A/N: Be sure to submit to Blue Tinted Raven's SYOT.
Here are the rankings from District Six:
1. Mercedes Jones
2. Jonan Spoke
3. Coby Roose
4. Belladonna Darnell
5. Meyla Spoke
6. Carson Powers
7. Alice Brendon
8. Tyrus Duncaine
District 7: Jeffane Stoil's POV:
I wake up early and tiptoe out of the room. The room I share with the others. My twin, my junior by six minutes, my nine-year-old sister, Mika, and six-year-old Chiny. Or is she seven now? Perhaps.
I slip out of the room and go to the front door. I put my boots on and leave the house. It's not really a house, I guess. It's a shack, like the rest of the dwellings on the Outskirts of Seven. Which is about a third of the district.
Seven's composed of three regions. The richest people in the district live in the Town. They're mostly businessmen, and merchants, and people who tend to make more money. Much more money. They're in the center of the district.
Then there's the Forests, where most people live. As the name implies, it's situated in the forest. There's a path that leads from the Forests to the Town, but if you want to get to the Outskirts, you have to beat your way through the underbrush. The weeds that our pitiful people can't manage to eradicate. The people of the Forests live in house-houses, not shack-houses, but they're much smaller than the houses in the town. The people are mostly woodcutters, which might not seem like a well-paying job. And it's not. But the agency sells the wood to the town, who sells it to the Capitol, and the woodcutters get some share of it.
There're also some Townies and Outskirters who are woodcutters. But the Outskirters don't get paid much, as the income's based on status and current wealth. That's good for the richer people, but life sucks here for the Outskirters. We don't get anything.
And then there's the Outskirts, where the poorest people in the district live. I live in the Outskirts. The people who call themselves my "family" also lives here, though they don't care about me enough to act like they are. The Outskirts must be the dirtiest, grimiest, poorest place in Panem. We have nothing. I, in particular, have nothing.
And that's why I'm going to volunteer today.
The cool air of early morning hits me as soon as I set foot outside. I shiver slightly, and close the door softly behind me. I turn and walk around the shack, to the very back. I grab the uneven wood jutting out of the wall, and begin to climb. I've been spending the mornings on the roof, watching the district, for years now, so I'm an expert at the climbing part.
I sit on the wooden rooftop, next to the small chimney. Or at least it used to be a chimney, before it caved in. It caved in back when my father's family lived here. In fact, I don't know if a single house here in the Outskirts has an intact chimney anymore. No wonder so many houses burn down.
I look around carefully. No Peacekeepers. Hopefully, by the time the sun rises, it will be six and the curfew will have been lifted. I got caught once, two years ago. I was ten. One of them on the night crew saw me, and came over to investigate. I didn't move, as I didn't really care what happened to me. Even by that young age, I had realized that no one cared for me, or ever would. In fact, I wanted him to see me.
He climbed up on the roof and pulled a pair of sparking electrified manacles from his pocket. He got one around my wrist, and I was almost shocked to death. He was about to snap it around my other wrist when Chiny, five at the time, came running outside, having heard my yell of pain. While she distracted him, I got away. She was too young to be really penalized for breaking curfew, but they took Father in for questioning.
I hated Chiny after that. I didn't want my baby sister saving me from anything. She's the only one who still hasn't learned how I work. How my ways don't expand to include others.
But there aren't any Peacekeepers today. None at all. I sit with my back to the broken chimney, and look out over the horizon. In the distance, I could see the lights of the Town. Amid the inky blackness of the forest, there are more lights. That would be the Forest community.
The trees go on forever, blacking out the landscape. I close my eyes then, and envision this afternoon with glee.
Dontie, the ever-annoying escort from the Capitol, will call some boy's name. And the two words will leave my mouth, and I'll have reserved a spot in the Games.
My family will never miss me.
There'll be ninety-six tributes. If I die, I die. No one will miss me. Not even myself. I will never regret it. Well, obviously not - I'll be dead. And if I somehow beat the odds and win, I'll spend the rest of my days in Victor's Village. Alone, I should mention. The others will not join me.
There could be no downsides to volunteering. I'll never miss the district, Panem, my messed-up life. Those people who always follow me, yelling at me, screaming at me, telling me to do this, to not do this, that they're my family. Blah, blah, blah.
I'm not one of them.
They know it.
I know it.
I'm not "one of" any group. I don't belong anywhere, and I doubt I ever will. I used to cry about it when I was little. When I was four and five and six, and still coming to terms with the fact that I'd never be accepted. That I wasn't wanted.
I haven't cried since.
And I never will.
I've considered suicide before. You bet I have. But I don't want to help the others in any way. I don't want to give the satisfaction of knowing they've pushed me over the limit. That I'm as weak as they think.
I'm not weak, and you'd better believe it. Could someone who's weak beat up a sixteen-year-old a head taller than them? Who grew up in the Town, and isn't starving? Would someone weak pick fights - and win fights - with people years older them and tens of pounds heavier than them?
No, I'm not weak.
The sun appears just over the horizon, staining the sky orange, almost too bright to look at. Like always, it's my cue. I need to get down, get dressed, and leave.
So I slide down and land lightly on the dirt. I slip back into the shack and pull some clothes from the closet. It's a grey t-shirt and trousers. Why should I wear anything fancy? What's there to dress up for, besides my death?
