Two:
It turns out Dad threw Ash off the train. Literally. Mom was not happy when she found out, but Dad insists the train wasn't moving that fast yet, and Ash has a thick skull, so what's the problem?
Mom still hasn't spoken to him.
I, for one, am feeling sour over what Ashton spat at me before Dad dragged him out, so I'm quite vindictively gleeful at the moment.
They'll kill Ced as soon as they're done fucking your corpse.
I quell the rising sensation of nausea, begging my mind to not conjure up images of the hypothetical situation into which I'm sure Ash would have generously gone into further detail, if Dad hadn't hauled him away. He was exaggerating. That wouldn't happen. The hovercrafts would take my body before other tributes could do anything else to it.
A disturbing thought creeps into my head. What if tcriedhey do "anything else" before I'm dead? It's not as if anything is censored in the Hunger Games—except when tributes have to use the bathroom, because nobody wants to see that, not even the Capitolites in all their depravity. It's not as glamourous as killing or fucking. Fornicating tributes isn't a common occurrence, but it's happened before. Consensually and nonconsensually. Out of horniness, loneliness, force, desperation, anger. When it's nonconsensual, the Districts respond as they do to everything Hunger Games-related: with disgust and outrage. Even the Capitol is uncomfortable with it.
It's one thing to murder children and an entirely other thing to rape them.
I take a deep breath and shove my stream of thoughts away. It won't happen. Not to me. I won't let it. I'd rather die before I let Cedric, my parents, my friends, the world see it.
When I finally rejoin everyone on Earth, Effie is trying to get a talk about strategy going. "This is going to be a great year! Maysilee, Haymitch, you know everything about your tributes. You'll know precisely what to do to bring home a win for Twelve."
"I'd rather bring home my children, thank you," Mom replies icily.
Effie titters nervously and moves on. "Well, let me see, let me see… There shouldn't be any trouble getting sponsors. The world already knows and loves your children. You'll have the entire Capitol eating out of your hand. Of course, that's not to say presentation isn't important, because it certainly is. Ooh! We might be able to do something like the Careers, now that—"
"No," Dad snarls. "My children are not Careers."
"But they've been training, haven't they? They can—"
Dad slams his fist on the table. "They. Are. Not. Careers."
There's silence, then Effie stands. "I think...I shall leave you all to discuss amongst yourselves for a moment." She totters away.
Mom rubs her temples, like Aunt Margaret does when she's about to get one of her migraines. Thankfully, Mom doesn't share her twin's debilitating condition. "That could have gone a bit better, Haymitch."
"She's gone. I don't see how it can get much better than that." Mom shakes her head as Dad twists to stare at Cedric and me. "So this is the part where we usually ask the tributes what strengths they have, but like that flamingo said, we already know all your strengths and weaknesses." Dad props his chin on his hands and looks thoughtful.
Dad was right earlier, when he told Effie we weren't Careers. We may have been training our entire lives for the Hunger Games, but not because we wanted to participate. It's because we knew we would have to. That's the difference between us and the bloodthirsty bastards in One, Two, and Four.
Neither Mom nor Dad is the best fighter. They won their Games based on cunning, resourcefulness, and each other. Neither of them ever had real combat training until the scant few days right before the Games. But over the years, when they started having children, they acquired enough skills to be proficient in a few types of weapons or styles of fighting, so they could pass them on to us.
Always be ready is Dad's number one lesson. Number two is the only weapon you can rely on is yourself. No matter the arena, no matter the year, no matter the Gamemaker, the one thing you can count on to be in the Games is your own body. Even unarmed, you can get one over another tribute as long as you know what you're doing. Of course, success depends on what that other tribute is capable of, as well as yourself. I could probably take on a fourteen-year-old from Six with a knife, but a Career, with or without a weapon, is another question entirely. Cedric and I also know our way around weapons that consistently show up in arenas—swords, spears, daggers, and the like. But neither of us is crazy, arrogant, or stupid enough to think we'd stand any chance in a bloodbath. We're most likely going to have to depend on our survival skills, of which we certainly have plenty. Especially Ced, with his encyclopedic knowledge of everything. And his surprising talent at archery.
As if he read my mind, Dad finally speaks. "Your priority is not to kill. It is to survive." Ced and I nod. "Only fight with the other tributes when you must."
"Speaking of other tributes," Mom chips in, adjusting a squirming Summer on her lap, "we need to figure out how you'll interact with them. Your top priority is each other, but that doesn't mean you can't play nice with anyone else."
