Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Suzanne Collins, etc.
CHAPTER FIVE
the curious youngster
Keaton Carver, male tribute of District Three
My dad drinks, a lot. When he's sober (which doesn't happen very often) he's not a bad guy – he's a lot like my Uncle Took, actually. When he does drink (a nightly occurrence) he's a real... well, Uncle Took says I shouldn't use that word.
When he drinks, he starts in on my mom. He never hits her, or me, but he's really mean. He tells her (and me) that we're worthless, and that he hates the sight of us.
I mean, that's not so bad. He's drunk when he says it, so I can tell myself he doesn't know what he's saying.
My mom, on the other hand, is just plain mean, all the time. For no reason. Well, that's not quite right: I'm the reason. See, she's a seamstress, and a talented one at that. But we live in District Three, and the demand for seamstresses is just not there. About thirteen years ago, she had the chance to take over the local business.
But then she got pregnant with me, and the opportunity passed her by. Now, she works part time and has to take whatever work she can get.
Usually I can just tune her out, but it really gets me when she says I just wish you'd never been born!
Today is the reaping day. Although I've been alive for eleven others, this one is special because... Well, because it's the first one where my name is going to be in one of the giant reaping bowls.
And it's not just in there once, nope. My parents had me take out three tesserae. That means there's a total of four slips of paper with my name on them in the bowl. I mean, I've seen the thing – four slips really isn't that much. The odds of being picked are pretty low. But I can't help feeling nervous and jittery. I can't stop moving, and I stay up half the night thinking about the Hunger Games.
I've seen them on television. I'd be dead in about two seconds if I had to enter the arena.
I'm still awake by the time the sun starts to paint the sky pink and orange, so I decide to just get up and slip out before my parents wake up. I'd just annoy them with my restlessness anyway.
Uncle Took's house is also in the poor section of the District, just like ours, but it's near the more prosperous end, if that makes sense. I know the path to his home by heart – I could probably follow it walking backwards with my eyes closed.
Now there's an interesting thought. I'll have to try it, sometime.
Uncle Took entrusted me with a key to his house, so I let myself in and set about making some breakfast.
About half an hour later, Uncle Took wanders out, stifling a yawn.
"Thought I heard someone cooking," he remarks, grinning. "What's up, Keaton?" he asks, his gaze sharpening as he notices my distress.
I shrug. "Couldn't sleep," I answer. "Hey, Uncle Took? How did you feel when you were in your first reaping?" I ask, falling back on my habit of asking questions.
My uncle ruffles my hair and takes over frying the eggs I had started. "I was pretty nervous. My parents made this big meal... And I threw it all up about ten minutes after I was done eating it," he remembers ruefully. "But I wasn't picked in the seven years I was eligible, and neither will you be."
I nod. "What are my odds, again?" He's told me before, but I want to hear it again.
"Well... There's only four entries for you, Keaton. Most, if not all, of the children in this section of the District have a similar number, and that only increases as they get older, because they have to take out even more tesserae. How many kids do you think there are, Keaton?"
I tilt my head, considering the question. There's about thirty kids in my class, in school. Two thirds of them are from the poor side of the District. There are three classes for each year, and there's six years, so... That means 180 kids who are eligible, 120 of which have similar odds as my own. That's not counting the other schools, so...
Uncle Took pats my head again. "Let's say there are 600 eligible children, 100 of which are your age. Assuming the ratio of children with tesserae to children without tesserae is two to one, that means 66 percent of them have extra entries. The average family has two kids; the average kids takes out a tessera for each of their family members. Therefore, most of them would have five entries."
I nod when he glances at me to see if I'm keeping up.
"Five times 66... What is that again?" he pauses to let me figure it out.
"330," I answer after a few moments.
"Right! So that means there's about 363 entries, including the single entries of the children who didn't take out any tesserae."
"But you have to think about the fact that the bowls are split between boys and girls," I point out. "So that means there's about... um... 182 entries for boys."
Uncle Took nods, conceding the point. "So, in your age group alone, you have a 4/182 chance of being reaped. That's a little over 2% – and that's not including all the other entries in the bowl, from other age groups," he adds. "Factor those in... Well, the odds of you being picked are negligible."
The matter of fact way that Uncle Took explains it makes me feel a lot better.
"So, feeling hungry now, eh?" Uncle Took asks, flipping the eggs over one last time. "Want to set the table, Keaton?"
I nod and do as he asked. I don't know why, but these eggs are some of the best that I've ever tasted. "Hey, Uncle Took? How come we have to bring the eggs in from District Ten?" I ask around a mouthful of food.
My uncle gives a rueful chuckle. "Haven't we been over this before, Keaton?"
"But why?" I repeat, undaunted.
"Animal husbandry is District Ten's industry, just like manufacturing is District Three's. That's just how it is, Keaton," Uncle Took says, like he always does when I ask questions about the industries of the other Districts.