I change quickly, and leave the house before any of the others even wake up.
I walk through the old, broken houses of the Outskirts. When I reach the forest, I wade in quickly. I expect there are others here too, getting to the square early. The curfew has just been lifted.
I let my senses take over me. East until I hit this tree, the one with the bird's nest, and turn northeast, and walk until you pass under the broken tree. Then turn north completely, and walk until you get to the trail from the Forests to the Town.
When I break through the trees, I'm on a worn path that's been walked on for the last century. There are a few other people on the road, but no one I know. I follow the path up to the Town, and from there I follow the signs. I've never had the need to memorize the route, so I always follow the signs.
When I get to the square, there's virtually no line. I sign in with the Capitol man, and go to the twelve-year-old boys' section near the middle. I stand there for an entire hour before the reaping begins.
.
"Wasn't that a lovely video?" Dontie, the escort, warbles. "I know, I know! It was!" He shakes his head, smiling. "But we're on to an even more fascinating part. I'm going to choose the eight tributes!"
He gives us a huge grin, and I glare at him. He goes over to the boys' bowl, and draws a name.
"Sam - "
"I volunteer." My voice escapes for the first time in a while. I push out of my section and go to the stage.
Dontie shakes my hand, still grinning widely, and asks, "What's your name, sweetie?"
I glare at him. "Jeffane Stoil. I'm twelve."
I yank my hand away from his. I wonder what'll happen to me.
District 7: Jame Stoil's POV:
When I wake up, Jeffane's already gone. He often leaves the house in the early morning, when he thinks we're all still asleep. Before the curfew's lifted. He's strange like that. He's different like that.
His bed is rumpled, as if he hasn't even attempted to make it. Mother hates when we don't make our beds perfectly, but Jeffane doesn't even try. It bugs her quite a bit, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about any of us.
I guess that's why we've given up on him, too.
Back when we were little, Jeff used to be a happy-go-lucky normal little boy. But when we were six or seven, he changed. Now, he's...different. He rejects everything, everyone. He's not one of us anymore.
And now he's completely separated from us.
But of course, when he gets in trouble at school - he's always getting into fights there - we're drawn into it. We're blamed. I'm teased at school, because I have the black sheep brother. I have almost no friends here, because of Jeffane.
Can you blame me for not being able to stand him?
I used to call him Jeffie. Can you believe that? But then, he started to beat me to the ground whenever I did. Sometimes, whenever I'd talk to him. So I don't, whenever I can avoid it.
We might be twins, and he might be only six minutes older than me, but he's five foot six, and I'm only five foot three. He's bigger than me, and stronger. We're identical twins, but we don;t exactly look alike.
Jeffane doesn't let Mother cut his hair anymore. He'll grow it out until it goes past his shoulders, and then he'll take a rock or something, and chop the ends off, so it's normal length, but choppy and uneven. I've seen him cut it before. He always cuts his fingers in the process. And maybe it's not by accident.
It's at it's long stage right now. It goes past his shoulders. As you can imagine, it doesn't suit him well.
It wouldn't suit anyone well.
When I get up, a glance at the clock tells me that the curfew has been lifted. The early birds will be trailing over to the square.
I roll out of bed, and painstakingly try to adjust the sheets so it does't look like I've been having nightmares and thrashing around all through the night.
Even though it's the truth.
When the bed is decently made, I go over to the closet I share with the younger two. Mika and Chiny, nine and seven, who both seem to still be asleep. And I expect they'll remain asleep until I wake them up.
I step over Jeffane's clothes, which are in a pile in the middle of the room. I open the closet and pull out a grey button-down shirt and slacks. I wonder what Jeff's wearing.
I quickly change into the reaping clothes, and I drop my washed-out PJs on the bed. I look in the mirror, and adjust the collar on the shirt. I grab a brush, and brush my short brown hair. It doesn't really need to be brushed, like usual, but Mother insists. She says that even though we're Outskirters, part of the poorest group in Seven, we must look and act impeccable.
There's not much I can do for the "act". I am who I am. But I do attempt to pacify Mother when it comes to my appearance.
I leave the bedroom and walk to the living room-slash-kitchen-slash-dining room-slash-everything else room. Mother and Father aren't there yet. They're probably changing, and getting ready. Usually, Mother would yell at me if I tried to eat alone, before everyone else got to the table, but as I'm meeting Kay Erbest, my best and only friend, she gave me permission.
As I said, Kay is the only person who hasn't turned on me because of Jeffane. He has a hard life himself, and seems to recognize my struggles. He may not be the nicest person ever - (who is the nicest person ever?) - but then again, neither am I.
I pull out the box of District Seven Standard. It's almost empty, and I don't want the others to go hungry, so I pour myself a very small serving. Half of what I could have taken.
For some ridiculous reason, the Standard Cereals are all based on the district's industry. Here in Seven, we're responsible for providing lumber. So, of course, the District Seven Standard is composed of grainy tubes, brown in color. It's a poor representation of wood. Of tree trunks, whatever. Whatever the Capitol demands from us.
I down the entire bowl of cereal in about a minute. I'm not even eating it that quickly, if that's any proof of how little I took. I hope Mika and Chiny give themselves more than I got. They deserve it more.
