relaxed. My father let his guard down. He was several hundred feet from shore when we lost sight of him. In old folk songs they say how angry and vicious the ocean can become during storm season. I never believed them. How could something so beautiful be deadly? I was wrong. Mother passed away from a broken heart five months after his death. Megan and I were thirteen. We sold the fishing gear and boat to buy supplies for making nets. They don't sell very well, but it's always put food on the table. Weaving nets is one of the few things Megan can do better than me even though her sight is severely impaired. When we were little her sight started to deteriorate. Every year it's gotten worse, and now she can just make out shadows and the shapes of objects.
"Marguerite?" She calls, just as I enter our room.
"Yes?" Her head turns to me at the sound of my voice. My fear increases; she only calls me by my full name when she's terrified. Her eyebrows crease in a tense frown. Her lips are pressed together in a white line.
"How bad does it look out there?" She whispers.
"Not very bad," I lie. "Why don't we go to sleep? It's getting late."
She lies down and closes her eyes as I turn out the lamps. I'm about to change out of my work clothes when I hear a knock at the door. Megan immediately sits back up.
"What was that?" she whimpers.
"I don't know. I think someone's at the door. I'll be right back."
I walk through the living room to the front door grabbing my pocket knife along the way. I peek out the window, but I can't see who's outside. There's a second knock and I open the door. Standing in the threshold is Bobby Whitmore. He used to swim with Megan and I when we were younger. He's soaked to the skin and holding what looks like all of his diving gear.
"May I come in?" he asked. His manners are still perfect. I guess some things never change.
"Of course, of course," I tell him as I usher him in, "Let me get you a towel."
When I come back a few minutes later with a few towels, blankets, a pillow, and an old set of my fathers clothes, he's still standing in the door way. "You're welcome to stay the night on the couch, you know."
"That's okay. I'll leave in a few minutes once I catch my breath."
The thought of being stuck out in a storm like this makes my blood run cold. I think of my father. "No! Really, I insist."
He must see some thing in my eyes because he takes the bundle I offer him and lets me take his wet gear to the kitchen. I set all of his gear on a layer of towels on the table. When I come back he's changed. I take his wet clothes and make my way for the door.
"Good night then Maggie."
"G' night Bobby."
"Who was at the door?" Megan mumbles once she hears the door click shut, somehow already half asleep.
"Bobby. He was caught in the, um… the weather."
"Really?" she's wide awake now, "You didn't let him go back out there did you?"
"Of course not. He's staying on the couch until morning."
"How did he look? Was he okay?" Any fear from earlier has been washed away by concern for Bobby. They used to be best friends before he started working long hours with his father. Bobby is the mayor's son, and most of the district believes that one day he'll take his father's place.
"He looked a little tired, but healthy enough," I inform her as I hang up his damp clothes on coat hangers. She makes an impatient noise under her breath. "He'll still be there in the morning you know." She sighs and turns over, but soon I hear her breathing become rhythmic and even. I leave the room we normally share and sleep in our parents' old bedroom. Most night's I don't dream, but if I fall asleep during a storm I can almost count on having a harsh nightmare, and I don't want to wake up Megan. I fall asleep to the sound of rain beating on the roof and thunder in the sky.
In the morning I wake up to the smell of eggs frying. At first I think it must be a dream because I haven't had breakfast made for me in years, but then I remember Bobby. I quickly twist my hair up into a tight bun and throw on some work clothes before heading down the hall to the dining room. When I walk in I'm stunned to a stop. Together Booby and Megan look so much like my parents, it's breath taking. Other than a small birth mark on my neck and my callused hands Megan and I look identical. Dark brown hair curls in soft waves loosely down to her waist. Her face is composed of delicate features; high cheek bones accent her light blue eyes and the dusting of freckles across her nose. She's the spitting image of our mother as she throws her head back, laughing with her whole body at something Bobby said. I smile; it's been a long time since I've heard her laugh like that. My eyes shift to Bobby, who's still wearing my father's old fishing clothes. He looks a lot like Father did, except he's a few inches shorter, putting him about a head taller than me. His fair skin, dark blond hair, and rich brown eyes that light up when he smiles haven't changed over the years.
I step loudly on a particularly creaky board so Megan knows I'm here. "There you are! Just in time for breakfast too," Megan says, turning in my general direction.
As I walk into the kitchen I get a whiff of the eggs. They're smothered in cheddar cheese and smell heavenly. Wait. I didn't buy any cheese at the market. "I didn't know we had cheese." I say causally.
Megan blushes faintly. "Oh, Bobby and I went into town and picked it up earlier."
I repress a sigh. "Well, how much was it? I'll pay you back for it," I tell him. I cringe inwardly knowing how little is left of our savings and how expensive fresh cheese is. I set my jaw. The Boulets have never taken charity and we won't begin to today.
"It's okay, really. It's the least I can do after you let me stay here last night."
I try to protest, but he won't hear it. Finally, I concede and set the table. The gooey cheese makes the eggs perfect. The omelet melts in my mouth and I try to savor it. After breakfast Bobby and I do the dishes while Megan finishes the mending from yesterday.