"But why? Wouldn't it make more sense for us to raise our own chickens, and keep our own eggs?" I persist.
"That's the Capitol's plan," he responds, and like always his grin doesn't seem to reach his eyes when he tells me this part.
I huff. "Just because they have to rely on us Districts to support them. They make us weak like they are," I mutter, dragging my fork through the yolk that's left on my plate.
"Keaton, you can't say things like that," Uncle Took scolds. "Tell me you've never said something like that to someone other than me."
"I haven't, honest," I assure him, sulking. "When I grow up, I'm gonna make things more, uhhh. What's the word? It's not effective, but it's like that..."
"Efficient," Uncle Took supplies.
"Yeah! Efficient. I'll learn about all the stuff there is to know about factories and electronics and then things will make sense," I finish triumphantly.
We spend a bit more time discussing things, and then Uncle Took tells me to get dressed for the reaping.
"Um, okay. Can you come too?" I ask, not wanting to see my parents alone. I don't tell him this, but I think he understands my motives anyway.
"Sure, just give me a couple of minutes to get ready," my uncle responds. He disappears into his bedroom, and I busy myself with cleaning the dishes. I know that District Three produces machines called dishwashers, but only the richest of the rich own them. I get the feeling nearly every home in the Capitol has one, however.
Uncle Took returns, snappy in a black suit. It's a little shabby, but that's a word you could describe pretty much every aspect of District Three: shabby.
My mother made me my reaping outfit out of large scraps of fabric she had left over from her job. As a result, I get to wear black shorts (there wasn't enough to make pants) and a green shirt.
My parents are nowhere to be found when Uncle Took and I get to my house, so I hurry to my room and change. I should probably take a shower or something, because my hair is pretty greasy, but there's really no time. We talked for longer than I thought.
The square is really crowded when Uncle Took and I get there, and the line-up to sign in is pretty long. Despite not having to sign in like me, my uncle stays with me the whole time. The time passes more quickly with us chatting, but as soon as I get to my age section, all my fears return full force. I search for Uncle Took in the crowd of adults, but I can't find him.
Looking at all the kids milling around – most of them looking as nervous as I feel, since this will be our first reaping – I have to wonder why people have kids. What if they got reaped? Why would anyone want to go through that pain?
I know that other families are much better examples of, well, a family, than mine is, so I don't understand why they would have children knowing the risks. Even the richer families aren't safe – though their children's names are only in the reaping bowl the minimum number of times, I'd swear that at least one in four tributes from District Three comes from the upper-class families.
I make a mental note to ask Uncle Took about that later – as someone who doesn't have any kids, surely he would know the answer to that question.
The mayor and our escort, a normal-looking (no, really; he's so normal that a person's eyes just skip over him) man named Yarmouth Trivial, walk onto the stage and begin the proceedings.
I don't really pay attention to what the mayor is saying – I've heard it before, I already know what the message is.
I do perk up a bit when Yarmouth takes the microphone.
"Good afternoon, District Three," he says calmly. I've watched the reaping recap on television, and most of the other escorts are really bubbly and excited about drawing names and whatnot. Yarmouth is just... calm. Normal. Without waiting for a reply, he continues, "We'll start with the ladies, I think, this year." He walks sedately over to the first reaping bowl.
There's definitely an air of... not anticipation, exactly. More like taking a deep breath to steel yourself before you do something that's not going to be pleasant.
"... Our female tribute this year is Alivya Tarrow. Miss Tarrow, please come to the stage," Yarmouth informs us.
From the seventeen year old section, a girl that looks vaguely familiar – she lives on my street, I think – slowly walks to the stage. She's immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place. Her eyes are wide, but otherwise her expression is completely controlled.
There's a smattering of half-hearted applause, which Yarmouth acknowledges with a serious nod of his head.
"And our male tribute will be..." He makes his way to the other bowl and plucks a name from the top of the pile. "... Keaton Carver. Please come up, Mr. Carver."
Wait, that's my name. But the odds- Uncle Took told me- Why did Yarmouth pick my name?
Someone pushes me forward, and I stagger slightly before forcing myself to make the long walk to the stage. The twelve year old section is, naturally, farthest from the stairs...
"Well, District Three-"
"Excuse me, Mr. Trivial?" I say, patting his arm to gain his attention.
"... Yes, Mr. Carver?" Yarmouth asks, looking faintly surprised.
"Why did you pick my name? Why didn't you put your hand in the pile, like you did with the girls? What made you pick from the top?" I ask.
The escort blinks once, twice, before answering. "It seemed like the natural thing to do, dear boy."
I nod. "Right. Okay. Natural. Got it," I say.
Apparently thinking the issue resolved, Yarmouth turns to address the crowd once more. "As I was saying... Any volunteers this year, District Three?"
None, of course – not that I was expecting there to be any.
