The night before Alec's sixth birthday is the longest ever. No one is allowed to join the Program before they're seven, but they can start the entrance process from six, and both Creed and Selene got taken to the Centre on their birthdays to sign the papers and take the tests. Creed wouldn't tell Alec what it was about because he said it's important that Alec do it on his own, and meanwhile Selene made up a whole lot of stupid things like having to be walloped with sticks without crying and running across red-hot bricks until Alec threw a cherry at her head.
Alec rolls around, kicking at the blankets and punching his pillow and bunching up the sheets into a giant ball at the foot of his bed until Creed hisses that if Alec doesn't stop he's going to come down there and make him sleep. Finally Alec gives up, and he slips out of bed and heads for the front door. He tugs on his shoes, opens the door slowly, slowly, slowly so it doesn't creak, then jumps down from the top step onto the ground.
He runs around the house, listening to the insects chirp and watching for blinking fireflies even though they're not close enough to the lake for that. His feet sink in the soft grass, and the breeze wafts warm against his face and the leaves rustle and above him the sky shines a soft orange at the horizon from all the lights in town. Alec runs until his breath catches and his heart pounds in his chest and the worries give way. He finally heads inside when he can't tell whether his lungs or his legs are screaming louder, where he kicks off his shoes and nearly runs right into Dad.
"I couldn't sleep," Alec says.
Dad reaches down, brushes Alec's sweat-soaked hair off his forehead as Alec keeps himself very, very still, even holding his breath as the pressure builds. "Good," Dad says finally. "You should sleep better now."
"Yes sir," Alec says, and he almost skips back to his room.
The next morning Alec makes it out of bed before Creed stirs, and he gets dressed and washes up and slips out to the breakfast table, clean and damp. Mom is awake in the kitchen, and they all wait for breakfast until everyone is up but she does pass Alec a strawberry from the community garden, tart and fresh.
Breakfast is Alec's favourite today, pancakes with real fruit and sprinkled with cinnamon saved from the last Parcel Day package. Dad ruffles Alec's hair, and when Creed comes downstairs he's the last one to the table and has to do pushups before he's allowed to take his place. He even gets an extra ten added to his count because he's in the Program now and should know better, and Alec grins from his spot and wishes he could catch this feeling with a butterfly net and keep it in a jar forever.
"Now," Dad says to Alec after they finish eating, and Alec sits up straight. "You know this is your last pre-Program birthday."
"Yes, sir." Birthdays are milestones, and anyone can get older but not everyone succeeds in the Program, and once you join then that's all that matters. It's not like this for the other kids at school, and Alec is pretty sure that Uncle Paul and Aunt Julia will still give Selene presents when she's seven, eight, nine years old, but he is a Seward, not a Valent or anyone else. Even Creed got the party last year but that was about enrolling, not his birthday, and all his presents were things like training shoes or punching gloves.
"It's not easy being the younger," Dad says, and Alec swallows hard. "But you've always worked very hard, and we're proud of you. I know you're going to keep on working every year."
He slides a box across the table, and Alec picks it up. It's heavy, and when he shakes it something inside rattles. He flips open the lid, fingers fumbling with the ribbon, and sucks in a sharp breath: it's a watch, but not the little plastic ones like some of the kids at school have, bright colours and kiddy patterns. This one is a man's watch made of smooth dark metal, and the face is plain except for the Panem seal at the top and District 2's at the bottom. The band is made with links so it can expand as Alec's wrist gets bigger.
"Thank you sir," Alec says. He knows better than to put it on himself; he holds out his arm, and Dad fastens the watch around his wrist himself. It's heavy, and across the table Creed shifts in jealousy and Alec has to bite his lip to stop his grin from getting too big.
After breakfast Alec heads for the front door, except that Dad doesn't follow or get his keys or anything. "Are you going to play with Selene?" Dad asks.
Alec frowns. "I thought we were going to the Centre. That's what you did when Creed was six."
Dad shakes his head, and wait, what? The happy bubble inside Alec pops and everything goes heavy instead. "Creed is our gift to the Capitol," he says. "You know that. He's the oldest, and we offered him to the Centre freely. It won't be the same with you."
Halfway between the table and the kitchen, Creed stops with his hands full of plates, eyes darting between Dad and Alec. Alec gnaws the inside of his lip until Dad's eyes zero in on his mouth, and then he bites right through by accident before he can stop himself. "I don't understand," Alec says slowly, probing the sore spot with his tongue and tasting blood.
