I stare at the vase of flowers on my dresser, a collection of brilliant blue forget-me-nots, only slightly brown after two days in my room. They should be called love-me-nots, considering they were given to me by Royal. I almost gag at the thought of him. His too perfect golden hair, neatly combed back. Pale skin from days spent indoors. Forget-me-not blue eyes.
If Daddy wasn't so determined I marry a nice, rich boy I would dump Royal in a second. He's too self-assured and self-centered and selfish.
Love-me-not is right.
The door softly opens and Marigold pokes her head in. Her blonde hair is just starting to frizz out, and under the dim lights of the house, it almost looks like a halo encircling her head. I pat the bed beside me, and she gallops towards me, bouncing a few times before settling in beside me.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
I smirk. "Thinking about Royal."
"Ugh. Why would you do that?"
"I was just looking at the love-me-nots he gave me." I say defensively as I unfurl my hair from its braid. I fluff it a few times with my fingers, relishing in the feel of soft golden locks against my fingers.
"Forget-me-nots, Maysi."
"What?" I whirl around again to face Marigold.
"They're called forget-me-nots." Marigold repeats slowly.
"Same difference." I mutter, shooting another glance at the blue flowers. The note from Royal is still hanging loosely around the neck of the glass vase, anchored there by a bright yellow ribbon. "Nervous about tomorrow?" I ask, eager to change the subject from my arranged relationship.
"A little bit. I know we probably won't get picked, but still. That boy a few years back got reaped, and his name was only in there two times." She sighs heavily. "I just wish we could get this stupid thing over with already."
I nod. I hate this time of year. Watching all those kids die is horrid. Sometimes, whenever the Games are going on, I have nightmares where I'm the one in the arena, facing the wrath of a bloodthirsty tribute. And this year it will be worse. For the Quarter Quell, the Capitol is reaping twice as many kids for the game which means twice as many will die and twice as many nightmares for me.
This is me and Marigold's fourth year of having a chance of getting reaped, but Marigold still gets close to tears whenever Viola Fox reaches her manicured hand into the huge glass sphere on reaping day. I slip my hands into Marigold's and stare at her until she looks at me with her wide innocent eyes. Even though we're twins I've always thought of Marigold as my little sister. She's too young and childlike to be anything else.
"We'll be all right. We always are." I tell her. She nods solemnly. I can see her rolling the words around in her head, extracting the minimal comfort promise. I just hope I'm right.
Marigold gives me a tiny smile before wrapping her skinny arms around me. "Thanks, Maysi." she whispers in my ear. We stay like that for a long time, leaning on each other and feeling the breath of our sister brush against our face. I stroke Marigold's hair in soft even brushes, separating tangles of hair with my fingers. We're always okay. This year won't be any different.
Finally, Marigold curls her arms back against her sides and bounces out my door, her blue eyes still worried, but less terrified.
"Night Maysi." she says.
"Night Marigold." I yell back, but she's already gone, trotting down the hallway to her room in her flowing white nightgown.
I swing my feet over the bed and walk to my door. As I reach out my arm to close it, my eye catches a flash of blue. The forget-me-nots. Love-me-nots. Whatever.
I stand there, staring, and think about all the people in my life. Little Marigold, our friend, the beautiful Daisy, that stuck up snob, Royal, Mom and Daddy. I wonder if they will all remember me once I'm dead and gone. I wonder if they're still love me. Or not.