The sky was bright and the sun was shining when I woke. I stretched and sat up, rubbing my eyes with my fists. I breathed in slowly. My chest still felt heavy. I stood and crossed my room to the window that overlooked the backyard. I could see the woods and the hills in the distance. Birds sang outside my window and the only remaining evidence of snow was a large puddle that had collected in the yard and created something of a swamp. Dad opened the door at that moment, a tray of food in his unsteady hands. "You're up," he said, surprised. "I thought you'd be sleeping."

I shrugged, returning to bed and pulling the tray towards me. I picked at the food, not feeling hungry. "There are people here who would do anything for a decent meal. If you're not going to eat it, I'll give it to them," dad muttered in a gruff voice from the corner.

I slowly made my way through the plate, trying to keep my stomach settled as I ate. "How long has it been," I asked as I downed a spoonful of oatmeal.

"About a week," he replied, sipping from a flask and returning it to his pocket.

Dad slumped into an armchair near the window, his eyes starting to flutter. He'd been drinking more than usual the last few weeks. By the time I was finished with my breakfast, he was snoring lightly. I picked up the tray and took it down to the kitchen, making my way slowly down the stairs as I felt shaky and weak. The kitchen was a mess; dishes piled up in the sink and dirty clothes strewn over the table. Dad usually didn't get around to cleaning when I was sick. He spent most of his time sitting in the armchair near my bed, drinking or sleeping. It was comforting to have him there, even if he did wake me up when he moaned and mumbled while he slept.

Mrs. Everdeen came around that afternoon, dropping off the last of the medicine. There was only a handful of people in the entire district who could even afford it. Though it wasn't particularly expensive in itself, by the time it was ordered and shipped from the capital, the price was high. Dad paid a small fortune every time I fell ill, and I was lucky to have it. Lung disease was bountiful in district twelve, from the miners who slowly suffocated with every breath before reaching middle age, to the kids choking on the residue from the mines. It was common for kids in district twelve to suffer from this sort of illness. "Weak lungs" was what Mrs. Everdeen always called it. It was what I'd suffered from since I could remember.

I returned to school several days later. I was tickled pink when nothing of my apology to Innis was mentioned. I couldn't help but smirk when I saw him next, and he stayed well clear of me. He wouldn't admit that he was scared of me, though. He told everyone that I was messed up in the head, but I didn't really mind. The school year was coming to an end and the other kids wouldn't pick on me. All anyone could think about was the most dreaded time of the year.

Reaping day.

It was this time that I became the center of attention at school, the other kids asking me all sorts of questions about my dad. But I didn't have much to say. I wouldn't have told them anything even if I did.

I'd only asked dad about his time in the hunger games once. He grunted that he'd tell me someday when I was older; it wasn't appropriate for someone my age. I saw snippets of the second quarter quell on television when dad wasn't paying attention, but he always turned it off when he realized what was being broadcasted.

The other kids probably knew even more than I did. They certainly heard enough about my dad from their parents. None of the wealthier children were allowed to come to my house and play, and most of the others were afraid of him. Kids from the seam were sometimes willing to visit, but only if they were invited to eat dinner with us. I supposed I should be upset that I was avoided like the plague, but I didn't mind. I was used to it. Dad was good enough company, and sometimes he'd play cards with me if he was in a decent mood.

One evening, a week before reaping day, I asked him where I was going to stay while he was in the capital. Most years dad would find someone to look after me for the duration of his trip. Last year I stayed with the Undersee's. They were nice enough, but it drove me crazy when they panicked every time I left the house without telling someone where I was going.

We were sitting at the table in the kitchen, a checkers board laid out between us. "You're coming along," he said as he claimed one of my pieces.

I perked up at that. I'd only been to the capital twice before: once when I was too young to remember, and again when I was five. Dad only brought me along when he couldn't find anyone to take me in. I had a good time there, despite spending most of the trip in the district twelve apartment. I got to eat lots of fancy foods and meet some of dad's friends. The closest thing to a friend that he had here in district twelve was Ripper, and he only saw her when he needed more liquor.

Dad was blackout drunk leading up to reaping day, only waking to eat occasionally and use the bathroom. He didn't shower, and he reeked of alcohol. I took care of myself, making sandwiches and finding ways to amuse myself and pass the time.

The last day of school was no celebration. When class was finished, kids left quietly. You'd find more cheer in a graveyard. Most of them were worried about their brothers and sisters who were old enough to be reaped. Others, like Innis, would be experiencing their first reaping this year.

"Helmand, wait for me!"

I turned, surprised to hear someone call my name. Olive rushed out of the schoolyard and joined me as I headed down the street. "How are you, I heard you were sick again," she asked in a slightly breathless voice.