"You're the second son, Alec," Dad says, and suddenly the watch on Alec's wrist feels like it's about to drag his hand down right through the floor. "Do you know what that means?"
"It means I have to work harder," Alec says immediately.
Dad doesn't bother nodding. It's not a question he expected Alec to be confused about. "It does. There are two ways to get into the Program. One, parents bring their children to the Centre and have them tested, like Creed or Selene. Two, someone else sends the child a recommendation."
But what does that mean? The question burns inside Alec's brain, but he's not baby enough to ask and he has enough practice keeping things from his face that Dad only raises his eyebrows. "Yes sir," Alec says. Creed still hasn't moved, but his shoulders have come up toward his ears a little. "I'm going to go find Selene."
Dad nods and lets him go, and Alec doesn't bother with his shoes. He takes off as soon as the door shuts behind him and runs straight for the Valents'.
"That's easy," Selene says when Alec asks her. She spits out the blade of grass she was trying to make into a whistle, glares at it, and plucks another. "I got a recommendation even though Dad took me. You just have to get into a lot of fights."
Alec sighs. "I get in a lot of fights. All the time. With you."
Selene grins, sharp and pleased, as she lifts the new blade to her mouth and blows. The sound that comes out is a sad burst of air, and Selene makes another face. "It's not the same thing," she says. "I mean you need to start them."
Oh. Selene does start a lot of fights, mostly with boys but not always. She's very loud at recess and she always plays rough and gets called aside by the teachers, and one time she threw a ball so hard a boy's glasses broke against his nose and he had to go see a doctor. Alec tries to imagine doing something like that, but his brain just spins like the Capitol logo on the TV screen on days when the storms knock out the signal.
"I don't think I can do that," Alec says finally.
Selene cocks an eyebrow at him. She looks a lot like Aunt Julia when she does that, only that's one of the things that would make her punch him if he said it. Aunt Julia is always telling Selene it's not good to fight. "Then I guess you're not going to get into the Program."
That's just Selene being Selene — she doesn't waste a lot of time rolling around in her brain when there's a clear alternative — but Alec's stomach almost leaps right out through his mouth. "But I have to!"
Selene shrugs. "Then you have to start fights." She blows against her thumbs one more time, and this time she manages a high-pitched screech that saws right through Alec's head. "Ha!" she says, and throws up her arms in triumph.
Except Alec can't stop staring at her right wrist, where soon at the end of the month she'll get the first strand on her Program bracelet. Black for the top third of the class, blue for the middle, and white for the bottom; Creed's first was black and so will his next be, everyone knows it, and if Selene's isn't black too then Alec will eat his shoes.
"Start fights," Alec says, flopping back onto the ground and staring up at the sky.
"It's really not hard," Selene says, patting him on the head while Alec glares at her green-stained fingers. "Just find somebody who has something you want, and take it. They'll do the rest."
The next day at school, Alec waits for recess before starting with his plan. He's supposed to start fights and get noticed, but that doesn't mean he should do it by shoving people around in class and making trouble with his teachers. Dad wouldn't like that at all, and neither does Uncle Paul; Selene is smart and she does well but she also gives the teachers attitude sometimes, and whenever she gets sent home Uncle Paul always makes his disappointed face and she shrinks at least a foot.
But recess, that's fair game and everyone knows it. Most of the time Alec joins in races or in the big sprawling games that use up half the kids on the playground, because Selene and her friends are a little bit mean and Creed's friends don't like the little brother hanging around. Nobody picks on Alec because of Dad — both because he's important and because he taught Alec to take care of himself — but not all the kids are so lucky.
This is the best school in Two, Dad says, all the best kinds of people, which means the ones with parents who worked to be where they are, not because they had anything handed to them, and that means a lot of kids who are big and pushy and know how to get what they want. Not all of them are happy with what they have, like Creed, and with so many angling to get into the Program, it means a lot of fights.
Alec scouts the playground and finds a group of boys, big ones a few years older, standing in a circle and kicking around a ball. There's a kid in the middle trying to catch it, and while some of them have Centre bracelets around their wrists, a mix of blue and black strands, the one in the centre doesn't. Good enough.
"Hey," Alec calls out. The leader looks over, marks Alec as younger and looks away — then comes back, because Alec knows how to stand to make himself look more confident, feet apart and head up high. "You done with that ball?"
The biggest boy rolls his eyes. "No. Go play on the baby swings."