"Are you suggesting an alliance?" I probe.
Mom and Dad do that thing where they communicate solely with their eyes. It's weird. "You already have an alliance between the two of you," Mom responds. "You have enough fighting and survival skills between you two that you don't need anyone else. But it can't hurt to at least act like a decent human being. There's no need to unnecessarily draw anyone's wrath upon you."
"And who knows what might happen in the arena?" Dad adds. "Be flexible, and if any tributes catch your eye, let us know. We'll talk more."
"Now, Effie had it right regarding sponsors," Mom continues. "We'll have no problem acquiring any, but we still want to keep those we already have and reel in as many more as possible. We can discuss private sessions and interviews in more depth later on, but for now, keep in mind that we want to keep up the image of devoted siblings who know what they're doing and will do whatever is necessary to ensure one of them goes home."
Done and done. "Is this the same image we want to project to the other tributes?" I ask.
"They'll all know your motivations when they watch the Reapings, so there's no point in trying anything else," Dad points out. "But make sure they, particularly the Tributes, get the impression that you're not a huge threat. We don't want them coming after you early on." He leans forward. "This is very important. Avoid trouble as long as you possibly can in the arena." There's that queer light in Dad's eyes again, that almost-zeal I saw during the Reaping. Before I can ask him what's gotten him so wired up, Effie returns.
"Time for the recap of the Reapings!"
We reconvene at the couch in front of the big television screen. Summer has claimed Dad's lap, so I rest my head on Mom's shoulder while Ced squeezes between our parents. As always, the Reapings start with District 1. They must have an unfair proportion of pretty people there, because they always have at least one gorgeous tribute. The girl, Glimmer—and I thought "Ember" was bad enough—could give her mentor Cashmere a run for her money. And since she volunteered, I'm assuming she has the skills to back that arrogance up. Then again, you never know with the Ones and Twos. The boy isn't bad to look at, either, and one look at his tall frame tells me he's one to watch out for.
Two makes us all tense up. The girl, though petite, is daunting enough, what with the cold lack of feeling in her eyes.
The boy is terrifying.
District 2's crowd is actually cheering his name as he surges toward the stage. Cato! Cato! they're chanting, as if he's already won. He's over six feet of solid muscle and chiseled lines. The girl in me appreciates these features, and his face. The tribute that I am is trembling.
Mom takes my hand and interlocks our fingers as we watch Cato pump his fist in the air, and the crowd screams. "And we have our odds-on favorite," Dad mutters.
Four's pickings are surprisingly weak this year. The boy looks like he's Cedric's size and age, and the girl, though older, seems anxious as she walks forward. Both were reaped. What's going on? Does Four not have any Careers this year? The rest of the Reapings pass by in a blur, until we get to ours.
Ced blushes, as is his wont, when he realizes the cameras captured him reading when his name was called. But none of us scold him for it. Then, when Prim is summoned, after what felt like an eternity then but was really only a few seconds, I step up. I've always hated watching myself on TV, and this is no exception. At least I didn't make a fool of myself, or cry or puke.
We have dinner after that, and then there's no more talk of strategy, or even the Games. I think Mom and Dad are trying to make this the last "normal" evening for us. It doesn't work for anyone except Summer, to whom none of us has quite explained the true meaning of the Hunger Games, but I appreciate the effort. Ced and I play along when our parents choose some board games. After all, we'll have plenty of time to freak out at the Capitol.
The next day, we arrive, but I'm not particularly excited or astounded. The Capitol is no new setting for any of us Abernathys. We all journey here every year for the Games: Mom and Dad because they're mentors, and my siblings and me because we're the adorable children, and Ash because we might as well drag him along. Also, Ash needs to replenish his supply of Capitol-produced narcotics.
When I was little, I thought the annual trip was a vacation. My siblings and I were free to roam District 12's living area in whatever Tribute building they'd constructed that year and ogle the colorful city from the windows, while Mom and Dad did their dirty work. In the evenings, we would be dressed up and go with our parents do the Opening Ceremonies, the Interviews, and other public events. It wasn't until I was six, when Ash was reaped and Rain abandoned us, that I realized Mom and Dad only took us because they had to. The Capitol wanted to see the Abernathys' nest of Mockingjays, and what the Capitol wants, the Capitol gets.
