A week later was Reaping Day.
I was wearing a pale pink shirt under my favorite brown vest, a leather vest that was my mother's. My brown pants were reserved exclusively for special occasion such as this, and were the only pair of pants I owned that were not covered in stains and patches. I had my straight, bronze-colored hair pulled to the side and tied with a ribbon my father bought me for today. He was still worried about me getting chosen, and I continued to assure him that I would be alright, but I never seemed to fully convince him.
I saw Robert that morning, and he looked especially handsome, wearing a faded plaid button-down shirt and khaki pants. His auburn hair was combed back, and his eyes were shining brightly with the excitement of his last Reaping.
We ate breakfast together at my house and made small talk, but he could tell that I was still nervous, so he gave up on conversation and just held my hand for another hour as we sat in silence.
Finally, we heard the squawk of the whistle announcing that the Reaping would soon begin.
"I have to head out; I told my mother I'd meet her and Ruby by the check-in. But meet me outside the school afterwards. I have a surprise for you," he said mysteriously before kissing my cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Everything will be okay." And with that, he headed out.
My dad and brother, William, appeared in the room moments later.
"You ready to go?" William asked solemnly.
I nodded. I got up and hugged my dad, then William. Together, we walked to the Square. Everything was set up with grandeur as it is every year. Banners, lights, and a huge stage had appeared overnight and stretched as far as the eye could see.
I had always found this kind of extravagance unnecessary and unfit for the beginning of a competition where the ultimate goal was to kill one another. But it was for the citizens of the Capitol, I supposed.
I checked in and winced slightly as they pricked my finger for blood. Soon, I was standing with the rest of the eligible 17-year-old girls, waiting for our Capitol escort, Vesta Herriot, to announce the District 10 tributes.
But before that, of course we had to suffer through hearing the history of the Games and the Quarter Quell. There was a video about the revolution which, based on the visual effects and editing style, had to have been completed at least 50 years ago, then we re-watched President Lock's announcement about the Quell. It was all quite boring, especially having watched it all before.
Finally, Vesta clapped her hands.
"Now, the time had come to reveal who is the most intelligent among you! Let's find out who will receive the ultimate honor of representing District 10 in the Fifth Quarter Quell!" Vesta screeched into the microphone.
She walked (more like shuffled, as she was heavily restricted by her outfit) over to the clear bowl that contained a single envelope. Her hand daintily grabbed hold of it and she returned to the microphone.
"The lucky lady who will compete for the glory of winning the 125th Annual Hunger Games is…" Vesta opened the envelope slowly, the anticipation building. "Lila Stirk!"
I froze. Me? How could it be me?
"Lila? Come on honey, don't be shy."
My feet felt like boulders as I wove through the sea of girls, then moved slowly towards the stage, surrounded by Peacekeepers. How could this be happening? I know plenty of girls who are smarter than me. But for some reason the test chose me.
Was that test even accurate? Was it legal to discriminate based on intelligence? …Does it matter though? The Capitol can do what they want. They always have.
Questions continued to race through my head as I climbed the stairs to the stage. Volunteers were not allowed for this Quell, so Vesta skipped straight to leading the District in a round of applause for me. I was so numb I barely heard it.
I wanted to look for Robert, look for my dad and William, but I couldn't move. I couldn't take my eyes off the ground as I tried (and failed) to fight back tears. I was as good as dead. I couldn't even hope to win.
I hardly noticed as Vesta opened the envelope that contained the name of the boy.
"Samuel Barrow!"
Samuel Barrow? Judging by the last name, he must be a pig farmer, probably from the middle of the District. As he walked towards the stage, I forced myself to look at him. I could see that he was tall and strong, probably someone who did a lot of work hauling food. He had to be at least 16. If I had to guess, I'd say 17.
And I'd say he actually has a chance of winning. If he was smart, tall and strong, he might actually be able to do it.
Vesta led another round of applause, and then we were whisked away to a room where we would say our final goodbyes.
Final. It's a disconcerting word. It implied that there was no going back, whatever was said would never be changed, it was the last one ever.
But it had just become my reality. Everything I did from this point forward would be…final.