He goes to turn back, but Alec takes a step forward. "No, I want the ball."
This time his eyes narrow. "Well, you can't have it, because it's ours. Go get your own."
A teacher glances over, curious but not concerned enough to interfere — yet — and Alec fights back the instinct to shrug and walk away. This is important. Dad wants him to fight, the Centre wants him to fight. "You've had your turn," Alec says. It's easy enough to imitate Creed's tone, the one that says I'm right and you should listen, even though it feels weird coming from him. "Let someone else play."
The leader makes a disgusted sound and tosses a ball to one of his friends. He leaves the circle — the kid in the middle slips out through the gap as the other kids break form — and marches up to Alec, puts both hands on his shoulders and shoves, hard. Alec catches his balance with one foot behind him and stays firm. "Last chance, kid. Go away."
Dad has shown Creed and Alec lots of ways to fight, but his favourite are the ones that show you mean it. At the Centre they'll have to learn to fight for show just as much to win because in the Arena it's also important to be exciting, but this isn't the Arena, and nobody is watching except the teachers. Teachers who will break it up as soon as it gets bad, and that means Alec doesn't have time to waste.
A fist to the throat, thrown with intention, will end almost any fight, Dad says, and so Alec does just that.
It's not like hitting Creed in the face or the shoulder when they scuffle, where the knuckles sting almost as much as the person on the other end; the throat is soft and squishy and it feels weird, and the boy drops right away, croaking and gasping for air. Alec ignores him as soon as he hits the grass and goes for the next one, turned half away and gaping in shock at his friend on the ground; Alec plants a firm kick to the back of his knee, just like Dad showed him, and he goes down, hard. One more kick to his side and he won't be getting up.
After that, though, there's all the rest of them. Alec might have practice sparring at home with Dad and Creed and wrestling with Selene, and he might get nosebleeds and black eyes from roughhousing all the time, but that doesn't mean he's good enough to take on a whole bunch of Centre kids at once. The teacher runs over as soon as soon as they turn on him, but Alec ends up in the office with a broken nose and split lip anyway.
He sits on the hard chair by the door, holding a bag full of frozen peas to his face while the secretary calls home. "They're at work," Alec says, and she gives him a flat sort of look and sets the phone down with a minute later. "Dad works at Eagle Pass," he reminds her, just in case she forgot. Dad and Uncle Paul both work in the big compound under the mountain, the centre of all of Two's military. They're not going to take a call from the office just because Alec got in a fight; if it was bad he'd be in the hospital and the hospital could call them.
The blood sticks in his nose and runs down the back of his throat, thick and choking and gross. It's itchy and tickling and Alec really wants to spit but he can't do it on the office floor and there aren't any trash cans close enough. He's pretty sure Ms. Leeson isn't going to let him come behind her desk and hock up a bunch of blood and spit there.
Instead he breathes slowly through his mouth, counting to four each time to try to make his heart stop jumping so hard. It wasn't like sparring with Dad or Creed at all, or even tussling with Selene on the days she actually pushes him far enough. It's not like defending himself either, where everything is forgiven because a man doesn't let other people push him around no matter what. Sure they were bullying that kid in the middle but they weren't hurting him, and Alec could have called a teacher. But no, he walked right up and he threw the first punch and it's not right, not at all.
He can't stop thinking about the time Mom said no cookies before dinner and Selene convinced him to sneak into the kitchen anyway. After dinner Mom gave him two, one for the usual and one because he'd respected her and waited like she asked him to. Selene kicked him under the table until he said thank you and ate them, and they sat in his stomach like rocks long after the bruises on his shin stopped stinging.
But this is what the Program wants, what Dad wants, and Alec trusts Dad and respects the Program, and it can't be wrong if people he respects and trusts tell him to do it. They're important grownups and Alec is just a kid, and it's important to learn to take orders even if he's not sure at first.
Ms. Leeson gives up with the telephone and puts it away, then leans forward with her hands folded on her desk. "What's the matter, Alec? You're usually such a sweet boy. Did something happen?"
Alec is a sweet boy with a face gone purple and swollen, and he drops the bag and lets her see it. The mean expression takes a while to get right but it's not that hard to imitate, and Alec twists his lip just a little bit and stares at her until she blinks and looks down. "Maybe you don't know me," Alec says, then hides behind the peas again so she won't catch how much he's shaking.