When I finish the cereal, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
A little note about our toothbrushes: In the Town, the rich people buy their toothbrushes from the pharmacy, or one of those fancy places. They're plastic. Some of the Foresters go there, too. But the majority of Foresters, and pretty much every Outskirter, have different brushes. We make them ourselves, from what we can scavenge. Usually, they have a wood handle, and whatever softish bristles we can find to glue on.
I just made this toothbrush last week. It's very new. Mika and Chiny's are probably a month old. But Jeffane's? It's a year or two old. He uses the same brush until it gets so repulsive that even he can't use it. I don't know why he does it. Or why he does anything, for that matter. Anything like that.
I go to the door and pull on my boots. I tie the leather laces, and turn around for one last look at the house. Mother is going into the bedroom to wake my sisters up. Father is waiting at the table.
I step to the doorway of the bedroom. Mika and Chiny are waking up and rubbing their eyes. They greet me, and I say, "See you at the reaping. And...good luck. Stay safe."
I smile at them, wave to Mother, and leave the house.
I close the door behind me, and look around the Outskirts. The fence is just a few houses away. It's not electrified, like usual. I'm told that the part of the fence by the Town is often charged, but there's a gap somewhere along it, so it doesn't reach the Outskirts.
I look around at the shabby houses, and wonder if I'll come back. Because if I'm reaped, I'm not so sure I will. In fact, I strongly doubt it. My odds would be terrible. And I haven't trained. Not like those Career tributes, who've spent their entire lives preparing.
But I won't be reaped. I'm only twelve. I only have thirty-two entries - eight because I have to, eight for tesserae for me, and eight for both Mika and Chiny, so they don't have to put their names in more times.
Jeffane has eight entries. I begged him to help me, to support Chiny or Mika. But he said no.
And now I feel guilty for not wanting to take the tesserae myself. But I've taken it, and my name's in the bowl thirty-two times. The odds aren't exactly in my favor.
I walk through the houses, heading for the treeline across the valley. The Town and the Outskirts are the only parts of Seven that aren't covered in trees genetically engineered for quick growth. But I think I prefer the trees.
The Outskirts are completely silent. I'm the only person on the streets. I can sometimes hear soft voices as I pass by houses, but I tune them out. I focus on the soft treads of my leather boots against the dirt.
When I reach the trees, I turn around and gaze out over the Outskirts. It's situated in a valley, and I can see each of the fifty or so homes laid out below me. In the distance, I see the fence. It's shabby and old, and twenty feet tall.
Beyond the fence, there are trees and more trees. The foliage is so thick that it just looks like a dark green blanket covering the hills. I would love this view if not for the houses. But I've looked out over this valley for twelve years now, and I've grown to accept them.
I'm about to turn back around and head to the Town when there's a yell, and someone tackles me from behind.
I yelp, and tumble forward. I roll down the hill, and bump into a house. Groaning, I get to my feet. I know who it was.
"Hi, Kay," I say tiredly. "Good to see you, too."
"Good to see you," Kay says cheerfully. He walks over to me, brushing his black hair from his eyes. "How are the others? Is Chiny still the cutest thing on the planet? Does Mika still not trust me? And how's Jeffie? Does he still have that emo-weird-kid-I'll-beat-you-up look? Because the last time I saw him, he was looking beautiful."
I can't help but laugh. Kay's weird like that. "Chiny...well, yeah, I guess she's cute. But she's seven. Little kids are cute. And I can't blame Mika for not trusting you. That hasn't changed. And Jeffane hasn't changed much, either."
The smile leaves my face.
"Sore subject, huh?" Kay grins at me. "Well, let's make it positive. Who says he'll be reaped?"
"I don't think he'd care if he was," I say. "He might actually enjoy it."
Kay laughs. "Maybe he'll volunteer."
"Maybe."
"He's crazy enough."
"He definitely is," I agree. "And if he does volunteer, well...I can't say I'll be that disappointed."
I look down sheepishly. Embarrassed.
"That's harsh, man." Kay shakes his head, clucking his tongue disapprovingly.
"It's true," I admit. "He...he hasn't exactly made my life that great."
"Still." Kay shrugs. "If he was my brother - "
"Let's stop talking about this," I say. "We should probably go now."
"Let's go, let's go," Kay mimics. "Well, fine, Jamesie boy. Let's go to the square."
We walk through the trees, following the route we take every day. When we get to the road, we're the only people on it. There's still one hour until the reaping, so I expect most people plan to cut it close, and come later.
I don't mind. I like the solitude.
We wander down the path, me in silence, Kay talking nonstop. He talks about odds, tesserae, past Games, what district is probably going to win this year, who should've won last year. Et cetera, et cetera.
When we get to the square, Kay says, "Race you."
He takes off, sprinting away, through the streets. He's already faded into the distance by the time I start running. I'm fast, but I know I won't be able to catch up. Kay's the fastest person I know.
When I finally get to the square, I'm panting, my hands on my knees. Kay's already in line, and it's clear he's had plenty of time to recover. I walk to the back of the line, a few people behind him. He slips out of the line and comes to join me.
"Slowpoke." He grins at me.
"You started first!" I protest. "You just took off! You didn't tell me we were racing until you had left!"
"I told you right before," he corrects. "And even if we had started at the same time - heck, even if you'd started earlier - I'd still have beaten you. You know, don't you, Jamesie boy."
