Sunlight streams through the window of the small bedroom I share with Fawn. But I am reluctant to wake and leave the warmth of the covers.
"Fenna!" Fawn whispers.
"Yeah?" I whisper back. Neither of us want to wake our parents.
"Are you scared? For the reaping?"
"Not really," I lie. Fawn's only eleven. I don't want to scare her. I sit up.
"Me neither," she replies, but I can tell she's lying. Her body language is blatant. But Fawn is worried.
"Your name isn't in there at all. You're totally safe," I reassure her. But next year she won't be.
She nods. "But yours is in three times."
"Yes, it is." I stand up and open our wardrobe. Change of subject.
"What are you going to wear today?" I ask.
"I don't know." She pulls her covers back some.
"Didn't Mother finish making you your dress last night?" I pull out the pale pink dress from the closet. "Or is this one mine?"
She giggles. "It's mine." Fawn gets out of bed and takes the dress from me.
"This one must be mine, then." I smile, and hold out the green dress.
Fawn smiles. "I like the dots."
"Thank you." I unbutton my nightgown.
Fawn dresses behind me while I slip on my old dress. I still have work to do this morning. Work doesn't end on reaping day for me. In the factories, yes. But not here.
"Fenna-" Fawn waves her hand onwards the back of her dress. "Can you help me?"
I nod and zip up her dress. "Spin?" I ask.
She grins, ecstatic that she has a chance. Fawn twirls around, and the ruffles fan out before resting just below her knees.
"Want me to do your hair?" I ask.
She nods, and sits on my bed. I kneel behind her and braid the blond locks. She gets those from Father, and Mother claims that I get my red hair from her aunt. Maybe.
"Finished," I sing, and drop the braid over her shoulder. "Ready? I have to help Mother make breakfast."
Fawn nods. "Okay." She stands up and skips out of the room.
I sigh. Next year, Fawn won't be so safe.
I do have to help Mother make breakfast, but I have some time first.
The stairs creak as I make my way to the kitchen. My shoes would make no noise if it weren't for the old house.
I tie on an apron, and go out into the yard. I pick the vegetables that are growing, and look in the herb garden. The apothecary has to get its medicine from somewhere. We grow most of them, but some I gather from the meadow.
I fill my basket and take it inside to the storeroom. Returning to the kitchen, I hang up my apron.
Mother doesn't speak as I help stir the pot. Mornings never were her best time.
I sit down with my parents and eat breakfast. Our mornings are usually quiet, and today is like no other, reaping or not. It's not like I have to worry, but I still have the unsettling thought of being picked. I brush it aside, though, and return to my oatmeal.
I can't help but think of the children at the home, eating their oatmeal. But theirs is made from their tesserae.
It could have been me. A simple twist of fate, sending myself spiraling into the world unloved and unwanted.
But it wasn't me.
The reaping is at ten. The apothecary is closed today, and there's no schooling. Not that I would go. Schooling ends at twelve, and then you go to the power plants. Unless you have a job elsewhere, like my parents do. I joined them two years ago, and Fawn will too soon.
I gather up the wrapped package left on the apothecary counter. A girl from the home was here yesterday, asking for medicine for one of the sick children. Father prepared the brew last night, and I have to deliver it now.
It's chilly outside. I wish I had thought to bring my shawl, but it's too late now.
I approach the door of the home. The district seems melancholy, with fog over the horizon and no breeze. I knock, a solid sound on the hollow wooden door.
The door creaks open, and the same girl from last night opens it. "Oh, good, you're finally here. Wilda isn't getting any better." Her tone is annoyed, as if I took too long getting here.
I unwrap the medicine and hand the girl the small plastic case. "She's supposed to just eat it all now." The chunks of peanut butter mixed with the cough medicine rattle.
The girl snatches the container and stows it in her pocket. "How much do I owe you?" she asks, giving me a glare.
I'm confused as to why she's angry. I delivered the medicine, didn't I? "My father said that he'd come by after the reaping."
"If Wilda's still here, you mean."
I nod, but she throws more words at me before I have a chance to respond fully. "If the stupid tesserae hasn't killed her yet. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"I-"
"Get out!" The door slams in my face.
I'm still stunned by the encounter as I return to the apartment and dress for the reaping. The girl was brimming with anger and seemed ready to explode at me, for reasons I can't fathom. I search through my memory for any recollection of the girl.
The two auburn braids looked vaguely familiar, and I'm sure I'd seen her at the marketplace or somewhere. But it was something about those dark brown eyes.
Flashes of her fly through my mind, in the back of the school yard when I was nine, in the market when I was twelve.
And then it hits me.
Madelle Warrender.
How could I have forgotten?
I owe her everything.
"Come on, Fawn, the reaping is starting soon." My father's voice is stern.
She pouts. "Fine." Fawn puts her book down, and stands up.
My mind is still filled with thoughts of Madelle. She still remembers what happened last year, I'm sure of it. I still owe her.
And the girl, Wilda. Madelle's cousin. She doesn't have much to do with this, but she's the only family Madelle has.
We walk to the reaping in silence, and after we're signed in, my parents take Fawn and leave me to walk to my own section without a word. Not even a wish of luck. Are they so sure that I won't be picked?
The air is grim. No one speaks, not even those girls who would never stop talking when I was younger. It could be because of the peacekeepers surrounding us, but more likely out of fear.
The reaping progresses quickly, as it usually does. And then it comes to picking a name, and time seems to stand still.
This escort doesn't choose girls first, like some of the escorts do. Her name is Saria Stratos, and her most prominent feature is her golden-blond hair. But it looks natural, something unusual for Capitol citizens.
"Rift Wire!"
A tall boy walks up to the stage, hands in his pockets and head hunched over. He looks like he's resigned to his fate.
Saria walks over to the girls's bowl, and plucks out a paper slip.
"Wilda Loftwin!"
The air seems to freeze in my lungs. What were the odds?
Everyone seems to be turning towards the back. From two sections back, a stick thin girl emerges. She coughs, and slowly makes her way up to the front.
Madelle can't volunteer. She's nineteen, but she stayed on to help at the home. To keep an eye on Wilda.
It seems impossible, but Madelle is staring straight at me, from all the rows away. Her face is pleading, silently begging me.
And I know this is the only way I can ever make this up to her.
"I volunteer as tribute."
"Hey, Foxface." Madelle leans against the doorway of the room, arms crossed. It was her old nickname for me, before I started owing her.
"Why are you here?" I demand.
"Figured I ought to say thanks to you. You saved my cousin, after all."
"We're even now, I guess." I give a tiny smile, trying to keep the memory from rushing back.
"Yup." Her eyes glitter, and I know that I've gotten the worse end of the deal.
"Why didn't my parents come, then?"
"They looked pretty ticked off. Just grabbed your sister and left. She wanted to come and say goodbye, but they wouldn't let her."
The news comes at me like a punch in the gut. I didn't even get a goodbye before the reaping. Madelle's next words shock me even more.
"But that's to be expected, right?"
The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you remember? They thought that they couldn't have kids, so they got a kid from the home- you- and then had your sister later. I mean, you were a toddler then, but I'm sure they told you."
The look on my face betrays my thoughts.
"God. They never told you?"
I shake my head the tiniest bit. "No."
Her voice is sour, and I know her disgust is targeted at my parents. "Consider the knowledge a parting gift from me, then, Foxface."