In the end, because they can't reach his parents they send him back to class. The other kids gasp when Alec sits down, and he lets everyone get a good long look at his face while he pretends like this is normal and no big deal. Alec isn't quite sure how to act like he gets in fights with big kids all the time but he avoids everyone's gazes and puts his hand up to answer the teacher's next question, and that seems to be good enough.
That night Dad takes one look at Alec and grins. "Start, or finish?"
Alec fights the impulse to sniffle or touch his tongue to the cut on his lip. "I started it," he says. "The teachers made us stop before we were done fighting." He gives Dad the whole story, and the whole time his chest flutters. What if he did it all wrong somehow? What if it only counts if he's the only one standing when it finishes?
After the story finishes Dad gives him a long, hard look, but then he smiles and claps a hand on Alec's shoulder. "Good," he says. "Next time go for a smaller group and see if you can finish it."
"Yes sir," Alec says, and runs off to wash up for dinner before Dad sees his face fall at the thought of next time.
At dinner, Creed talks nonstop about the Centre like he always does. "We climbed the rope today," he says. "The big one, the one that goes all the way to the ceiling. I was the only one who got all the way to the top."
He's listened to these conversations every day since Creed joined the Program, but today Alec can't take it anymore. His face hurts, chewing hurts, and every time he has to close his mouth and breathe through his nose while eating it's hard to take in any air and his head gets dizzy. "I got in a fight today," Alec bursts out. He drops his fork and it clatters against his plate, loud enough that everyone turns to stare. "A big one. I got sent to the office and broke my nose and everything. That's way better than climbing a stupid rope."
Creed gapes at Alec for a second, then flushes. "So what? I got in a fight and broke my arm last week."
Alec narrows his eyes. The fight is still here somewhere, whispering in his ear, and he presses his hands down hard against the edge of the table. "That's not true! You don't have a cast."
"Shows what you know," Creed shoots back. "They have special casts at the Centre, you put them on and your bone gets fixed by the end of the day."
That makes Alec stop, because maybe they do — lots of kids get hurt at the Centre, and they can't all stop activities like that one time Sonja broke her arm and her mom said she couldn't play outside at recess for six weeks — but then Creed's nostrils do the thing where they flare really quick. "You liar!" Alec bursts out. That's Creed's tell, and Dad says he's going to have to learn how to stop doing that if he wants to succeed but he hasn't yet. "The casts don't do that and you didn't break your arm and getting into a fight is way better than climbing a stupid rope so there!"
"It is not! Anyone can get in a fight!"
"You're just jealous!"
"Boys," Mom says in a warning tone, and they both snap their mouths shut and look at her. Creed's face has gone red and Alec's breath pushes hard in his chest. "Take it outside."
Alec stands up so fast he bangs his knee on the underside of the table and his chair falls over, and he and Creed tear outside without bothering with shoes while Dad chuckles and reaches for the pitcher of water. They wrestle and fight in the grass, and Creed goes for Alec's nose because he talks about honour but at the end of the day he knows how to win, except Alec is mad mad mad and the fight sparks deep in his stomach and he jams his thumb right into Creed's eye.
"Sometimes I hate you," Alec gasps out. Once he starts the words bubble out of him, and he pushes Creed away and fights for air. "You get everything so easy. I have to try hard all the time!"
"Oh boo hoo for you!" Creed snaps. He doesn't look so perfect now, his hair mussed and the collar of his shirt stretched and grass and twigs stuck all over him. "You don't actually have to try! You don't need to get into the Games. As long as you get into Residential you can quit anytime you want. Nobody cares what you do!"
The anger inside him crumbles and floats away like a big clump of dirt dropped into a puddle. "What?" Alec says, staring.
Creed glares but doesn't try to start up the wrestling match again. He swipes a hand across his eyes, the gesture hard and furious. "I'm Dad and Mom's gift to the Capitol," he says. "They can't send a bad gift, I have to be perfect, all the time. I have to be the best and I have to come first in everything and I have to become a Volunteer or I'm not good enough. It's always all these expectations and it only looks easy because I make it look easy! Because I have to make it look easy!"
Guilt creeps over Alec, and the sour taste in his mouth isn't just because he accidentally swallowed dirt when Creed pushed him face-first into the lawn. "But you are perfect," he says, only his voice comes out smaller than he wanted.
"Yeah," Creed says. He plucks at his shirt, knocking away bits of leaves and grass. "Perfect takes work, Alec. It's not something you are, it's something you — you have to be."