I was disillusioned long ago by my erstwhile wonderland. Now I dread more than ever the city and its inhabitants. All but one.
Cinna nods as I finish dressing in a plain black leotard. The fabric is high quality and well-made, but I fail to see what is so spectacular about it. Cinna is better than this. "Trust me, you'll stun everyone," he assures me. "However, I do trust that the girl named after fire isn't afraid of her namesake?"
I wonder if I should be worried. "I don't know, are you afraid of cinnamon?"
He chuckles. "I'm not named after cinnamon."
"I know. I'm not named after fire, either." I pluck an already peeled orange from the bowl on the table and pop a slice into my mouth. Alright, so perhaps the Capitol has one more redeeming quality besides Cinna, and that's fresh citrus. "So if I'm fire, then what's Cedric? And he's not named after cedar," I add.
"No, trees are Seven's territory. He'll get the same treatment you're getting."
I eye Cinna suspiciously. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? You're not actually secretly setting us up for sexy coal miners? Because my parents were stuck with that, and they looked awful."
"That's not what I have in mind, but it can be arranged if you wish."
I snicker. "I'll pass, thanks."
Cinna clasps his hands behind his back. "Joking aside, Ember, how are you really?"
I quiet. "I don't know." Even if I did, I wouldn't say, because I know there are microphones all over the room.
He knows, too. He changes the subject. "Now, moving on. I don't want to give too much away about your Interview outfit, but I just want to make sure—your cousin, Madge, she calls you...Firefly?"
"Yes. Why?"
Cinna smiles blithely. "You'll have to wait and see."
I groan, then pout. "You can't tease me like this, Cinna. I'm dying to know what you're plotting!"
"You'll know Part One soon enough." He checks his watch. "Very soon. We should get going."
I watch the Opening Ceremonies every year, in person, but I've never been up close to a real horse before. Twelve's horses seem gentle enough, and I even pet one of them on the nose. "Aren't they beautiful, Ced?" When my brother doesn't answer, I twist around to look at him. "Ced!"
He jumps, almost dropping his book. "What? What's going on?"
"Now, Ced? Really?"
"I was in the middle of a chapter," he says defensively. "I couldn't just put it down."
I can't help but grin as I chuck him under the chin. "Just make sure you don't read during the actual Ceremony, okay?"
"Fine," he grumbles.
District 1's chariot lurches forward. Cinna and Portia hurry over. "Are you ready?" Cinna asks, raising what looks an awful lot like a torch.
"Maybe," I say slowly. Even Cedric looks up from his book, partly curious, partly alarmed.
"Good. Hop on." They stop onto the chariot. Cinna and Portia lean forward.
"Oh my God!" I yelp, and everyone in the vicinity gapes. We're on fire, but we can't really be because we're not burning to death. I would know if I was. So would everyone else, once I began screaming in agony. "Cinna, what is this?"
"Your outfit," he says, just a bit smugly. "Do you like it?"
I tentatively touch one of the flames. It feels like air. Like nothing. Maybe a little tickle. But it looks so real. I feel like a goddess.
No, scratch that. I am a goddess.
"Yes," I breathe.
"Hold on to each other," Cinna advises, and Cedric grabs my hand just as our chariot surges forward.
I am expecting cheers, because the Capitol already knows and loves us. I am not expecting the stunned silence (as promised by Cinna) and the ensuing cacophony of screams of shock, delight, confusion, and admiration. The sound pounds my eardrums, and my heart hammers as flowers rain down upon us. A great deal of them are white violets, and I wonder if people noticed the ones that had been in my hair earlier that day. I catch all of the violets, smiling beatifically, just as I've practiced every day of my life. Cedric is doing okay, beaming bashfully at the cameras, though I can tell he's uncomfortable. We're still holding hands, and Cedric, noticing this, smiles at me before raising them.
I feel high off the atmosphere by the time we stop in front of President Snow's mansion. If this is what Ash experiences every time he smokes, snorts, or injects something, I can almost understand why he does it. I nearly forget why I'm here in the first place, until I catch sight of the president.
"Snow" is a taboo word in the Abernathy household, unless one is speaking about the precipitation kind. I know our house is bugged, and it seriously creeps me out, but I've managed to live with it my entire life. Everyone in our family twelve and older knows that nothing kind can be said about Snow, so it's best not to speak of him at all.
That is, until we go beyond the fence to train in the woods. Then it's free game.