"I'm fine," I muttered.

"That's good," she said as she matched my pace.

Olive was the tallest person in our grade, despite the fact that she was from the seam. Thin as a rail, her grey eyes sparkled and her skin practically glowed in the sun. Her dark, unruly hair was at odds with her otherwise well kempt appearance, which was something of an accomplishment in a place where almost everyone, even merchants kids, had some degree of soot on their person. It was common consensus that she was the prettiest girl in school. She wasn't popular, though. Her father had badly broken his leg in a mining accident, and it didn't heal properly. He was permanently lame and couldn't work anymore. Kids would make fun of the awkward gate he had developed, his leg swinging out like a pendulum with every step. They'd never do it to her face, however, because she had a wicked left hook. "Are you looking forward to summer? What are you going to do?"

"I guess so," I replied. "I don't know what I'll do. Nothing, probably. What about you?"

"I'm gonna help mama deliver laundry. But it'll be nice to have some good weather. Maybe we can play ball again; I miss having time to play with you," she chattered as we entered town.

I stopped at the bakery, buying a loaf of bread and some pasties. Olive tried to turn down two of the pastries as I held them out to her, but I stuffed them into her hands anyway. "Want to come over to my house," I asked.

Olive considered for a moment, her brow knitted together. "Well," she hesitated. "Papa needs help with Betty, but I guess I can for a little bit."

She carried the conversation as we walked, chatting about school and her family. I usually kept my eyes trained on her face as she talked, because her expressions were so animated. She had a small silvery scar that crossed the middle of her right eyebrow, splitting it in two halves. It gave her an intense look, which matched the manner with which she spoke. I remembered the day she got that scar like it was yesterday. I was seven years old, and it was the first time she'd ever spoken to me.


It was a beautiful day in early June; the sky was bright blue and the clouds looked like candy-floss. I was perched on a wide fence post at the edge of the victor's village, becoming more and more frustrated as I fiddled with a thick rope. I was trying to secure the rope between the fence post and a large oak tree several yards away, but I couldn't figure out how to knot the rope tight enough to stay in place. The stick of toffee that I'd been nibbling sat dejected beside me on the fence post.

I threw the rope down on the ground after several more minutes, disgusted. "What are you trying to do," a voice questioned brightly from nearby.

I fell back off the fence post in surprise, tumbling onto the grass. I scrambled back to my feet and looked around, finding a figure standing under the tree. I recognized her from school, though I'd never talked to her before and I didn't know her name. She didn't seem fazed by my reaction, instead moving to stand by the rope and smiling. "I can help you if you're having trouble," she said.

"What are you doing here," I asked, ignoring her comment.

"Looking for dandelions," she said brightly. "You're Helmand, right?"

I nodded before returning the question. "Olive," she replied.

"What are you trying to do?" she repeated, gesturing to the rope coiled on the ground.

"Nothing," I said, slightly embarrassed.

"Come on, I won't bite," she coaxed.

"Trying to tie the rope around the tree and the fence," I said quietly. "But I can't get it tied tight enough."

She looked incredulous. "You mean you want to make a tightrope?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. I knew it was a stupid idea.

"That's awesome!"

I looked up, surprised. "I'll tell you what," Olive said as she picked up the rope. "I can tie the rope to the tree, no problem. But you have to give me the first go. And half that candy bar," she said as an afterthought, noticing the toffee that was slowly melting in the sun. "Deal?"

"Deal," I said, shaking the hand that she stuck out.

Olive set to work, knotting the rope around the post before tethering it to the tree. I studied the knot she tied, marveling at how easy she'd made it seem. "I learned that from tying clothes lines," she said, not waiting for my question.

"Isn't it a little high," I asked as she tested the rope to make sure it was secure.

"No problem," she said, pointing up at a low hanging branch. "We can hold onto that branch the first couple times."

That sounded good enough to me. I watched as she clambered to stand on the fence post, her expression set and determined. Before she stepped onto the rope, she looked down at me and flashed a brilliant smile. In that instance, as I returned the smile, I felt joy like never before. Nobody had ever wanted to play with me until today.

The next twenty seconds passed in slow motion as she took a fluid step onto the rope. I watched in wonder when she moved so gracefully, her fingers brushing the branch overhead as she took one more step, before teetering dangerously and diving off the side as she lost her balance. Even then, her arms were outstretched and she looked as though she was flying.