Alec moves over to sit next to Creed, knocking their shoulders together. "Sorry," he mumbles.
"Me too." Creed jostles him back. "That's your first fight, right? How many?"
"Five, I think?" Alec prods at his nose. It hurts a little less now. "Maybe six. I forget." Creed grins, and it's easier to feel proud about the numbers than to focus on the weird, sliding feeling from starting the fight in the first place. "Were you really the only one to climb the rope?"
"Yeah." Creed holds out his hands, palms up. Alec hadn't paid attention to them earlier but now Creed peels the layer of synth-skin back. The skin is blistered and torn on the underside of his fingers and the soft, fleshy bit at the top of his palms, and Alec whistles before Creed pushes the beige goo back in place. "Cameron got close, but he gave up near the top. I got a brownie. You have to do real good to get a whole brownie."
"I bet I'll get a brownie," Alec says. Faking confidence still doesn't come easy, but it's getting better, and he has to try less and less to imitate Creed or Selene and just does it.
Creed looks at him, dark eyes solemn. "You will," he says, using the sincere voice that Selene likes to tease him for, and Alec laughs and ducks his head.
When they come back inside, bruised and filthy but laughing, there are warm apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon waiting for each of them at the table.
It's the middle of February by the time the call from the Centre finally comes, and by then Alec doesn't care about the Program anymore, he's just glad he can stop fighting. He's been scrapping since the summer, pushing around the big kids on the playground and coming home bruised and bloodied, and every month that goes by without a recommendation Alec adds to his secret plan to run away to District 4 and live on the beach forever.
By the time they call Alec can't remember having smooth knuckles, or washing his hands without the soap stinging in the tiny cuts. His stomach starts cramping every night after supper because the wall-sits are coming, and each month that goes by means another thirty seconds added to his total for motivation. Every night Alec thinks he can't, he won't, if he has to sit against the wall for four minutes his legs will fall off and he'll die, but he can and he does. He is a Seward and he is a Two and there are worse things than burning thighs and shaking calves and massaging his legs after lights-out and learning to cry without waking Creed.
But they do call, finally, and Dad is very polite and sharp and military-precise on the phone and that's how Alec knows it's the Centre calling. Creed grins at him over his math homework, and Alec stares for a blank second before remembering to grin back. He'd been trying so hard to get through every single day that he'd forgotten anything further away than that.
He remembers to say 'thank you, sir' when Dad congratulates him on getting noticed, and the good thing about all the exercises and wall-sits is that Alec's brain really wants to stay up all night worrying about the tests but his body says ha ha no and makes him fall asleep.
Everybody knows there's an exam when you turn thirteen to get into Residential, because the teachers at school stop asking the twelve-year-olds with bracelets on their wrists to do homework or answer questions in class. There's no point when they'll be gone soon anyway, and any time of year there's always one or two around school muttering to themselves and getting their friends to quiz them.
The thing is, nobody practices to get into the Program in the first place, but there are tests. Creed said so, and so did Selene, but both of them say they're not allowed to tell him what happens — even Selene, who usually listens very carefully to what people tell her to do and then does exactly the other thing.
"It's not about the right answer," Mom says as they drive to the Centre recruitment building. "The Centre is looking to see who's the right fit. They don't want people who have practiced what they think the trainers want to hear. They want real candidates, not fakes."
Alec swallows and holds his face very still even though there's ice crawling around where his blood should be, freezing him from the inside out. What if he isn't a real candidate? Alec has been faking it since the day he walked up to that group of boys and demanded the ball; he's not like Creed or Selene or Dad or even Uncle Paul, he's just normal except he knows what they want from him and how to do it.
And now that's not what they want at all.
"Don't worry," Dad says, nice and breezy like Alec's life won't be over if they don't want him. "You'll do fine. They know quality, and Sewards are quality."
"He's only half a Seward," Mom says in a scolding sort of tone, reaching over to pat Dad's leg in a way that looks nice but means 'watch it, mister'. "Half that quality belongs to me."
"Yes, yes, very true," Dad admits with a laugh, and Alec shares a grin with Creed despite his nervousness. It's always fun to see Mom get on Dad's case because she's the only one who can. "Listen to your mother, Alec, that will get you far in life."
When they get there, Dad drops them off at the front while he parks the car. Creed grabs Alec's sleeve and tugs him aside. "It's not really a test," Creed says in a low voice, eyes darting around in case any grownups are listening. "There's no quiz or anything. They just ask you a bunch of questions and they want you to be honest. It's not a big deal, I promise."
