[reaping day]

[annie]

Finnick jokes about Reaping Day. He isn't the only one. Most of us do. We celebrate Reaping Day with fancy meals and specially-made clothes. We all look forward to it. It's a national holiday, one where we can show our pride for our district on national television.

Those who don't are called cowards. No one likes being a coward.

District 4 has very few cowards. Who wouldn't give everything to represent their home in the Games and try their best to reap the benefits of becoming a victor? Our elders always tell us they wish they had been tributes.

"You are lucky," one teacher says. "You have the opportunity to be chosen to do more with your life than many of us. If you are chosen, make the most of it."

"If you are reaped," another says, "you will be afraid. You will be scared. Laugh all you want now – once the adrenaline from Reaping Day passes and you're on your way to the Capitol, the fear will come. And you should be scared. You are going to the arena, where you will face extremely high chances of being killed. But remember that we all face death, every day. You could be swept overboard and lost to the sea. You could drown in the lagoon. You could accidentally be speared with a trident. To be reaped is to allow yourself to be afraid, and then to let that fear go. You are District 4. You can fight for every chance to return home."

The Hunger Games is on everyone's minds this afternoon. The Victory Tour has just passed through District 4. We were all curious to see the boy who beat our tributes last year. We were disappointed. He was so strong – scary, even – on screen, but in person, he was underwhelming. Shy. Nervous.

Not like our victors. Though we don't see much of our victors. They either stay in their village, or they are in the Capitol, enjoying their transformed lives.

"If I'm not reaped, I'll have to volunteer," Finnick says as he tries to fix his net. We're sitting on the beach with a group of other kids from school. We all have chores to do, but that doesn't mean that we have to do them at home.

"Why's that?" I ask. My fingers are working quickly. I know how to knot nets. It's in my family. Before she lost her hands, Mama used to invent different kinds of knots to use and she taught me and my sister everything.

"I'm too pretty not to be on TV!"

It's a joke. Finnick's one of those boys who knows he's attractive. He's thirteen and he turns most the girls' heads at school – and some of the boys', too. He's already working on his father's fishing boat. A lot of people are jealous of him.

He also can't tie a knot to save his life.

"If you're reaped, someone's gonna mess up your face in the Games," Quintan says.

"But then I'll win, and the Capitol will fix it."

"But then I'll break your nose when you get home."

Quintan is my age. He lives next door to Finnick. They've been friends forever, so Quintan's allowed to say things like that.

"What do you think, Annie?" Finnick asks.

I pause and put down my net. "Your dad isn't going to catch any fish if he uses that sorry excuse for a net."

"What's wrong with my net?"

"Everything."

I fix his net.

He doesn't listen when I explain what he did wrong.

We're all excited for the Games this year. Most of us have just turned twelve and we're eligible for the first time. Finnick makes a big show of scoffing at us younger ones (like he's so much older!). Twelve year olds are really rare. District 4 is a Career district. It's an honour to be in the Games. If you're twelve and you're reaped, someone older than you is going to volunteer. They don't want to see their chance disappear in some grubby twelve-year-old's hands.

District 4 always puts forward tributes that are capable and deserve to be in the Games.

My sister Arianne made my first reaping dress. She worked all year on it, and she wouldn't show me. She said it was a surprise. Finally, when the day comes, it's hanging on the back of my chair in my bedroom.

"It's blue," she says. "For the sea. And there's this—"

She holds something out in her hand. It's a delicate necklace of pale pink seashells that dangle together on a narrow chain. I quickly put it on and notice that it's much too long for me.

"I made it for me," Arianne says, "when I was fifteen. It was going to be my token. I always thought that if I was chosen, I would want to remember the sea in the arena. Now it's yours. So you can remember it if you're chosen."

"But I'm not going to be chosen," I say.

"Probably not this year. But you never know."

"Arianne," I say quietly, "I don't think I want to be chosen. Not ever."

Arianne smiles. "Annie, I think a lot of people think that way. They just don't tell anyone because it wouldn't be right."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know I didn't really want to be chosen, even though I pretended I wanted to."

