I have three complete pairs as of yet, so I figure I'd start with them rather than District order.
Madelyn Summers, 13, District 8
Some people may say that skipping and frolicking is for little girls, but my best friend Alissa and I don't ever want to grow up. While the other kids at school are worrying about boyfriends and girlfriends and drama, we have each other, like we have our entire lives.
I don't know where I would be without Alissa's family. Ever since Mom died in the 136th Games and Dad is a no-show, I've practically been Alissa's sister my whole life. We've even talked about her parents legally adopting me, which I am all for. We would be able to have sleepovers every night, and I would never have to worry about going back to the abusive orphanage ever again. Life could finally be perfect.
Alissa stops prancing suddenly and turns to me, still holding my hand.
"What's wrong?" I ask her.
"I wish we were a year older, Maddie, so we wouldn't have to worry about being Reaped right now," Alissa admits. "I wish we had more time to grow up."
"We are grown up, Allie. We're thirteen." I point out to her.
"But we act like little girls. We wouldn't last a minute in the arena if either of us got Reaped." Alissa is starting to get upset like she does when she thinks about the Hunger Games. I flash her a weary smile.
"That's if either of us get Reaped. The chances are really low, even for this year," I tell her in an attempt to slow her breathing. It seems to work, because the tenseness in her hand slowly dissolves.
"You're right." Alissa says, relieved. We interlock fingers again and continue the long journey to the square.
Once they prick Alissa and I's fingers and we're led into the thirteen year old pen, the escort for District 8, dressed in a relatively modest lilac dress, walks onstage in her impossibly tall high heeled boots. She gives us a somewhat insincere smile before grabbing the microphone.
"Welcome, District 8, to the Reaping for the 150th Annual Hunger Games, the Sixth Quarter Quell." Sparse yet mandatory applause fills the somber silence of the square, and Alissa and I exchange anxious glances as a somewhat heavy breeze begins to pick up, accompanied by dark, uninviting clouds. We'll have to get home quickly before we're caught in the rain, or acid rain if we are unlucky.
The gigantic screen newly installed in the square flickers to life, showing the same video from last year, in addition to a video of the President announcing the Quell around six months ago. I can feel the nervousness rising, almost as if it were bile. I start to shake uncontrollably as I spot the escort pacing over to the girl's Reaping bowl.
She digs around for ages to find the perfect slip despite the fact that they are all the same, just the name on them of the doomed girl is different. The pile itself is significantly smaller than normal years due to the smaller Reaping pool and that there is only a maximum of two slips per girl.
Finally, she has found the right slip after an eerily long search. Just as she opens the paper to read the name, it blown out of her hand by the harsh winds.
"Well! The odds were most certainly in her favor. Oh well, let's try again, shall we?" the escort sinks her hand into the bowl once more, not taking nearly as much time to find a slip.
"Madelyn Summers!" she cries out. Alissa and I both freeze in our places, unable to move. Once I finally manage to trudge my way to the stage, the whole world begins to numb. I can't even find the strength to find Alissa's gaze in the crowd.
"Time for the boys." the escort says, her voice quiet and muffled. My vision, blurry and unfocused, spots something white on the ground. It's the slip of the girl who should have been Reaped instead of me. Once I manage to clear my head and get my eyes to work again, I unfold the slip with my foot. It's the name on the slip that destroys me.
ALISSA HATCH
Pearl Chintz, 13, District 8
One o'clock. Gym class, my absolute least favorite part of the day. It's not the class itself I absolutely despise. It's the fact that I have to be in a room full of sweaty boys, when I am in fact a girl.
"Nice bosoms, Chintz. Ever gonna show them to us one day?" a boy whose name I cannot remember shouts to me from across the room as I take my clothes out of my basket.
"Never, ever!" I yell back in an equally feisty tone, trying to conform and not cause any trouble. I slip away from the lockers quietly. There is no way I would ever change in front of a bunch of boys, so I slip away to my go-to place; the bathroom stalls. The only one with a working door, to be exact.
My parents say they are doing what's best for me. By making me identify as a male rather than the female I know I am, they say that it will raise my chances in the Games, that girls are weaker than boys and that they are at least raising my chances a little. So, I'm pretty much stuck this way until I turn eighteen or until I am Reaped. Personally, I would prefer the latter at this point, since I don't think I can put up with this for another five years.
After getting changed into my gym uniform, which I am swimming in due to it being a boy's size, I head out and immediately head over to the girl's locker room to wait for Poplin. Poplin knows that I truly do not like identifying as a boy. In fact, she is one of the only people who knows my secret.
Soon enough she exits out of the locker room along with a flock of girls. Poplin grins at me, and we lock arms like we always do as we walk outside to play field sports. At least, that's what the schedule said we were going to do.
It was a battle of the sexes in a game of soccer, and surprisingly, the boy's team, even though I was on the boy's team. The girls kept complaining that the boys had an "unfair advantage". It confused me, because Mom and Dad always told me that a boy is tougher competition than a girl.
At lunch, Poplin and the rest of my friends discussed the Hunger Games, since the Reapings were only a week away. In conversations like these, I usually don't offer my own opinions on the subject. It's all part of blending in and being invisible, which is something I do very well.
"I think having only kids in the Games is wrong," Hayley complains, to which I nod in agreement.
"Last year's Victor is so cute!" Brooke squeals, gushing over a picture she is holding of him.
"Yes, he is so cute!" I say in an equally high pitched voice. That's pretty much what my day consists of. Agreeing with people, mimicking them, blending in, not really existing. I finally got tired of repeating others so I just poked at my mashed potatoes with a fork, zoning out my friend's conversations.
I'm kind of lucky no one is truly bothered by my secret, since they don't quite know I'm faking it all and I don't really want to be a boy at all. I've gotten picked on a few times, as one could expect, but the insults have pretty much stopped ever since Hayley asked her boyfriend to "take care" of the boy who called me a freak. That doesn't mean the worst of this is over, however.
After my long walk home from school, to which I was flanked by a raccoon, I find my parents in the kitchen, already cooking dinner.
"Hello, Pearl. How was school?" Mom asks me, dishing me a steaming bowl of soup.
"Some boy in the locker room asked to see my... uh, bosoms," I sheepishly whisper. Mom and Dad give me a concerned stare.
"This is what's best for you, Pearl. Statistics show that males have a stronger chance in the Games. Look at last year's Games. The final two were both boys." Dad lectures.
But the year before, the final four were all girls. And Arielle, a smart, strong, capable girl won.
I know I'm a smart, strong, capable girl. Why can't I win by just being myself?
Clarification: Madelyn and Pearl are both girls, but Pearl's parents make her identify as a boy to increase her chances in the Games, just in case it was still confusing. More tributes to come soon, once I get more pairs.
Thanks for reading, please review!