Alec frowns, but Creed's nose doesn't do the thing and he has his serious frown on so while he might be wrong, he's at least not lying. That will have to be good enough. "Okay," he says.
Creed falls silent as they all walk into the lobby together, but when Mom and Dad leave them on the bench he leans over again. "They're going to ask you why you want to be here," he whispers, and he grips Alec's arm tight. "They don't care what your reason is, I swear, but it has to be yours. Don't tell them it's because Dad said you have to, okay? That's all I can tell you."
Alec nods, and Creed nods back with a small sigh of relief. When the trainer comes out to take Alec in for testing, he makes sure not to look back.
"I'm sure you're nervous," the trainer says. She's a tall, pretty lady, shiny blonde hair and bright blue eyes that look like they could see right through him. "It's always worse for a younger sibling when the older one has done it before, but don't worry. We're just going to talk for a while, and then we'll take you out and you can show me what you can do."
"Talk about what?" Alec asks without thinking. He snaps his mouth shut but she doesn't scold him for asking questions out of turn, just gives him a small smile.
"You, mostly," she says, and holds open a door to a nice, white room. It's mostly empty but it looks clean, and the walls are white and there's a nice big window overlooking the yard where a lot of kids are playing. Alec relaxes. "So, Alec, what kind of things do you like to do?"
Creed was right — it's not like a test at all. She asks Alec about school, about his classmates and his friends, about what he and Selene and Creed play when they all hang out together. She asks about his teachers and if he ever breaks the rules and what he thinks about authority. Alec answers, the lady writes things down, and Alec's shoulders finally stop hunching quite so hard — at least until she asks what she thinks about his parents.
"Pardon?" Alec asks, carefully. "I don't understand the question." Parents are parents; you don't think about them, you just have them.
The lady tilts her head, and she gives Alec the sort of narrow-eyed thoughtful look that Aunt Julia uses to tell them she'll know if they lie. "What do you think of your parents? Or just — tell me about them," she says finally, when Alec keeps staring.
That, at least, is easier. "My parents were Peacekeepers," Alec says. "They both stayed in the Program until sixteen. My dad finished his twenty and moved to a job at Eagle Pass command. My mom is a teacher now, at the Peacekeeping Academy." Here he falters, because the lady is smiling but it doesn't feel like the one when he gives the right answer.
"Do you ever get angry with your parents?" she asks, when Alec doesn't try to keep going.
Alec freezes, inside and out. "What?" he asks, and he didn't say 'pardon' like he's supposed to (or even 'excuse me' which Dad says is for when people ask rude questions) but it's too late now.
"Do your parents ever make you mad?" she asks. Alec still doesn't answer, and he's looking toward the door and trying to figure out if he could run without being caught when she lets out a bunch of air through her nose. "This is confidential, Alec. That means I'm not going to tell them. I want you to be honest."
Alec presses his hands flat against his sides. He's supposed to respect his parents but he's also supposed to respect authority and nobody told him what to do if those two things go against each other. "Yes," he says finally. He tries to speak with confidence like the Centre wants but all he gets is a scratchy whisper. "Sometimes."
"Why is that?"
"They like my brother better." He shouldn't say this, this is baby talk, but she asked and Alec has to answer because those are the rules, and Dad says you can't just follow the rules when you feel like it. "It makes me and Creed fight a lot because I get mad."
"Do your parents get angry when you fight?"
This time Alec stops, not because he's scared, but because he has to think about it. "Not unless we're disruptive," he says finally, though even at his worst Alec couldn't be more disruptive than Selene. "But Dad says competition is healthy and we have to get used to it."
The lady nods, and taps her pen against the clipboard. "You talk a lot about what your Dad. It sounds like you respect him a lot."
"Yes," Alec says immediately, glad for an easy answer.
"Are you afraid of him?"
"You can't respect authority if you don't fear it," Alec says immediately, proud that he got one right for once. It's true about Dad, about the president, about the Capitol, everything. He can't hear footsteps come up behind him without tensing, but that just means he must have been thinking about doing something wrong or he wouldn't have been afraid. "Fear is another word for respect for people who don't understand." But then the woman's lips tighten and she makes a note on her paper and Alec can't help a small gasp. Of course; he said the line like he'd heard it which meant it sounded practiced which is exactly what Mom told him not to do. He scrambles to try again. "I just meant — I respect my parents. Even when I get mad."