I stood still, frozen in fear when she landed on the ground face first. She was back on her feet, panting from adrenaline, before I could say a word. I watched in horror as she reached up to her forehead, touching the gash above her eye. She just trembled when I grabbed her arm and pulled her over to my house, banging on the door frantically until dad came out. He took one bleary-eyed look at the girl before wordlessly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to her head. He swung her up into his arms and carried her quickly down towards town, and I silently followed. When we reached the Everdeen's house, dad set Olive down in a chair in their kitchen as Mrs. Everdeen looked at her forehead. "What happened to you," she asked in bewilderment as she examined the girl's head.

Olive still said nothing, and I looked down at the ground. "Well," said dad slowly. "What were you doing?"

"We made a tightrope," I mumbled, my chin tucked into the collar of my shirt.

I felt dad's hand grip my upper arm as he leaned in closer to hear me. "What?"

"We made a tightrope and she fell off it," I said louder, still refusing to meet his gaze.

He shook his head in amazement. "Of all the stupid things I've ever heard, that might take the cake," he said disgustedly.

"Well," he said after a moment. "Are you going to introduce me?"

I looked up quizzically. "You want to tell me your friend's name," he pressed.

"Olive," she said, speaking for the first time since we'd left the tree.

"You got any family, Olive," dad asked, his tone a bit more friendly.

"We live down the street," she said, gesturing to the right of the Everdeen's home. "The gray house on the corner."

"I'm gonna go get your parents if everything's ok here," dad said, looking to Mrs. Everdeen as he headed to the door.

"We'll be fine," she replied, dabbing at the blood on Olive's forehead with a clean cloth.

When Mrs. Everdeen moved towards her with a suture and sterile thread, Olive gribbed the chair and squeezed her eyes shut. "Just a few stitches and you'll be right as rain," she said reassuringly.

Without a word, Olive stuck her hand out to me. I took it, giving it a comforting squeeze. "No," she said, pulling her hand away. "You promised I could have half the candy bar."

Mrs. Everdeen let out a chuckle as I pulled the toffee from my pocket, placing it in her expectant hand. "You can have the whole thing," I said, relieved that she wasn't in shock anymore.

She grinned, taking a bite and savoring the buttery taste. When dad returned with a man slightly older than him, I shrunk into the corner. I still wasn't sure if I was being blamed for the incident. The man took one look at Olive and sighed. "Oh, Olive. What am I ever going to do with you?"

"She may have a scar, but I doubt it will be very noticeable. She'll be fine," Mrs. Everdeen said.

Dad insisted on paying for Mrs. Everdeen's services, citing my stupidity as his liability for the accident. I winced when we headed home, expecting a verbal lashing, but dad said nothing. He did, however, stop in front of the house. From that spot you could just make out the tightrope we had made in the back, the rope still standing taught. After a moment, he told me to "take down that damn thing and never build another one," before going inside.

Though we never mentioned that day again, Olive and I were thick as thieves from then on.


We continued towards the victor's village, munching on the pasties as we trudged through the damp mud in the street. Dad was passed out at the kitchen table when we came in. I shook him lightly after putting the loaf of bread in the breadbox. "Dad, Olive's here. We're going out to play."

He lifted his head blearily, managing a slurred "Hi, Olive," before putting his head back on the table.

"Hello, Mr. Abernathy. Hope you're doing well," she replied sweetly.

I grabbed a ball from the front closet and we returned to the gravel path that ran down the center of the village, taking turns throwing the ball onto the roof of an empty house and trying to catch it before it hit the ground. "So," Olive began after a few minutes. "Are you staying with the Undersee's?"

"No," I answered. "They can't take me this year. I'm going with my dad."

"To the capital? Wow," Olive marveled. "I hope I get to visit the capital someday."

"It's not that great," I replied. "I'll probably just stay in the tribute center most of the time."

Olive was silent for a few moments, tossing the ball up for me to catch. "Are you going to the reaping?"

"Do I have a choice?"

We both laughed humorlessly. Attending the reaping was mandatory for everyone.

Olive didn't have anything to worry about this year; her older brother, Tenor, was only eleven and she had two years until she was old enough. It was still hard for them. Until Tenor was twelve years old, they couldn't collect tesserae. They barely scraped enough together to keep from starving. Olive would never admit that she was hungry, though.

We only had another ten minutes or so of time together before Tenor appeared by the entrance to the village. "Olive, dad wants you home. It's getting dark."

Olive gave me a small smile and said she'd see me tomorrow, before joining Tenor at the gate. He waved at me as they left, racing each other down the path towards town. I went inside, finding my dad in the same spot where I'd left him. I murmured a good night to him, knowing he didn't hear it, before cutting myself some of the bread and heading upstairs.

Hope you like the second chapter. For those of you who caught it early enough, I did end up splitting the first chapter and expanding on each half. Criticism, comments, suggestions, etc. are all welcome!