"You're probably right," I mutter.
"I know I'm right," he replies. "I'm always right."
.
Dontie reaps the boys first, like every other year. He picks the name, and reads it. Well, he reads the first name. Because someone interrupts him.
"I volunteer!"
There are a few gasps, and everyone searches for the owner of the voice. But I don't need to. I know who it is.
It's Jeffane.
He walks calmly to the stage, amid gasps and mutters. No one volunteers in Seven. No one. Even people like Jeffane. We haven't had a volunteer here since...I'm not sure when. Decades ago, I think. Definitely not in my lifetime.
Beside me, Ray gives a low whistle. "Man, you're brother is one crazy person."
I don't argue. Jeffane's always been weird. Different. But I was joking when I said he might volunteer. Surely no one wants a painful death. I wonder if he'll commit suicide. Or if he'll fight. I wonder if he wants to live.
When the audience - and Dontie - finally calm down, Dontie chooses the next name.
"I wonder if we'll have another volunteer," he squeaks. "That would be so exciting! I hope we do! Volunteer, someone! Volunteer!"
He unfolds the slip and reads, "Jame Stoil!"
"Oh, great," someone next to me mutters. It's...Kay.
After that, I don't hear anything. My ears are filled with a low hum, and my vision fogs up. My brain fogs up, and I can't think. My breath comes faster, and the horror settles in me. Dontie...he called me.
And then I can hear again. The square settles back into focus, and my brain is clearer than it's ever been.
As I walk to the stage, I'm already composing a plan.
District 7: Acetonn Blight's POV:
I wake up when Hope's pillow hits my head. I bet she's been launching pillows at me for a while now, but this one is the first that's made contact. I sit up and yelp. Hope laughs like crazy.
"Gotcha!" she yells. "Right on the head!" She taps her own head for clarification. "Woke you up, huh?"
This is why I don't always like sleepovers with my best friend. She loves pillow fights, especially in the early morning. And the fact that I didn't sleep well because of the reaping today doesn't help.
I sit up and grab the pillow. I hurl it right back at her. It misses.
"Missed me!" my best friend taunts. "Missed me by a mile!"
"Not by a mile," I say, miffed. "I missed by a foot or two."
"It's an expression, dummy," she says, laughing. "Haven't you heard it before?"
"Not before now," I admit. "And this time, I will hit you."
I pick up my own pillow, and get to my feet. I chuck it at her, and she dives out of the way, cackling, sure I'll miss. But it catches her in the side, and I hoot with glee.
"I gotcha, I gotcha!" I yell. "You think you're so much better than me? I just hit you!"
I hop around the room, laughing. I shoot her a crazy grin, and she pouts up at me.
"I am so much better than you are!" she insists. "I have two arms. I didn't lose one in a lumber accident, or whatever happened to you."
"But it was cool!" I say.
"What was cool?"
"The butterfly," I explain. "I was chasing it! And I tripped, and the lumber saw thingy cut it off! And I was five, so I wasn't the smartest person ever, okay?"
"I'm sure it was bloody," Hope says helpfully. "Very bloody."
"It was," I confirm. I jump around the room, saying, "And I fell down on the conveyer belt thingy, and there was a big saw in the air, and then it came down, and my arm was there, and then it wasn't! And then Mom said I was going to have it cut off again! And we went to the hospital, and they cut the rest of my arm off!"
"Stop bouncing off the walls, Acetonn," she tells me. "You look like a hyped-up midget. Never mind that; you are a hyped-up midget. Have you even eaten any sugar recently?"
I think about it. "Yesterday?"
I shrug, and then wonder if I can touch the ceiling. It's several feet above my head, but I'm short. I'm just over four feet tall. So it's not that tall compared to other ceilings. I jump up, and miss it by...by a mile? Yeah. By a meter.
"Acetonn!" Hope sighs in that mother-imitating, reprimanding voice. "Calm down! You're acting like you've just had a cup of coffee!"
"Cough?" I stare at her. "That stuff my mom likes?"
"It might be," Hope says. "My mom says she loves it, but it's too expensive."
"Too expensive?" I laugh. "My mom gets cough a lot!"
"It's coffee," Hope says. "And your mom can afford it because you guys are richer. You live in the middle of the Town! We're on the very edge of town!"
"Outskirters never get coffee," I say knowingly. "Ever. Mom said they're too poor. But you're not Outskirters. You're Townies, too. You just live farther out."
"Mom says we can't get it as often as the people by the square," Hope says glumly. "But I don't care. It tastes bad. really bad. It's bitter! But Mom says it's an acquired taste."
"I don't like it either," I lie. Well, technically that in itself is not a lie. I don't like it because I've never had it before.
"So that isn't the reason you're so hyper?" She throws another pillow at me.
"I'm always like this," I say.
"But maybe you're addicted to coffee."
"It's bitter," I say. Is it really bitter?
"It's bitter," she agrees. "And you don't need to get any more hyper. Or to eat any more. Or drink, whatever."
"I don't need to eat any more?" I stare at Hope, shocked. "Hope, if I don't eat, I'll starve to death!"
She chuckles and shakes her head. "Acetonn, you're eight years old, four feet tall, and you weigh one hundred fifty-five pounds. That's not right. I'm eight, I'm a bit taller than you are, and I'm nearly one hundred pounds lighter than you are. You can't eat as much."