"All right," she says. "One last question, Alec. You said your parents were in the Program, and we have records that show your brother is here, too. Why do you want to be here?"
And there it is, the question Creed warned him about, though the warning didn't actually help Alec come up with a good answer. He bites the inside of his lip again, curling his toes inside his shoes. When the answer finally comes Alec almost doesn't say it — it doesn't sound grand like when Dad talks, or sincere like Creed or even gleefully honest like Selene when talking about fighting and growing up to be a Peacekeeper like Uncle Paul — but they want honest.
"Creed is always better than me," Alec says. "He'll always be better than me. He's the oldest and he's Dad and Mom's gift to the Capitol and he's perfect. He'll always be older and bigger and stronger and faster and I hate it. I don't like being second. I want — I want to see what I can do if I don't always have to lose to him."
After that the questions finish, and the lady puts her clipboard away. "One more thing, and then we'll go outside," she says, and she takes a bag from the cupboard behind her and pulls out one marshmallow. She sets it on a plate in front of Alec, who tilts his head. Selene did mention getting a marshmallow, but she also said she got a cookie and an apple and a brownie. Alec thought she'd just been bragging.
The lady tells Alec she has to go take care of something, and he can have the marshmallow to eat while she's gone. "Or," she says, "If you wait, I'll give you two when I get back. It's up to you."
"Okay," Alec says, frowning after she leaves him alone. Waiting isn't a big deal, Alec waits all the time, and Dad says patience is important so he and Creed have to practice. Here he even gets a chair to sit on, not like when he has to sit with his back against the wall and his knees bent, so really, it's not hard. He doesn't like raw marshmallows anyway, really, they're chalky and they coat his tongue and make his mouth taste funny. He likes them best when they're toasted over the campfire, and he'll never admit it to Selene because she'd cackle until forever but they taste best when she makes them, burnt black with the middle bubbling out.
Even if Alec really did like marshmallows, all he has to do is pretend that Dad is here, watching, and no way will he be able to eat it. It's a test the way everything is a test but isn't, where there are no wrong answers except there are because that's life. But Mom said not to think too hard and to be honest, and if the lady didn't give him any hints about which way he should go then maybe there really isn't one.
Creed probably stuffed the marshmallow in his face as soon as the door closed. What would he care about getting two treats later? He'd only get more when they saw how fast he ran or how high up the ropes course he climbed. Creed is the special brother, he's the one who does everything right and gets whatever he wants, and Dad says that means if Creed gets in trouble it will be twice as bad but he never does anything wrong so it doesn't count.
Alec should wait. He could do it, he's not even hungry. He should wait and show them how good and patient he is, especially if Creed didn't. Dad would want him to wait; most kids probably don't, and it would be impressive if Alec did. If Dad were here he'd be giving Alec a long stare that tells him don't you dare without needing any words at all.
But Dad isn't here, is he.
Alec takes three short breaths, then grabs the marshmallow and shoves it in his mouth before he can change his mind. It tastes like sugar and chalk and squishes in his cheek and sticks behind his teeth and his mouth fills with spit to try to swallow and he almost coughs it all back up again but he doesn't.
Alec hates marshmallows. It's the tastiest thing he's ever eaten.
Panic floods Alec as soon as he swallows, but it's too late now. He presses both hands over his mouth in case the marshmallow tries to come back out, and he starts laughing at the thought of Dad's face, solemn and disappointed. Everything is scary and exhilarating all at once and Alec can't stop laughing, not until footsteps sound outside the door and he makes himself stop. He sits up, wipes his mouth, and puts on his good boy face.
The trainer doesn't even look at the plate. "Okay," she says. "You've been very patient. Let's go to the gym and you can show me how fast you run." She gives him a wink, private and friendly. "Your brother isn't here, so let's see what you can do."
Two weeks later Alec's acceptance letter arrives in the mail. Mom lets Alec read it himself, and he struggles with the hard words but he makes it through to the end and he did it, he made it! Alec's insides itch and he wants to run and jump and float and sing but he doesn't, he just stands there with his hands at his sides and tries to look like he wasn't worried at all.
"Good," Dad says, and Alec can't help it. He breaks into a wide grin, but then Dad gives him a warning look. "Teeth," he says — Alec lost another last week, and only babies smile big and silly with gaps between their teeth — and Alec quickly pulls his lips shut.