It is the day before the reaping. The people from the Capitol have already begun preparing in Big Two, the main village out of the cluster we have in Two, each of those villages surrounding a different mine. It is in Big Two that we have our Justice Building and our district square, the place we hold our reaping each year. Nia and I go out for a jog all the way to Big Two. We don't usually interact with the people in other villages, but some of them go to the same schools and some trained with us.
"Look. It's Kallikrateses," Nia whispers. She wipes the sweat from her brow.
I look in the direction she is and see Euripides and Eudocia Kallikrates, the brother and sister duo who are the same age as us, so it is their last year for the reaping as well. Their older sister was the one who beat Nia out for volunteer the year before. I wonder how they reacted, when they watched her die. If they cried, they were probably made fun of for it, because it is not only embarrassing to cry for an "honorable" death in the arena, it is embarrassing to have one of your own die, to let down the entire district.
"You think they're going to volunteer this year?" she asks me.
"Probably," I say. They volunteered two years ago, as well. "Wouldn't you hate to go up against Euripides, though?"
Nia looks at me, a good blush in her cheeks. I know she has a crush on him. He's been one of the few that she actually has had a crush on. "I don't know what you're talking about. He's mediocre."
He was anything but, though; Euripides had a wicked swing. When we had been little and handling little shakers, he had been handling a mace with equal ability. In some way, though, Nia was right. The mace was the only thing he was good at. "He could knock you dead with that mace, though."
"So could you. It's not saying much, that he can swing a mace. He's just strong," says Nia, still blushing.
"You're blushing," I tease, poking her.
"We just went for a run! Of course I'm blushing! Don't be ridiculous, Riegan!" She looks away, embarrassed.
I hold back a smile. Nia and I haven't discussed the topic of my volunteering. She does wish I would, which is one of those strange things from "Career" districts... we don't care that our best friend will have to die, it would be awesome to be in the Games together. There are also the weird family pairings—like the Kallikrateses—who don't mind killing even their siblings. I suppose they just hope it won't come down to them.
But at home, the view on volunteering has changed...
...
Whenever it becomes too hard to speak in code about the rebel plans, my parents take me out to the safest place we know: close to the barbed wire fence that guards the district, but not quite out of it yet. There is an enclosed clearing there, guarded by trees and bushes and then a number of out-of-the-way residences. Dad once told me that in Twelve, the fence had not been electrocuted for a long time, and he had been able to leave the district fairly often. I can't imagine that sort of freedom. Think of all the things you could do and say out there, beyond the ears of the Capitol...
My parents and I always bring food to this clearing, to pose as a family out on a picnic, just in case anybody sees us. Nobody hears us here, ever. It's very private, unlike our house, where there are windows through which we can be heard.
"The rebels tell us that there will most certainly be a good number of victor-children in the arena this year," my mom says quietly, spreading some jam on bread and handing it to me. "Among them, the mockingjay's children. Possibly."
The mockingjay is Katniss Everdeen, who is one of Twelve's very few victors. She's particularly special because she made the Capitol have two victors, for the first time in Hunger Games history. She refuses to have anything to do with the rebellion, however. Despite her not knowing, the mockingjay is vital to the rebellion. I once asked Dad if he knew her, and he denied it, said that no, absolutely not, and don't ask me about it again. I decided she broke his heart once. He would never have been so embarrassed about it otherwise.
"So what do they want us to do?" I ask.
Mom and Dad exchange glances. Dad, however, has never been one to hold back. "They want you to volunteer."
At first, I am confused. I do not know how to feel about this.
"They want me to volunteer?"
"Yes. To keep all those children alive," says Dad.
"Even if it means killing the others?" I demand.
My parents flinch, because they know—like I do—that I would not hesitate to kill the others. If I were drawn in the reaping in any normal circumstance, I would kill just as viciously as anybody else in my district. Mom nods slowly. "Those are Thirteen's instructions."
"That's messed up."
"We don't question the orders, Riegan," Dad reminds me.