Snow cares nothing for the feelings of my family, only for what we can offer to him and the Capitol. Entertainment, mostly, in the form of feature stories and TV clips about our everyday lives. And I know that at one point, he wanted my parents, in their younger days, to be a part of his Victors' prostitution ring, despite their being "star-crossed lovers," but then changed his mind and told them to become baby-making machines instead. As whores, Haymitch and Maysilee would have pleased a few people. As parents, they pleased and please the entire Capitol.
As much as Snow loves his blood money, he knows the importance of keeping the Capitolites content.
I'm startled when the chariot moves again. The Ceremonies are over, or they're about to be. We tributes return to the stables, where our mentors are waiting. Mom is scolding Cinna good-naturedly. "If I really thought you were endangering my children…"
"I wouldn't dare to even think of it," he replies.
Our cloaks of fire are extinguished, and I go to join Dad, who's talking with Chaff. The one-handed man spots me coming and grins broadly. "Ember Abernathy! Look at you. Haymitch, where've you been hiding her?"
"District 12," Dad deadpans.
"Hello, Chaff." I extend my hand to shake. Chaff reaches for it and pulls me in, giving me a bear hug.
"I remember when you could still fit in the palm of my only hand."
I roll my eyes, corner of my mouth quirking upward. "You're exaggerating."
"Yeah, you're right. You were half that size." Chaff slaps his leg. "Oh, I've missed you."
"I missed you, too, Chaff." I peer around, and my gaze lands on Eleven's tributes. One is a large, hulking boy whom I would've thought a Career if I didn't know any better. The other is a sprite of a girl who's even smaller than Prim. I feel a pang in my chest. If Cedric is to go home, this child will have to die.
Chaff sees what, or whom, I'm looking at. He and Haymitch exchange a glance, and Dad nods. "Wanna meet my tributes this year, Em?" Chaff asks.
I blink at the unexpected offer. "Meet your...um, okay. Uh, Cedric as well?"
"Sure thing. Hey, Cedric Abernathy!" Chaff hollers. "Get over here!" When my brother skitters over, Chaff gestures for his tributes to approach. "Em, Ced, this here is Thresh and Rue, Thresh, Rue, I'd like you to meet Ember and Cedric Abernathy."
Rue looks decidedly impressed. Thresh looks decidedly not. "It's nice to meet you," Rue tells us, then to me, "You volunteered for that blond girl, didn't you?"
"I did," I confirm
"Did you mean what you said when your escort asked you why?"
I look down at Cedric, who scuffs his shoes. "Yes. Of course." Thresh looks intrigued now, but not enough to speak.
Rue sighs and tells Cedric, "I wish I had a big sister like yours. I'm the eldest in my family."
Cedric blushes. "Ah...she's not that great."
I pinch him him. "Ungrateful brat," I say jestingly, before returning my attention to Rue. "How many siblings do you have?"
"Five."
"Five?" I repeat eyes wide. I shouldn't be so stunned, since my family is almost as large, but we can afford to feed so many mouths. I'm pretty sure Rue's family can't. That must mean, assuming both her parents are alive, she must've taken eight tesserae, and that's only if she doesn't have any extended family. Rue's name was in the Reaping bowl nine times, four more than me. And that's only in her first year. If Rue hadn't been reaped this year, then by the time she turned eighteen, if only she of all her siblings took tesserae, she would've had her name on sixty-three slips. Significantly more than even someone like Gale, who has too many tesserae himself.
But such hypothetical situations will never come to pass, because Rue was chosen today. Nobody gets reaped twice.
"What are their names?" I hear Cedric ask.
"Clary, Basil, Holly, Myrtle, and Dill," Rue rattles off. "Dill's the new baby. He was just born a month ago."
I nudge Cedric. "I remember when Summer was born. You hated her because it meant you weren't the youngest anymore."
"I did not!"
"I caught you trying to put her in the trashcan. But you were still a baby yourself so you couldn't even lift her."
Cedric is tomato red. "I'm not—was not!"
I laugh and take mercy on him. Mustering my courage, I meet Thresh's gaze. "Do you have any siblings, Thresh?"
He's silent. Is he giving me the silent treatment? No, as it turns out, because he says, "One older sister. Honey."
"What about you and Cedric, Ember?" Rue queries. "It's you two, Summer—" she nods at their baby sister, who's holding Mom's hand "—and...an older brother? He won the Games, didn't he?"
"Ash, and yes, he won the Sixty-Fourth," I reply.