"I'm four foot one," I argue.
"Still," she says. "You're spoiled. But at least you're not a spoiled brat, like some of those kids from Town."
"I'm a kid from town."
"That's why I said some." She smiles at me. "You're sweet."
I grin at her. "Orange potatoes."
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
Just then, Hope's mom knocks on the door. "Hey, kids, you'd better get ready now," she calls. "You brought something to wear for the reaping, right, Acetonn?"
"No, he's going to wear one of my dresses!" Hope yells back. She breaks into a fit of giggles. I can't help but join her.
There's a pause. And then, "Seriously?"
"No!" I call back. "I brought my own stuff! Thanks!"
Hope punches my arm lightly. "Well, fine. I call dibs on changing in the room! You go to the bathroom, okay?"
I don't get to respond, of course. I'm shoved over to my bag, and when I get my clothes, she pushes my out of the room and locks the door.
"Come on," I complain loudly. "Not fair! And where is the bathroom?"
"Down the hall!" comes Hope's muffled voice.
I find it, and go inside. I change into the faded blue sports coat and torn white dress pants. I look into the mirror, and laugh. I look funny. I brush my blond hair back, and stare into my eyes. Greeeeeennnnn...
I go back into the bedroom. Hope's wearing a dress, and it looks funny on her. I tell her this, and she punches me in the side, and tells me that I look weirder. But I don't.
We leave the room and go to eat breakfast. Hope plops down in the seat next to me. I wait for her mother or father to bring out the breakfast. And her mother does - but it's not at all what I'd expected.
"What's that?" I blurt out as her mother sets a large box down on the table.
"District Seven Standard," Hope says. "Haven't you had it before?"
"No," I say. "Mother makes me waffles. Father makes great toast."
"Lucky," Hope says wistfully. "This is cereal. It's...not very good."
I pour myself a large bowl.
"Not so much!" Hope yelps. "There isn't much left!"
"You can get more, right?" I peer at her, and then shrug. "Well, fine." I grab her bowl, and empty half of mine into it. "Happy eating."
"Thanks." She grins at me.
I take a spoonful of cereal and put it in my mouth. It doesn't taste like anything. It's just a long stick of tasteless, plain...food. If you can call it food, of course. It's not that good.
But I finish my bowl, and go to get ready. Hope follows me back to the room, humming the national anthem the entire way. We brush our teeth - Hope has a wooden toothbrush - and then put our shoes on.
"Mom, can we go?" Hope calls.
"Sure!" her mother replies. "Remember to sign in!"
"Of course!"
We leave the house, and Hope slams the door behind us, causing me to giggle. She raises her eyebrows at me, but she's used to me being like this - whatever this is - so she doesn't comment.
While we walk to the square, Hope continues humming the national anthem. It starts to bug me, and eventually I plug my ears. She hums louder, just to annoy me, and I skip to the other side of the street. She follows me over. Just to annoy her, I hum the American national anthem. The one Dad says is forbidden.
Hope knows it, too. She ships around and stares at me. "Are you crazy?" she whispers. "What if someone hears you? We're not the only people here, you know!"
I stick my tongue out. "So I'm humming something. So were you!"
"Yeah, but I wasn't humming something you can get arrested for humming," she points out. "Mom told me they'll turn you into an Avox if they hear you!"
"Sorry," I mutter.
When we get to the square, Hope pushes in front of me, getting in line first. I protest, but of course she doesn't relent. Grumbling, I settle in behind her. Well, she'll get her finger pricked first, then.
But Hope doesn't seem to have any problem with giving the Capitol man her finger. I look over her shoulder. The device thing says, Elder, Hope. 8/YO.
I'm next. Reluctantly, I thrust my hand forward. He holds it up to the needle, and pricks my finger. I yelp. He smushes my finger down onto his ledger, and there's a bloody finger print. There's a beep, and the identifier-thingy reads, Blight, Acetonn. 8/YO.
I push past him and go to the eight-year-olds' section.
.
The first boy, Male A, is a volunteer. He has long, brown hair that's been cut in a jagged line. And he volunteered. Why'd he volunteer? He's weird. And then I recognize him - he's that boy they talk about at school. The one who's always getting into fights. But why'd he volunteer?
The next boy, Male B, isn't a volunteer. His name is Jame, and he's twelve. He's Jeffane's twin. They look alike, I guess - but Jeffane is a few inches taller, and his hair is much longer. But they're identical, apparently.
Dontie picks a third slip. "Ooh, this has already been such an exciting reaping!" he says. "I wonder who our third tribute'll be! Male C, who will it be? Ooh! That rhymed!"
I wait. Everyone waits.
"Acetonn Blight!"
I freeze. Me? I had four entries. Only four. So how... I see Hope in the crowd. She's looking at me, horrified. And I see Mother and Father, too. They look paralyzed.
I had four entries. The odds were in my favor. But... Oh, whatever.
I push my way out of my section, and go to the stage, accepting my fate. I don't cry, I don't do anything. I step onto the platform and gaze into Dontie's eyes.
I wonder how far I'll get.
District 7: Benedict Scraw's POV:
I slam the book shut. "This is pointless."
Keryl raises his eyebrows at me. "Pointless? How is looking up odds and statistics pointless?"