"Why do we want them alive? Because they're a face? They're a known face?" I ask, disgusted. "That's how they decide who they want to live or die? Whoever is most useful to them gets to live... the rebels are just as bad as the Capitol."
"Shh!" they both say. What I said must be extreme, because it's uncharacteristic of Dad to silence me. He complains just as often as I do, if not more.
We settle into silence. Mom keeps spreading jam and making sandwiches. "Riegan, we know it's not the best arrangement, but we have to do what we're told. Besides, I'm sure they have their reasons."
"And isn't this what you wanted?" asks Dad, his expression grim.
I feel a bit embarrassed because I know what he thinks of it. I know that he thinks I'm mad and crazy and sick and such a disgusting Career, but it's his fault for raising me here. I've done the best with what I was given, though, so there's that. "I didn't want to choose people to protect when I'm in there, Dad."
"You don't choose," he says calmly. "And it's for the good of the rebellion."
I can't overstate how many times I've heard him say that throughout my life: "For the good of the rebellion." As long as it can be somehow connected to "the good of the rebellion", it is worth it.
"So I'm volunteering this year?" I ask.
Mom swallows. "That's what they want."
"And I'm going to die." I can't help but think of it being for the good of the rebellion, that my dad chose this for me. "And you're okay with it."
"You're not going to die," says Dad sharply.
I look at him, and then at my mom, and that's when I realize what the plan is. "They want to do the same thing they did for the third Quarter Quell, don't they? They want to bust out the tributes during the Games!" I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief. "Because that worked out so well the first time. Why don't they just stop it from happening in the first place? Honestly!"
"You know it's not that easy," Mom says. "Look. We have to get the districts united first. The best way to do that is through the Games, which is the only thing all of Panem has in common. It's the thing that kills us, but it also keeps us together. It's the only thing that keeps us together. We need it to happen."
There she goes, talking like a rebel.
I sigh. "Fine. I'll do it."
My parents both give a sigh as well (but theirs is of relief), although I'm not sure why, since it wasn't like I had a choice to begin with.
...
On reaping day, in Big Two, when our escort—Lucretia Fustian—stands in front of the crowd of children and wishful families and asks: "any volunteers for the ladies?" Nia's hand is up before she has finished the question.
"I volunteer for tribute!" Her familiar voice rings out, and I can't help but hear the pride, the confidence. I am almost scared.
"Yes! You," says Lucretia happily. I look at Nia, who is gleaming with pride. The Nitzans are cheering for her. When Nia makes it up to the stage, Lucretia asks, "What is your name, tribute?"
"Nia Nitzan," she says, her chin jutting out. The crowd erupts in applause, because even if you wanted to volunteer, you support your district. You are proud of your district. You are proud of the tribute who will bring home glory to your district.
"Well, we hope you will bring pride to our district this year, Miss Nitzan, and join the ranks of the greats of District Two," says Lucretia. "And now, for your partner... do we have a volunteer?"
My hand raises in the air.
I wonder if I am imagining the gasp of surprise from some of the people surrounding me.
"Yes, you, with the reddish-brown hair," says Lucretia, because so many of the boys have volunteered this year—including Euripides Kallikrates, who shoots me a disdainful look. He is blonde and very much not the one with the reddish-brown hair.
Nia is looking at me in shock and surprise, but pleasure. I cannot help but think it as strange that she knows one of us must die, and she doesn't want it to be her. So she is okay with my dying. And everybody is okay with her being okay with that.
"What's your name, tribute?" asks my escort.
I am a tribute in the Hunger Games. The idea shocks me into silence. I don't know how to feel. I find my voice. "Riegan Hawthorne."
"Ladies and gentlemen, District Two's tributes of the Ninety-Ninth Annual Hunger Games!" cries Lucretia, holding up my hand and Nia's, who is still grinning at me in excitement.
I grin back, but I know what my job is. My job is to make sure whichever child or children of victors makes it into the arena gets out alive, even if it means the death of my best friend.
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