Chapter One
"Hastings! Get back to work," hisses Mr. O'Donnell, the factory manager. He is staring down at me with his beady black eyes. I can see the sheen of sweat on his balding head. I can tell he doesn't enjoy his job. But the truth is, I like my job. When Panem split into separate districts last year, after the dark days, I got to choose which district we lived in. My brother was too ill. I chose district 8, because I'm used to working with clothing and textiles. Before ma and pa died in the rebellion, we used to work in a family run clothing store. I only think Noah agreed to live here because district eight's boundaries are very close to home. He's never been the same since our parents died.
I take a fleeting sip of water, and continue working on the jacket I am making. It is a dark crimson red and woven tightly. This jacket will not be destroyed easy. I continue working for a few hours until I see Noah's broad form shouldering its way through the crowd of workers. "Lucy," he says, "I got our paychecks. We can go for the day." Eagerly, I rip mine from his hands. The numbers are satisfying despite the fact that most districts are quite poor. I do nice work, and Mr. O'Donnell knows that. He's even told me that it would be a shame for me to ever leave the factory. That's okay with me, because I never plan to.
When Noah and I get home, I notice that there is a flyer taped to the door of our apartment. Most of the buildings were destroyed in the rebellion against the capitol. The people of Panem were not happy with the capitol's controlling ways, so we attacked. Sadly, they won, and we were forced into things called districts. Me and Noah are lucky to have a stable building to live in. I unlock the door, and Noah picks up the flier, scanning it carefully. When we are inside, he sits down on the couch, a crease in his forehead. "This isn't good." He mutters.
"What isn't?" I ask. Did he lose his job? We need the money…Is our house getting taken away? We can't move somewhere else…
"You know those things called the Hunger Games that the capitol invented for us?" he says.
"Yeah," I say, "I know the Hunger Games." Just a few weeks ago the capitol announced that they would be holding the Hunger Games, a sort of gladiator fight between children in an arena. They gave us the details, but my memory is fuzzy.
"Well the Capitol decided on how they are going to choose the tributes." Noah says.
"Oh, really?" I ask, nonchalant. Chances are they'll pick more equipped children to compete. Me and Noah are needed here in District 8.
"There's going to be something called the reaping. All the kids in the town from twelve to eighteen's names will be entered and picked at random. A boy and a girl."
I drop the plate I am holding. "Does that mean we'll be entered?"
Noah bends down to scoop up the shards of china that have shattered all across the floor. "Yes," he gulps, "It's tomorrow."
I stare at him blankly, not able to process what he just told me. All that flashes through my mind are images of me dying at the hands of another person. A child, like me, nonetheless. His eyes scan the official looking paper and he stares at me. Disgust is mirrored in his eyes. "Wear something pretty." And then he disappears into the other room and doesn't emerge again.
Sighing, I collapse onto the couch. I'm not going to get picked. It's not going to happen, I tell myself. There are thousands of people in district 8; I'm just one fifteen year old girl.
I start to fall into a troubled sleep, splayed out on the couch, when I hear a tap on the boarded windows of our apartment. I stand up, groggily making my way towards the door. When I open it, a shock of blonde hair shoots into the room. Before I can see who it is, they scream out. They must have stepped on a shard of the plate I dropped.
"Hello, Lucille," says the figure, which I now notice is a scrawny boy with wild eyes and tangled blonde hair. He is my age, and works at the factory with me. His name is Michael.
"Hello," I say, reaching behind me to grab something to hit him with.
"No, no, wait," he says, "I have something very important to tell you."
I raise an eyebrow, still contemplating hitting him with a vase and yelling out. He smiles, a wicked, gap toothed smile. For the first time, I notice he must have been injured in the dark days. "Ok, what is it?"
"Well a bunch of us are running away before the reaping. I assume you've gotten the note. We're gathering supplies, and we're going to escape out of the district and live there. Do you and Noah want to come?"
"No," I say, "I don't want to come." Little do I know it was the biggest mistake of my life.