"Well, what is the point?" I give my best friend an exasperated look. "If this is so useful, surely you can explain how?"
"If we know the odds, maybe they'll be more in our favor?" He gives me an uncertain look.
I can't help but laugh. And I'll admit it may not be the nicest laugh ever. But really - how will knowing the odds make them more in our favor? It makes no sense.
"Keryl," I sigh, "Knowing the odds won't do anything to improve our odds. In fact, it may discourage us to see how low our odds are if we go in. All it says in there is, District Two has the most victors of all the districts, and District Seven has had the third-to-least number of victors, and The more tesserae you take, the less like it is that you'll win, in the experimental odds section. Really, what's the point?"
"Dude, you're the smart one," Keryl says. "You tell me."
I sigh again. "Keryl, I'm asking you because I don't know why you think reading Odds in the Hunger Games will be helpful."
"I don't know." Keryl shrugs. "Because it's a super-cool book? And it's awesome to have an expert analyzer analyzing every single word of it over your shoulder? Even though it can be quite annoying? Especially when he's only eleven, and I'm nearly twelve?"
"Thanks." I roll my eyes.
"What? You don't think you're the best analyzer-person in the district?"
"Analyzer person?" I raise my eyebrows at him. "Where did that come from?"
"Do you remember what you said earlier?" he asks. "'If you take more tesserae, you're probably poorer, and starving, so you'd probably lose?"
"I was pointing out an obvious point," I say. "Why else would the tesserae count affect your standings?"
He shrugs. "Don't ask me. Remember, I'm the dunce. The Forester dunce."
"Of course you're a Forester," I say. "Do you think I'd be allowed to invite you over if you weren't? Mother would get quite mad, I imagine. She's quite a...traditional person."
"Yeah." Keryl's face lights up suddenly. "Dude, remember when you invited me and that guy over?"
"Bartin Menmor?" I ask. "Scheduled for March 8th, 97 PDD?"
"How do you remember that?" Keryl asks, amazed. "Dude, that was three years ago! Yep, that's the day. I think. And when your mom saw Bartie, she knew right away that he was from the Outskirts?"
"How could I forget?" I ask.
"And your mom, she got so mad," he continues. "Threw Bartie out, yelled for at least ten minutes straight. And I still don't get why they don't let people go to other regions. Must be some classing thing. Pretty stupid, if you ask me."
"It may be so the Town people with more power don't complain that the life here is as bad as it really is," I suggest.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Makes a lot of sense, actually. Ha. Actually. But, going back to the odds thing, it can be useful. I guess it takes your mind off of things. That make sense?"
"Not to me." I whip my glasses off, clean them on my shirt, and put them back on. "What things are you trying to take your mind off of here?"
"The reaping, obviously," Keryl says. "What else would I try to be taking my mind off of the morning of the reaping?"
"You have a point there," I admit. "But why would studying the odds of the Hunger Games help take your mind off of the reaping? It's more likely to make you think more about it, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know." He shrugs. "Can we change the topic? I feel like an idiot."
"You're not an idiot," I assure him. "But, I should mention that you were the one to bring up the topic."
"Whatever."
"What should our new topic be?" I ask.
"Um, how many times is your name in today?"
"Twenty-one," I reply. "You?"
"Fourteen," he says. "You're taking tesserae for Elcra, right?"
"I am."
"But why?" he asks. "Isn't she seven? She can take the tesserae herself, and her total would only be six. Benefits everyone."
"I don't want to make her take the tesserae," I say.
"Logical. Very logical."
"Shut up." I jab at him with the book. "So it's not the most logical move on my behalf. She's my little sister, okay? I don't want to increase her chances of being reaped. I prevent that by increasing my chances."
"This is a first," Keryl says gleefully. "Benedict Scraw does something illogical? It'll be all over the District Seven Times!"
"That paper is just filled with lumber accidents," I say. "Like that kid who got his arm cut off, and that old guy who was flattened by the falling tree."
"I suppose you remember their names?" Keryl says.
"As a matter of fact, I do," I say. "The boy who got his arm cut off, that was Acetonn Blight. He was five at the time. He fell onto the conveyer belt, and the saw cut his arm off. That was three years ago. And the old guy was Bronton Scue. He was eighty-seven years old. It happened last year. The tree flattened him after he severed it at the trunk. The bulk of it hit his head, and a branch pierced his brain."
Keryl winces. "Stop it."
"I would have thought that eleven years of watching the Hunger Games and replays of past Games would have made you less queasy about blood and gore."
"Apparently not." He forces a smile. "Or maybe it's just that today's the reaping, and I don't really want to think about blood and gore and stuff that might happen to me if I'm reaped."
"There are thousands of names, Keryl."
"Hey, the odds aren't exactly in your favor, I might point out," Keryl says. "In fact, your odds are even worse than mine. For getting reaped, and in the Games, if you're reaped!"
My head snaps up.
"What?" Keryl laughs. "You think you could win the Games, huh?"
"No," I admit. "But I wouldn't be the first to go."
"You might be," Keryl says softly. "Can you fight, Benedict? Can you fight?"
"Maybe."
"Just admit it, you'd die," Keryl says. "And I'd die, and so would just about everyone else in the district. None of us would stand a chance."
"I'm sure someone could win," I say. "Someone who fights a lot. Someone who can't be taken down easily."