"Then it's okay to be scared?"

Arianne takes my hand. "It is always okay to be scared."

It takes us almost two hours to get to the Justice Building. Our village isn't the closest, and I am jumping up and down in the boat so much (nerves, I guess?) I almost tip us twice. I say goodbye to Mama and Arianne. I have my identification taken for the first time. I join Mare and Ariel in the section with hundreds of other twelve-year-old girls. We're all dressed up, all chatting. No one looks scared. Everyone is sure that if they are reaped, one of the older kids will volunteer for them.

Jasmine Sparks stands on the stage. She's our District escort and she's been around for what seems like forever. Maybe even before I was born. Somehow she doesn't fall over even though she's wearing shoes that make her feet almost point on a ninety degree angle. I wonder how she does that.

My friend Ariel loves her. She wants to be like Jasmine when she grows up.

"You'll have to be a Victor one day," I told her.

"I don't really want to be a Victor though."

"You'll have to! You can only get aqua hair if you live in the Capitol, and you can only live in the Capitol if you're a Victor."

The names are read. A thirteen-year-old girl is called up on the stage. Then a twelve-year-old boy. I don't know either of them. They're from a different village.

Then the volunteering starts. It's quite a process, like haggling in the market. My legs are starting to go numb from standing in one spot by the time it finishes. We have new tributes, both volunteers. The girl is seventeen. I don't know her, but I think she's really beautiful. A lot of tributes are, girls and boys.

I wonder whether I will ever be pretty enough to be a tribute. But I'm not sure I even want to be a tribute.

"You don't have to decide now, Annie!" Mare says as we clap for the pretty girl who is going to be our tribute this year. "There are volunteers every year. It doesn't matter if you get reaped. If you don't want to do it, then someone will volunteer. If you do want to do it, then you volunteer. Easy. That's what I'm counting on."

Mare is amazing in how she's able to explain things that don't really make sense. I feel better.

The boy tribute is sixteen. Unlike the girl, I know him.

His name is Ben Odair and he's Finnick's cousin.

I can see Finnick in the crowd. He's excited. He looks really proud that a family member is going to represent District 4 in the Games this year.

Jasmine is calling them two of the brightest and best District 4 has ever seen, and there is a lot of applause. Then the Peacekeepers let us go. I wonder why they stand guard over us. It's not like anyone's going to miss Reaping Day.

It's our holiday.

You don't miss Reaping Day.

Happy Hunger Games.

[finnick]

When you grow up with the Games, you think you understand everything. You think how amazing it is, to see people from your home compete in a Game that means everything. You know it's life and death for them, in the arena, but it's more than just that. It's pride and honour. It's about doing something for your district.

That's what my cousin said. Ben wanted to volunteer for his Games. It was his dream to go out in a blaze of glory. He was the ninth kid in his family. No one paid attention to him. He was useless on a fishing boat. He almost took his hand off with a hook.

"When there's nothing for you here, Finnick," he said, "you start to think big."

"What if you lose?"

"Then I lose."

"You'll be dead."

"More people die in accidents out on the sea every year than in the Games. I'd rather die for my District than gathering seafood and pearls for a green-skinned ogre in the Capitol."

When I saw him die on our television screen, I had to remind myself that he said that. I quoted him aloud and my aunt slapped me across my mouth.

"Finnick!"

"But he said that!"

"You little liar!"

"I'm not making it up!"

"Get out! Out out out!"

My aunt chased me out of the house with a broom and meat cleaver and I went to watch the rest of the Games with Annie and Quintan.

The Games finished two weeks ago. It hurts to be around family right now. They only go out when they need something, or when they have to go to work on Dad's boat. Everyone cries. My cousins all cry. My sisters cry. My brothers cry. It's the thing that sucks about being part of a big family. When something bad happens, it's like the entire family is one big emotion blob.

They're not sad. Ben was reckless. He was always pulling stupid stunts (like seeing how long he could balance on top of a ship's mast) and almost getting himself killed. But they supported him when he decided to volunteer for the Games. No one told him no. He fought to be accepted as volunteer. We all really thought he could do it. If anyone could win the Games, it was Ben.

