Chapter 2:
I can feel my entire body shaking. I swivel my head right and left, silently pleading for somebody to do something. But to do what? I know no one will volunteer to take my place. I am already a pariah. This is probably best for my sake, along with theirs.
I shuffle forward, taking smaller and smaller steps as the stage grows closer. I ball my hands into fists as I walk but that only makes my trembling more evident. Instead, I smooth down the front of my dress. I climb the steps carefully up onto the stage, praying that I don't trip or fall while I am on camera. Quinn scurries over to me, taking my arm and dragging me over to the proper spot. Her nails are like talons digging into my arm. I try to shrug her off but unfortunately she has an iron grip.
She crosses back across the stage to dig around in the ball of boys names. I stand there, unsure where to look. Scared of what I may see. When I do glance up, the first thing I notice is my dad standing in the back. Even from here, I can see the tears streaming down his face. I have to force myself to look away before I crack.
Quinn makes a big show of reaching into the ball and mixing the names up until she's satisfied. Then she plucks one out with her painted red nails and reads it to the audience.
In her heavily accented voice, she calls, "Verse Tesla."
I whip around to look at her because in that moment, I don't believe her. She must have read the wrong name. I must have heard her wrong. Because it cannot possibly be my brothers name that was just called. But there he is. Walking stiffly up to the stage. He's taking the news much better than I am at least. His face is blank of any emotion, he's completely stoic. When I see my own face projected on the screens, I make a mental note to calm down. My face is too pale. My eyes too red. I slowly exhale. I force myself to remember that this is just a game to the people of the Capitol. I have to be what they want me to be. But as I'm telling myself this, the cold realization hits me. One of us has to die.
Quinn is suddenly between me and Verse, congratulating us, telling us to shake hands. We turn toward each other and just for a second, our eyes meet. Verse's hand seems three times larger than mine now and I nearly shrink away. In reassurance, he squeezes my hand gently and then turns back toward the audience. Our mayor takes over the podium now and goes over the Treaty of Treason. I can't find my dad in the crowd anymore. I don't where he is or if he's okay. A Peacekeeper rounds me and Verse up and unceremoniously shoves us into different rooms. We're supposed to say goodbye here to our family and friends.
The door bursts open and my dad comes rushing in. His face is wet with tears. He races toward me and picks me up in arms. Suddenly, I'm his little girl again and I can feel my own hot tears spilling out onto his shirt.
"Dad, what am I going to do?" I cry heavily. I no longer care if the cameras are broadcasting me as a devastated, sobbing mess. In fact, it pleases me. Let them see what they are doing to me and my family.
I feel his hands move from my back to my shoulders. He takes hold of me and gives me the only advice he can: "Stop crying. Keep out of the way. Do whatever you have to in order to stay alive."
I wipe the wetness from my face and nod. I know that he's right. No one has ever won these games by being a sniveling mess. Then again, no one else has ever been pitted against their sibling.
This makes me tear up all over again. I fight hard to keep myself calm. "What about Verse?" I spit the words out. I know this makes me sound hostile, frightening even, but it's all I can manage without breaking down again.
"I'll tell him the same. Oh, Lullaby, I . . . I can't," my dad trails off. The Peacekeepers are back and I know that our time together is done. We share one last warm hug. I inhale the scent of him, trying desperately to memorize it. Cleaner, chemicals, and just a hint of sweetness from the cake we finished this morning.
And then he's gone.
No one else comes to bade me goodbye. Or to wish me luck. Or to do any of the other things I suppose you use this time for. I wonder if Verse got any other visitors than dad. I push the thought away. I don't want to think of Verse. It's too painful.
Before I know it, I'm being whisked away into a car with Verse. Normally, I would be ecstatic to get a chance to ride in one of these. But the special moment is tainted with the reason why I'm in the car at all. We pull up soundlessly to the train station. Verse takes my hand and holds it in his. I'm grateful for his company. Reporters surround us and their cameras swoop in and out of our faces, making it difficult to see. We're finally ushered onto the train. I sigh, relaxing a little before I remember where I am and why.
"Oh, isn't this just fabulous?" Quinn Mirage appears out of nowhere and smiles at us expectantly.
I stare at her, unsure of whether or not I'm supposed to answer. Verse merely shrugs.
She places herself inbetween us and then leads us, with a hand on each of our shoulders, into the leisure compartment of the train.
All of it is sparkling, neat and organized. A man is straightening the pillows on the sofa. When he sees us enter he bows stiffly and then hurries out of the room. I don't mean to but I give a small sigh of relief. It's hard enough for me to breathe with Quinn next to me.
"Oh, I know exactly how you feel, dear", Quinn says to me. She gives me what I assume is her idea of a symphatetic face; though it comes off more like a childish pout. "Avoxes always give me chills. There's something . . . unsettling . . . about them." A silly-sounding squeak comes out of her mouth and I'm not sure what to say. Part of me wants to laugh but the other half wants to slap her across the face.
Avoxes have had their tongues cut out of their mouths as punishment for supposed treason against the Capitol. Though I doubt most of them are true criminals. Probably just innocent people who were either brave enough, or too naive to know better, that questioned those that govern us.
I decide to keep my mouth shut. I give Quinn a small smile and shrug my shoulders; hoping she'll assume I'm the shy, quiet type. Unfortunately, Verse decides to do the opposite.