"Who're you thinking of?" Keryl asks. "Johana Mason?" He doubles over and laughs.
"If she was alive, she could win," I say. "She could beat just about anybody in the district. But she's not alive, so why would I be thinking of her? She died a quarter century ago, in the third Quarter Quell. Killed by the victor. In a fight that lasted a full five minutes and forty-three seconds, after they were forced face-to-face."
"How often do you watch these replays?" Keryl asks.
"Not often."
"Then how do you remember things like that?"
I shrug. "I have photographic memory, remember?"
"Ha ha. No, I don't remember." He grins.
"That's unfortunate."
"What time is it?" he asks.
"How is that on topic?"
"Because I'm hungry."
I sigh. "You're always hungry. Didn't you eat before you came?"
"Not much." He gives me an apologetic smile. "Oh, fine. Then let's go to the square. Did your parents already leave?"
"Didn't you see them when you were coming?" I ask. "They left right before you arrived."
"Why did they leave so early?" Keryl wonders.
"They're slow," I say. "They like meandering. They love romantic walks without kids. I don't know."
"Wait, Elcra's here?" He gapes at me. "I swear, I did not see her when I came in. And she's been really quiet."
"She's always quiet."
"Well, let's get her and go."
I stand up, and leave the room. I call my sister's name, and she appears, slipping around the door to the kitchen. She gives me a strained smile, and waves.
"Hi, Ben," she says quietly. "Are we going now?"
"Yep."
I take her hand and lead her to the door, where Keryl waits. I put on my boots, and help Elcra with hers. She mutters a thank-you, and leads us out of the house.
The first thing you notice about the Forests is the trees, if you hadn't gathered that from the name. The homes are scattered throughout the green. The foliage is considerably less thick here than where they cut, because though the trees are genetically engineered to grow faster than natural, they rely on, well, quick lives and constant death. Regeneration. I could say that in a nicer way, I guess, but it wouldn't be as accurate.
From the doorstep of the house, I can see two other dwellings in the distance. One is Keryl's home. The other belongs to a family of three - parents and one girl of about four years. I don't see them often, for their door is on the other side of their house.
The three of us walk through the trees. We pass by a few houses on the way to the road. We live on the very edge of the Forests, and the road loops around through the middle. But it's a short walk, and it's not long before we've joined the trail of families, mostly children, walking to the Town.
The Forest is rather far away from the Town, as the land in between is used for deforesting. On average, it takes one twenty minutes to walk the entire length of the road. But as Elcra is with us, and she's rather small, it takes us half an hour to get to the square.
When we arrive, we sign in at the entrance, and I take Elcra to the back of the square, where the seven-year-olds stand. I give her a small hug, and attempt to withdraw myself. But she holds onto my shirt sleeve.
"Benedict," she whispers. There's true fear on her face. "Benna. What if I'm reaped?"
"The odds say you won't be reaped," I say. "So I'm sure you'll be fine."
"But what if I am?" Her dark eyes plead with me.
Then you die, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. "Then you go in, and give it your best shot," I say. "But I'm sure you'll be fine."
I can see she's trying not to cry, and she's not entirely succeeding. She wraps her thin arms around my waist, and then releases me. I give her a solemn look, and step back into the aisle. I walk to my section, and wait there.
.
The first boy's a volunteer. He's a year above me in school. I recognize him. Keryl got into a fight with him once, and lost. He Keryl's a decent fighter. I hate to say it, but I'm interested to see how far this boy goes.
The second boy is reaped, as expected. The interesting thing? He's the brother of the boy who volunteered. Poor family. He looks shell-shocked, and reasonably scared.
The third boy is a short, round eight-year-old. Acetonn Blight, the boy who got his arm sawed off three years ago. The one I was talking about with Keryl. His face is blank. He shows no emotion.
Things are going pretty well for me until the fourth selection. Dontie spends a full minute rifling through the bowl before choosing a name. When he finally decides, he holds the slip up like a trophy. He unfolds it next to the microphone, so we can hear it crinkling.
He peers at the name, and his face widens in a smile.
"Lovely! Our fourth boy this year, our Male D, is Benedict Scraw!"
My jaw drops. The odds were in my favor, were they not? Twenty-one out of however many thousand? But of course, the odds don't matter any more. Whatever they were, I'm in the Games.
I hear a sharp intake of breath from Keryl. I glance over at him. He stares at me, wide-eyed. I remember what he said earlier. I'd die. And he'd die, too, but that doesn't matter, because I'm the one who's just been reaped.
I try to breathe normally, evenly. I try to calm myself down. I try to conquer my expression as I walk up to the stage.
The boy, Male B, Jame Stoil, gives me a hand and helps me to the stage. I thank him softly, and go to shake Dontie's hand.
I stare him right in the eye, just as I plan to stare down the tribute who kills me in the end. I will stare until the last breath is gone from my body.
District 7: Mika Stoil's POV:
When Mother wakes me up, both of my older brothers are gone. With Jeffane, this isn't a surprise. He's always gone in the morning. He likes roaming around before the curfew is lifted. He thinks we don't like him here. I bet the others don't, but I do. I love Jeffane, though I could never admit it aloud. I love him. When I was very young, he was nice, like Jame still is. But nowadays, he's cold and distant. He isn't like anyone else I know. But I still love him, as I do Jame.
