I shivered against the cold and reached my hand to the back of my head to check that my long black hair was staying in its bun. I felt one of the girls squashed up next to me shiver too and stepped a bit closer to her since she wasn't very well dressed for the weather. I felt my worn tennis shoe squash in the mud and scooted it out of the puddle it was in, not wanting to get it wet. Of course, most things in the square were wet because of the light drizzle of rain. I smelled the faintest traces of coal dust and looked around the square at the faces of my District, District 12.
I studied the sea of female faces surrounding me, all in the age range of twelve to eighteen, then across at the boys. There were three figures on the makeshift stage in the middle of the square, two men and a woman. The woman was short and squat, reminding me a bit of an unripe tomato with her sickly green skin and lime green hair. Her clothes were flashy, a bright pink sequined jumpsuit, and she looked freezing cold just like the rest of us, but that is just about the only likeness we shared. She came from the Capitol; she was barely human to me. I watched her twitch, making her sequins glitter in the dim sunlight. As if anyone would care, I certainly don't. I would never understand Capitol people.
Next I glanced at our District's mayor, Elias Seymour. He had a tired and slightly pained look on his face as he scanned the crowd, rubbing his balding head. I saw a few pieces of grey hair get caught by the wind and fly off, straight into the woman's face. She looked a lot less than impressed. Mayor Seymour was dressed in his finest suit, with only a few patches on it. I couldn't imagine anyone from the Seam ever being able to afford that suit, but then again, I can barely imagine anyone from our district being able to afford it.
I looked at the man sitting next to him and cringed. It was none other than Michael Hanns, the only tribute from our District to ever win the Hunger Games. He was grinning eagerly, rubbing his stubby goatee. Even he'd dressed up for the occasion, wearing one of his finest grey dress shirts and some black slacks. I saw a glint and his eye and followed his gaze towards the crowd of 16 year olds. I knew there was one thing Michael liked in the world, and that was woman, preferably young. From my vantage point in the crowd of fifteen year olds I could see there was one girl in particular he was staring at, and I immediately saw why.
I quickly glanced away from her, not wanting to be caught staring and instead rested my gaze on my family. I saw my two younger sisters clutching my mother's hand, and my father had his arm wrapped around her waist. Miriam, only six, was ghostly pale and I could see her shivering from the cold. Josephine, Miriam's ten year old protector, pulled her close to warm her from the bitter cold. I smiled at my sisters, but they didn't notice.
The woman stood up and approached the podium they'd set up on the makeshift stage, tapped the microphone twice, then cleared her throat, ready to begin. "My name is Tiffany Deal," she said in a lofty voice "And I'd like to welcome you to the reaping of the 20th annual Hunger Games!" she said it in a way that made her sound genuinely excited and waited for a cheer that never came. Her static smile faltered a bit at having been denied by the crowd, but she continued on with the ceremony anyway. I zoned out a bit, not really focusing on the words the cheery voice was saying, but more on the sound of it. Then I heard my name.
"Hailey Winston!" Tiffany's voice called, and she looked around, grinning like an idiot. The crowd parted in front of me and I mechanically walked towards the stage, dazed, unable to feel any emotion at all. Tiffany's eyes looked over me quickly, then returned back to the slip of paper she held in her hand.
"Any volunteers?" she asked, and I prayed under my breath someone would. The square became icily silent except for the sound of soft crying which I could see was from my mother. My sisters looked as stunned as I felt. How had my name, only entered three times, been chosen from hundreds, maybe thousands? I had never signed for tesserae; my father was a butcher and provided everything we could want for us, so how come my name had just been drawn? Tiffany soon decided no one was going to volunteer and moved on to picking the next tribute, shoving her hand into the reaping ball and holding the slip of paper with a name of it aloft like a surgical instrument.
"Kyle Ginger!" she called, and we watched him approach the stage. I had never seen him before, or so I recalled. He was handsome, with dark hair and brown eyes. His hair reached halfway down the back of his neck, but was cut in a side fringe on the front. His eyes weren't a plain, boring brown, but a deep and rich colour. He was obviously strong, and looked like he'd been toughened by a life in the Seam. He came to stand next to me and studied me for a moment, then gave me a disapproving look. Tiffany called for volunteers and was met with silence once again.
They continued on with the rest of the reaping but I didn't pay attention, instead I was in shock, and occasionally glanced at Kyle. He looked out at the crowd with steely determination; I could tell he was ready for whatever the games had to throw at him. Eventually the reapings were wrapped up and they led us off to the Justice building for us to say our final goodbyes.