"And Ash has a twin, Rain," Ced chips in.
"Really?" Rue's brow furrows. "I don't think I've seen her with you guys on TV before."
"She's not around very often," I say flatly.
Rue senses this is a sore subject and wisely backs off. "So you're the middle child, Ember?"
"Yup." Sometimes it feels more like I'm the eldest, though, what with Rain out of the picture and Ash doing God knows what. It's as if Mom and Dad messed up with the first two kids so they're trying again with the second batch.
I feel like a terrible person for that thought.
Meanwhile, Cedric has turned around to beseech Dad, "Can I go say hi to Beetee? I haven't seen him in forever." Beetee, a District 3 Victor, is Cedric's idol. Cedric devours all the information he can get on Beetee's latest innovations, and ever since he met and befriended the man a few years ago, he's been nigh intolerable whenever Beetee Latier's name comes up. The Victor, for his part, seems amused and flattered that he has such an avid fan.
Dad eyes the throng of other tributes in between them and the District 3 cluster. He's probably imagining someone accidentally stepping on Cedric. "I'll go with him," I offer.
This makes Dad relent. "Alright, but only for five minutes. Then I want you back here."
"Ten," Ced argues.
"Four."
"Dad, that's not how it works!"
"Do you want to go down to three?"
Ced huffs and gives me no warning before he takes off at a run, undoubtedly to maximize his nerd-out time with Beetee. I roll my eyes and smile at Rue. "And there's Ced in a nutshell. I'll see you tomorrow at Training?"
"Definitely," Rue agrees fervently.
"How about you, Thresh?"
He shrugs. Good enough. I wave goodbye to Chaff and jog after Cedric. I weave past cowboys and paper trees and God-knows-what-else, and I'm almost to the District 3 chariot when someone grabs me around the waist and pulls me into a well-muscled body. "My, my, Ember Abernathy, it's been much too long," Finnick Odair purrs into my ear.
I groan and stamp on his foot to make him let go. "Not long enough, in my opinion." Ever since I turned fourteen and developed boobs, the District 4 Victor has become an incorrigible flirt. I know he doesn't really mean it, least of which because I'm a bit too young for his tastes, but it's still annoying as hell.
"Ouch. That hurts. Right here. Feel it?" Finnick seizes my hand and presses it to his chest. "That's my heart breaking."
"I'll send flowers." I wriggle away, turn to Finnick's tributes (the boy is just as small as Ced and Rue and now my heart is breaking), and say, "I'm so sorry this is what you're stuck with. You have my deepest sympathies."
"I like orchids!" Finnick calls after me as I take the last few steps to stand beside Cedric, who is, as expected, in geek heaven.
"—and that's all you need in order to spot it," Beetee finishes, then smiles at me. "Hello, Ember. How are you?"
"I've been better, I've been worse. I hope Ced hasn't been bothering you overly much."
The bespectacled Victor chuckles. "Ced? Bother me? Never." He ruffles my brother's hair. Seeing the camaraderie between the two of them makes me really wish they could see each other more often, but alas, travel between the Districts is heavily restricted. That our little clan is granted such free license to be shuttled between Twelve and the Capitol so frequently is an anomaly.
Then again, our constant travels are akin to Finnick's. The Capitol wants us in the Capitol, so we go. If we had a choice, we would stay in Twelve forever.
Cedric launches into another tangent, about force fields of all things. Knowing how my parents won their games, I should listen, but my brain is more suited for processing books, not physics, so I let my attention wander. My skin prickles, and I slowly shift my gaze to the side to see what's making my skin crawl.
Blue meets blue. My breath catches. The ice chips in the boy's eyes are burning, but with what, I don't know. It takes me a moment to collect myself and comprehend whom I'm looking at: the male tribute from District 2. I quickly run through everything I remember about him. Cato, a volunteer, obviously a Career, and based just on what I saw of him at his Reaping, absolutely vicious.
I am now certain that what his eyes are burning with is a thirst for my blood. I am, after all, a prime target, being the daughter of not one but two Victors. He's probably imagining all the glory he'll get if he kills me.
Well, I'll have to show him that he won't find me easy prey. I take my time sweeping my gaze up and down his body, not caring if he catches me—honestly, I want him to catch me. Despite my choice of hair accessory yesterday, I am no shrinking violet. And when I'm done surveying him, I just give him one last hard stare before turning my back on him. It'll take a lot more than a few glares to frighten me.