And now he lost and now he's dead.

They are all ashamed.

You can see the glares some people in the village give my aunt. I'm guessing those are the people who took her word when she told them Ben would win. They put money down on my cousin winning.

There's something wrong with that. I don't know what it is, but when I think about it, it just doesn't seem right. Everyone knows the Gamemakers control the Game. You're almost more likely to be killed by some Gamemaker trap than another tribute. I have this theory that when they get bored, they start playing eenie-meenie-minie-moe to pick off tributes.

"That's horrible," Annie says.

We're on the beach. Annie brought a blanket and she's lying on her stomach, making these little braided and knotted bands out of coloured string. She likes to keep her hands busy. She says it helps her think. I'm digging a hole in the sand with the end of a stick. Don't know why. It makes me feel better.

"I think it's true." I stab the sand with the stick.

Am I ashamed of Ben? It's crazy to think of how much I looked up to him. Dad keeps telling me that I have the same reckless streak. I keep telling him that I don't, I'm just legitimately curious to see if I can cliff-dive.

"I'm really sorry about your cousin."

Ben's dead. Why did he die? That other tribute – the one from 11 – cut his throat. Why did she cut his throat? Because Ben was going to kill her if she didn't? Because the Capitol made her?

Does that mean the Capitol killed him? Or did he kill himself, volunteering for the Games? Ben thought he could win. He was sure he was going to win. He thought he could bring honour to the District. He wanted to do something that would make his family proud of him, something that would make us forget all his stupid stunts.

Annie pulls another knot tight on her bracelet. She's waiting for me to say something. She's good like that. She doesn't like pestering people for conversation. I'm the one who likes to talk. She probably thinks it's weird that I'm not saying much.

Am I ashamed of Ben?

Whenever I think about my cousin, all I feel is anger. I'm angry. I don't know why. Maybe it's because he's dead. I'm angry at him for volunteering.

I'm angry at him for losing. And dying.

I'm angry at the girl from District 11, but she's dead, too.

I'm angry at all the people talking about my family in the village market. Saying how Ben let down our District. You don't hear them talking about his district partner that way.

I take the stick and hurl it as far as I can. It lands with a splash in the water and disappears under a wave.

"I don't want to talk about him."

Annie pauses. "We don't have to." She ties a knot tight in her string. "My sister says that she's going to start taking me out on her boat in the morning once I turn thirteen."

"Yeah?"

"She says I need to learn how do more than just make nets."

"You're pretty good at those," I say. I mean it. She's the best.

"Could you give me a few pointers?" she asks. "On fishing?"

Immediately I get why she's asking. I know where this is coming from.

"Annie, are you still scared about all your fish coming up headless?"

She looks down at her string bracelet and pulls a couple knots tight.

"I'm not teasing you." I sit on the sand beside her blanket. "It's an actual question."

She picks up her bag of string and shuffles over so I'm able to sit on the blanket with her. "Yeah. What? I was four. Of course I was traumatized."

"You've seen all the stuff that goes down in the Games—"

"That is different. That's TV."

It was only TV when Ben had his throat cut. I saw him die.

"You know what's happening."

"But it's not happening right in front of you. At least actually in front of you. There's a difference."

I don't get it. I saw Ben die when he died, it didn't matter that I wasn't in the arena with him. "What difference?"

"I don't know! There's just a difference." She brushes sand off her blanket. "I just don't like seeing things heads' come off, okay?"

"Just because that one fish swallowed its hook doesn't mean they all will."

A wave crashes to shore and deposits my driftwood stick on the sand.

"I'll teach you how to fish," I say.

What I don't tell her is that is when I decide that I'm going to volunteer for the Games next year. The next Reaping Day is going to be my last. I'm going to train, even though we're not supposed to. I know people who can help. I'll be ready. I'm going to win back our family pride, for Ben.

And I'm going to make sure everyone remembers the Odair family name.