After my initial shock wears off, I stupidly look around to see everyone else's reactions. Most girls just simply look relieved that it's not them, but Hallie and Rose are giving me sad looks that have some horror mixed in. Good to know I have some true friends; of course I would figure that out when I've just been sentenced to death.
I see the peacekeepers coming towards our section because I haven't moved yet and with a deep breath I force myself to unglue my feet from where they very much want to stay glued and with an almost mechanical motion, walk towards the stage, all else blurred other than Effie's smile that is way too happy for me (understandably so under the circumstances) that I would love to rip off her face. But I can't; not because that would be horrible for me and probably mother and grandfather, but because I physically can't make myself speak right now, let alone do anything other than will myself to just get up on that stupid stage and not cry.
When I finally make it up there, I freeze in place again facing the crowd this time, focusing on not my house that I can see easily from this vantage point, not my family or my friends, but the Capitol seal sign that hangs across from the stage on one of the roofs of a square house, trying to make myself angry instead of sad at it so that I don't come off as weak. Sure I could just give up now and accept my fate as a bloodbath, but I don't want that. In fact, the very idea of giving into my death makes me want to cringe. Gristles don't give up; we move on, live for the future. So that's the attitude I want to go in with, not an easy kill.
I'm so caught up in my trying not to cry and steeling myself to make my family proud of who I will most likely die as (as horrible as that seems but probably true) that I completely miss the boy's name. It's not like it really mattered to me anyway since no one I really know well or particularly like is in the boy's bowl, but I should at least try to get to know who they are if they're going into that stupid arena with me. I glance over and I'm sort of relieved if not that surprised that it's a Seam boy, one that looks around my age though I don't recognize him. While I don't have a boyfriend and I don't particularly like any of the merchant class boys, I do know most of them pretty well simply because us town people in general stick to each other and they're my neighbors. It's easier not knowing them initially.
The mayor does his speech and I tune it out once again until he gets near the end and I know I have to do the traditional handshake. I finally get a good look at the Seam boy, and it turns out he's pretty normal looking for a Seam boy other than the fact that he's taller than most I've come across. He holds out his hand for me to shake with a determined to not look scared expression on his face (probably a lot like mine) and his hand is surprisingly firm and warm as we acknowledge each other as competitors.
After that I let go and Effie says excitedly into the microphone, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the District 12 tributes for the 81st Hunger Games, Nelia Gristle and Shane Daley!" Shane huh? Well at least I know his name now and we won't have to have that awkward conversation. I could have just seen it now; Hi I'm Nelia. Hi I'm Shane. Too bad we have to try to kill each other when we just met. Yeah, sucks doesn't it? Yeah…not the best introduction, but it's the Hunger Games; there really isn't anything good about it.
Shane and I are lead into the Justice Building and despite everything I feel like I can relax a little bit. At least there aren't cameras in here to pretend for and no one that will come to visit me will care if I cry. Heck, they're probably expecting it. I'm by myself in this ridiculously elaborately decorated room (seriously? I didn't know that silk existed in District 12. The only reason I know what silk looks like is from watching past Hunger Games and the designer specials that I watch every now and then when I'm extremely bored) for a few minutes until the door opens for mother and grandfather. Mother immediately takes me to her and crushes me to her, which isn't normal but I understand why. Dad died 11 years ago; Teddy died four years ago. I'm all she has left of our family and I've just been reaped in the Hunger Games with one of my six insignificant slips that didn't escape the perfectly manicured hands of Effie Trinket; affection like this only makes perfect sense. Mother doesn't really talk, she just holds me to her for a while and I let her, finally allowing some tears to fall on her dress. When she lets me go to say goodbye to grandfather, he shakes his head at me.
"Stop crying Nelia; you're a Gristle." he says gruffly. With one sniffle I wipe away my tears with my hands, drying them on the back of my dress where it will be less noticeable to the cameras.
"George…" my mother says harshly, but he ignores her wishes to just let me be.
"No Rooba, she's a Gristle and she won't forget that, now will you?" he turns to me, and with a deep breath I nod.
"Good." He huffs back. "Win or die a Gristle, Nelly. Remember that."
"I will. I promise." I say, hoping my red eyes will clear before I leave this room. The peacekeepers come then and they both tell me good luck and that they love me before the door slams shut. Be a Gristle. I tell myself, Don't you dare cry. Be a Gristle, Nelly.
Somewhere in the middle of my mantra the door opens again and it's Hallie and Rose. Both of them are crying which doesn't help me any but I steel myself to be strong and I'm content when I do. It helps not to look directly into their watery eyes; instead I focus on the spaces between their eyes so that it appears I'm looking right at them even if I'm not. They hug me and tell me good luck even though it's clear that they don't believe I'm coming back, but I can't find it in myself to blame them. If it was one of them in my spot I would feel the same way so it's a bit hypocritical to get mad at that. And anyways, they don't really know what being a Gristle means so they don't know that I'm going to try my dang hardest and I refuse to be a bloodbath. If there's anything at all I can partially control, it's that. I can either run like mad without going for the Cornucopia or I can risk it and grab something little like a backpack or something. I am a pretty fast runner at school during gym class, so perhaps that will help. I can try to make myself invisible all week so I can disappear under the Career packs watching, murderous intents.
After they leave I sit back and close my eyes on the velvet couch, knowing I'll be just waiting here for a while until they come get me for the car that will bring me to the train. But about five minutes later I'm utterly surprised out of my state when the door opens. I have another visitor? Who? I thought for sure I was done after my family and Hallie and Rose.
It turns out to be the baker of all people. I mean sure we get bread from the Mellarks every so often, but it's certainly not enough for him to feel comfortable or obligated to come say goodbye to me after I was reaped. I look up at him in confusion and he gives me a sad smile before handing me a package. I peek inside and to my surprise find about a half dozen cookies.
"Thank you." I say gratefully if not still confused, "But what are these for?"
He gives me another weak smile before confessing sadly, "I have given all the tributes cookies during their visiting hours ever since…well ever since the year after my son was reaped."
"Oh." Is all I can reply. His son…that was the year that Katniss, my mentor was reaped. And died. I vaguely remember it, how at the interview he confessed his love for her but she was already in a relationship with her mentor, Gale. The confusion and excitement of not knowing and then knowing was better than the Games everyone here thought. Everyone was so happy for them, but this is one person who probably isn't. After all, it was his son that loved her. It was his son who probably had some sort of shot had Gale not already chosen to save his girlfriend instead. Seeing them happily married with a child must not be the greatest thing for the baker to think of. It makes me sort of impressed with him that he would still do this kindness for their tributes every year.
"Thank you so much." I say gratefully again. It's the least I can do.