"You know, Megan and I were talking, and if you want, I can take you two out for a row boat ride. The weather's going to be perfect. It's like the storm cleanses it." Bobby offers with a lopsided grin. Megan and I both wince when he says the word storm. I hesitate to answer thinking of all the work I have to do later.
"Please Maggie? Just a short ride?" Megan folds her hands and sticks out her lower lip like she used to do when she was a little girl.
"Thank you, but I have a ton of work to finish," I say. Megan's face sinks. "But, if Megan wants to go I don't see why not," I say with a grin.
"Thank you Maggie! You're the best!" Megan says as she hugs me.
"Just be careful, and remember to wear a life jacket," I whisper as I hug her back. She makes her way back to our room, presumably to get a light jacket incase it's still cold on the ocean.
"Bobby?" I ask. He turns from drying his hands off.
"Yes?"
"Be careful with my sister."
Bobby's arm wraps around my sister's waist lightly guiding her down the street to a small row boat tied to the end of the dock. I'd feel better if she took her walking stick, but the dock isn't far, and I trust Bobby to take care of her. I sigh and start to make my way into town. Our nets haven't been selling well and I've been carefully keeping track of the spending, but we've been losing money. I glance back at my twin sister one more time before trying my luck down town with odd jobs and selling the nets.
The next few weeks pass in the same way. Bobby has started working night shifts and Megan does her chores by lamplight. Every morning she gets up early to carefully do her hair and get ready. Bobby picks her up and they go for their boat ride. Every evening they come home later and later. I'm a little suspicious at first and eventually my curiosity gets the better of me. One night when he brings her home I glance out the window and see him kiss her good night. It was just a peck, but it's nice to know that Megan has some romance in her life. She locks the door behind her in a minute when she comes in.
"How was the water?" I ask trying to hide the amusement in my voice.
"It was fine," she says as she blushes.
I go back to working on our budget, and furrow my brow. I've quit eating breakfast lately to save on the grocery costs, but we're still losing money on the nets.
"How would you feel if we cut back on buying net supplies? They haven't been selling well and the materials are expensive," I say as I look up from the math I'm doing on the back of my homework. Megan doesn't go to school, but on Sundays I try to make time to teach her what I've learned.
"What ever you think is best," she replies, concerned but letting the subject drop. She knows how stressful the budget can be. I crunch numbers for another hour before going to bed with a splitting headache.
The next morning I'm up before the sun and headed down to the ship yard to work on what odd jobs I didn't finish yesterday. The sweet tang of the ocean hits me and I grin from ear to ear. My Father and I were always the same when it came to the ocean. When I was little he used to tell me that salt water ran through my veins, that I was part fish.
The work is gross and tedious but it pays. By the time I'm done cleaning fishing gear and repairing nets and rods the fishermen have come in with last night's catch and it's time to sort and gut fish.
"Maggie Boulet, it's almost nine o'clock. Shouldn't you be in school?" I jump as if caught doing something illegal and turn around to look up into the dark blue eyes of Alexander Tarleton, the victor of last year's Hunger Games.
"Shouldn't you?" I counter, trying not to sound defensive. Working down here usually isn't so bad because normally the men don't question what I do. My work is as good as anyone's. I'm strong enough and it doesn't matter that I'm a girl doing a man's job. He raises an eyebrow at me.
"I'm eighteen. Besides, I help teach the lessons in the old part of the school." The school in district four is shaped like an "L". The longer part is a school for learning about basic math, Panem history, and different professions in the district. The smaller, older part is used as a training center for kids between the ages of eleven and eighteen for the Hunger Games.
I roll my eyes. "As if you never skipped school once in a while," I reply with as much confidence as I can muster.
Alexander has dark hair, broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and stands about six feet tall. He's not exactly someone you want to pick a fight with. Not only is he strong but he's widely famous for his good looks. He has half the girls in the district wrapped around his finger. Even capitol women fawn over him.
He doesn't respond right away so I turn around and go back to my chore. "Of course I did, but I was never covered in fish guts," He says it matter-of-factly. He states this without any malice, but it still gets to me.
I spin back around to him and glare at him. "Not all of us are so fortunate. Some us have to work for a living," I spit through my teeth. I don't mean to be bitter, but it's just not fair. I'm skipping meals and working from dawn to dusk just barely making end's meet and he's criticizing me for what I do while playing hooky? You've got to be kidding me.
He stares back at me never breaking eye contact.
"Do you want to go somewhere with me?" He asks out of the blue. My eyes narrow. Was this a joke?
"Where to?" I ask, hating how suspicious I sound.
"If I told you it wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?" He says with a mischievous grin that makes my heart beat faster.
"Give me an hour to finish this," I say. He nods and walks down to one of the big boats that just came in and begins to haul nets of fish in. Why would someone as rich and famous as Alexander be doing manual labor with some of the poorest people in the district? Maybe I'll ask him in an hour.