"There's nothing unsettling about Avoxes," he snarls.
"Verse." My hand grips his arm and I yank him away from Quinn. "Sorry," I mumble as Verse glares at me reproachfully.
Quinn looks startled but she's back to business in no time. "You can relax here or in your bedrooms, and then the dining cart is just a few down. You each will get your own mentor. They should be with you shortly," she says. She smiles and then zips out of the room, probably to put some distance between her and Verse.
I sigh heavily and collapse onto the blue velvet sofa. I bury my face into my hands, suddenly exhausted. Verse lowers himself next to me.
"I don't understand why you're trying to be so nice to them," he says.
I lift my head from the safety of my hands and meet his gaze. His facial features are hardened and his eyes are dark but I can sense the confusion that lies behind them. "Because maybe not all of them deserve . . ." I trail off, shaking my head slightly as I search for the proper word. "Cruelty?" It comes out as a question instead of a statement but I seize it anyway. "Quinn doesn't seem as bad as I thought she would. Being an escort and all, she's almost . . . normal."
"Normal?" His face turns an even deeper shade of red, verging on purple. "Normal is what we are. What those Avoxes used to be before those monsters got them. None of them are normal."
My arms tingle. The sensation catches my attention and I glance down, noticing that goosebumps have spread across my skin. It's strange, feeling my body react in fear of my brother. Or maybe nervousness. Either way, they're both emotions I've never attributed to him.
And then adrenaline is rushing through me, taking hold of every part of me. I'm not sure whether it's anger, or what, but the sudden urge to defend myself, or worse, to defend the Capitol people bubbles up in me. It froths within me, growing, and then spills over.
"They're like kids. Like me . . . and you. But they don't know any better, right? They're raised to think this is life. It's like being brainwashed or something but from the minute you're born." I steal a quick peek at Verse and it seems like he might be cooling down. So I continue on, "If you had been born in the Capitol -"
"Doesn't matter how they grew up. They watch kids die on their TV screens. And they don't feel a damn thing." He collapses on the sofa.
For the moment, I'm rendered speechless. I can't think of anything to say because a small part of me knows that he's right. But there's another part that's confident that I'm right, too.
The compartment door slides open and two new people come through, making a beeline straight for us.
Quickly, I plop down next to Verse. He cranes his neck around to see who they are, and when he does, grunts "Hi.'
"Hello," they both say at slightly different times.
They sit across from us. And then it seems like the four of us are staring at each other for hours even though I know it's only been minutes. I'm desperate to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind and the silence is becoming so unbearable that I might punch myself just to break it.
Finally, I shatter it.
"I recognize you both."
"What? From your TV screen, girly?" The man laughs but it's not so much like laughter than it is barking. It's rough and weary, scratching the air as it leaves his mouth. His short hair could be graying but it's hard to tell because it's cut so short.
The woman next to him looks me over. She's tall but I swear, she's skinner than I am. She's not even that old, maybe in her late twenties.
"Yeah. Well, obviously. I mean, I hardly see you in town," I stammer.
And it's true, I don't. District 5 has only ever had 3 victors in the past 67 years. I figure that they're so rich now that they can order everything straight from the Capitol. But what do I know?
"We don't like going out so much. Being around people . . . brings back more memories than we care to remember," she tells us. "Aida Cable." She extends her hand toward me. I wipe the sweat off my palms and shake her hand. "I'll be your mentor," she adds.
"Lullaby Tesla," I say.
"As long as we're doing introductions, the name's Beaker Welson." His grubby hand shot out at Verse. "Your mentor." He snorts. "Clearly."
Verse shakes his hand gingerly and leans back in his seat. "Verse."
"Alright. Got that outta the way, huh? Well. Time to face facts. For all that blood you got between you, all that family goodness . . . time to heave ho with it." Beaker's face remains calm as he targets his steely gaze on Verse.
"Excuse me?" For the first time since his name was called, my brother looks shocked. Not empty. Not angry. But genuinely taken aback by what he's being told.
"There's no place for that in the arena," Aida joins in. Her voice is gentle, maybe meant to be kind, but it doesn't soften the blow.
"We're a team." Verse takes my hand in his.
Aida and Beaker both stare at us, blinking rapidly. Then Beaker loses himself in hysterics while Aida tries unsuccessfully to hide her smirk.
"That's admirable, kids." Beaker uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears off his face. "But there are only teams up until enough are dead. Then it's every tribute for themselves." He eyes us. "Think you could kill your sister?"
I feel myself blush. I don't look at my brother. I just wait to hear what he's going to say. Wait to hear what I'm hoping he'll say.
"No." Then he pauses. "It won't come to that."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
I look to our mentors to see if they understand what he means but Aida just looks pleased and Beaker only nods silently.
"What do you mean?" I repeat. I squeeze his hand in an attempt to catch his attention.
"Don't worry about it," he says.
"We've got a few days to train you for your the tribute parade, your interviews, and of course the most important bit, staying alive." Aida stands up. Beaker reluctantly follows her lead.
I leap up, pulling Verse with me.
Before this chat, I felt like I was stuck in this horrible situation with no escape. Of course, I still am. But it doesn't feel nearly as dark as it did before. With my brother by my side, maybe I can live to the end of this. At least long enough to see him win. Because if there's one thing I'm positive of, it's that my brother can beat every other tribute.
The hope is already burning within me.