The wait for someone – preferably Uncle Took, even though he did lie to me – to come visit me is nearly interminable. I pace around, examining the various aspects of the room that the Peacekeepers led me to – I doubt I'll get another chance to be in an office in the Justice Building ever again.
I want to ask if this is room is used at any time of the year other than for one of District Three's tributes to say their farewells in. Farewells, not goodbyes – the dismal record of Victors from my District tells a person all they need to know about my or Alivya's odds of returning.
The carpet is red, like blood. I shudder at the morbid places my mind is already going to. I can't imagine what it'll be like in the arena.
Ok, I'm imagining it. I wish I hadn't had that thought.
The door opening provides a welcome distraction from my mind.
It's Uncle Took. I immediately run over to him and he kneels down to hug me.
"Keaton..." he sighs, and it's almost easy for me to imagine that I'm safe with his strong arms around me.
"You said- you said I wouldn't be reaped," I whisper, unable to keep the accusatory note from my voice. "Why did you lie, Uncle Took?"
"Keaton- I didn't lie to you," he says, sounding upset. Well, good. That makes two of us. "I honestly believed you wouldn't be reaped- But that doesn't mean you don't have a chance. Kids your age have won the Hunger Games before," he tries to assure me.
"Yeah, because they got paired with Careers who took pity on them!" I snap, pulling away. "That's not going to happen with me. I'm going to die, aren't I? The odds of my survival are less than one percent."
Uncle Took runs a hand through his hair. "Look, Keaton, you do have a chance," he insists. "You're smart – if you keep your head down, people will overlook you. You can fit in all sorts of hiding places."
"I'll die in the end," I say bitterly. "Kids like me, sure, they survive the bloodbath. They never win."
"Keaton, if you give up before you even enter the arena... Yes, you'll die," Uncle Took says bluntly. I flinch and turn away.
"I don't want to go, Uncle Took," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. "Why do I have to go?"
He doesn't answer me, and I think I know what he would say anyway – something treasonous.
"I don't have a token," I say after a few minutes of silence. It's a stupid thing to say, but what else is there to talk about? "Any ideas?"
Uncle Took looks at me in surprise, then roots around in his pocket for a second. I watch with curiosity, wondering what he's going to pull out.
"Hold your hand out, Keaton," he tells me, holding his clenched fist in front of him. I put my hand under his, palm-up, and he drops a bronze coin that's shiny from years and years of handling.
"This?" I ask, surprised. "But- it's your lucky coin, Uncle Took. I can't take that!" I protest, though I can't deny that I'm pleased that he would entrust me with it. Even though luck isn't real, maybe having this coin with me in the arena will help me survive...
"Nah, I think you deserve it," Uncle Took assures me. "Besides, my uncle gave me it when I was your age-"
"No, I remember you telling me this story before," I interrupt. "He gave it to you when you were fourteen."
"Well, you're probably at the same maturity level now as I was then," he invents, shrugging.
I roll my eyes. "Right." I hug him again. "Thanks, Uncle Took."
"I'm sorry, Keaton. You shouldn't have to go through this," he tells me in a low voice. "No one should."
"I know. But it's not your fault," I add.
Uncle Took frowns slightly, then nods. He looks like he's about to say something else, but a Peacekeeper opens the door and interrupts him.
"Time's almost up," the man says gruffly.
Uncle Took nods again and turns back to me. "Do you want to see your parents?" he asks.
I scowl at the thought. "No. I bet they didn't even come to see me, anyway. Did you see them?"
My uncle sighs and shakes his head.
"Well, if they're outside, tell them I don't want to see them," I say firmly.
"Ok... I can do that for you." Uncle Took gives me one last hug and then walks to the door. "Keaton- I really do think you can win," he adds. "So I'll just say... Goodbye."
"Bye," I echo. The door closes, leaving me alone again. Uncle Took is as good as his word, and my parents don't come see me at all. I spend the rest of the hour turning the coin in my hand over and over, studying its two faces.
The car ride to the train station, and then the walk to the train itself, passes in a blur. I ask questions, but I'm not really listening to the answers. Most of my attention is taken up by the coin that I'm flipping through my fingers.
We watch the reaping recap on the train (the Careers this year don't look as scary as they usually do, but I'm sure they're just as deadly as always) and arrive at the Capitol after the sun sets. The city itself is so bright, though – there are lights and flashing signs everywhere.
Despite the stress of the day, I just crawl into my bed – the comfiest thing I've ever been on – and fall asleep immediately.
A/N: Whew, I was really busy the last couple of days. Writing two reapings a day is too much work, sorry. I'll try to do one a day, from now on!
Random fact: Keaton is the only 12 year old. Makes sense, though. What is a bit more weird is the fact that the most common age of this year's tributes is 17 (there's seven of them!). There's only one 18 year old (Trance). Well, hope you found that interesting. XD
Feedback is always appreciated ~ ;)