Old habits die hard.
Jeffane's empty bed may not be a surprise, but I can't say I was expecting Jame's to be deserted as well. He's usually there, with us, and doesn't leave until we leave. But today, he's gone.
But as I sit up and rub my eyes, I swear I see a fleeting glimpse of him, standing at the door. But when I blinked and looked again, he wasn't there, so I'm left wondering if I imagined him or not.
"Hi, Mother," I say sleepily.
"Good morning, Mika," she responds softly. "How did you sleep?"
"Not well," I mumble.
"Nightmare?"
"Yes." My voice trembles slightly.
"Oh, Mika." Mother sits down beside me and draws me into a tight embrace. "Don't worry, you won't be chosen. What...what was it about?"
"He picked me," I whisper. "Me."
"It was just a dream," she repeats. "You'll be fine today. Tonight, we'll all be eating cake. That's right, Mika. Cake. Chocolate cake. You haven't had that since your fifth birthday."
"Chocolate cake?" I repeat.
"That's right." I hear Mother's smile rather than see it. "Chocolate cake. And we'll all be happy and safe. Don't worry."
I'm quiet for a moment, searching in the recesses of my mind for something connected to chocolate cake. But I can't remember it, so I ask, "What's chocolate cake?"
"We get butter cake every reaping day, right?" Mother asks. "You remember the butter cake. The chocolate cake is like that, except...it's chocolate. It's really, really tasty."
"I had it for my fifth birthday? Is that what you said?"
"Your father and I saved up for months," she explained. "We couldn't get cake for the previous reaping. But then we brought home the chocolate cake, and it smelled so good, and it made up for it."
"I don't remember," I whisper.
"You were only five," Mother says. "It's fine if you don't remember things from that long ago. I can't remember much from when I was five. Just...the sixtieth Hunger Games, was it? I can't remember who won."
"Who won when I was five?" I ask.
Mother seems to be struggling to find an answer. "Um...I really don't remember, Mika. The ninety-sixth Hunger Games...the girl from Two, I think. Or was that the ninety-fifth..."
I remember that year, but just a bit. The boy from Four seemed to be the obvious winner, but then this girl took him down, and won. It was an exciting year. But I'm sure this year will be even more exciting.
For the Capitol, that is. For us, it'll be four times the suffering. Four times the loss.
And we're already up to our neck in losses, so I don't want to know what'll happen. I really don't.
"Chiny, are you awake?" Mother says to the motionless form on my right. "You need to get up."
There's no response. She's still asleep, though I remember her sitting up briefly earlier.
"Chiny," I say, crawling out of bed and going over to my little sister. "Chiny, wake up."
When this method doesn't work, I resort to the ever-effective backup: tickling. I'm only a few seconds in when she wakes up, giggling and swatting me away.
"Are you awake now?" I ask. "Are you awake? Because I'm going to keep tickling until you are."
"I'm awake, I'm awake!" she yells. She curls into a ball to evade me.
Laughing, I sit back on my bed. "Well, then get up," I say.
"But I'm tired," she complains, opening her big brown eyes. "I wanna keep sleeping. And you said that...today..."
"The reaping, yes," I say. "I don't want to go, either. But we have to. Trust me, I'd much rather stay in bed and sleep the entire day. But we have to go."
"Why?" Chiny asks. "Dontie picks the names, and they go to die. I don't want to. We can stay here. At home."
"If we don't go, the Peacekeepers will take us away," I say. "But you won't be reaped. And neither will I. And Jame and Jeff'll both be safe, too. We'll all be fine. And when we come back, we can have cake."
"But you said I might be reaped," she whispers. "What if I am?"
I force a laugh. "Chiny, you're only seven. Your name's only in there three times. And if you are chosen, then you get to go to the Capitol. It's cool on TV, but I bet it'll be even cooler when you're there in person."
"But then I'd die."
I'm silent for a moment, that then I say, "You need to get dressed."
"I am dressed." She motions to her grey pyjamas.
"No, silly." I smile at her. "You need to wear that dress."
Her face lights up. "The orange one?"
"That's the one."
I get up and go to the closet. I open the doors and search through the contents. I find it immediately - it's the most colorful thing in there, besides my green dress. I take both out, and go back over to Chiny.
I help her into the dress, and then pop into the bathroom to change. When I return to the bedroom, Chiny is attempting to braid her light brown hair. Though she tries every day, though, someone always has to rescue her. Today, it's me. I'm not as good as Mother is, but I'm better than Jame is. Seriously, you should've seen Chiny after he took a stab at it.
When I've gotten her hair into a satisfactory braid, I notice how hungry I am.
"Hey, let's get some breakfast, okay? District Seven Standard."
"Okay, Mika."
Chiny slips out of bed and pads out of the room. I follow her to the kitchen. Mother has poured the cereal into all four bowls. She and Father sit at their spots, silently waiting.
I take my seat next to Mother, and Chiny sits down next to me. On her other side, there are two empty spots. Jame usually sits in one, but I don't remember the last time Jeffane's spot was taken. Well, by Jeffane.
We eat in silence, each dwelling in our own thoughts. I think about the odds. Chiny has three entries, I have five. Jame has thirty-two, as he's taken tesserae for all of us. Jeffane probably only has the eight he's required to have.
I'm worried mostly about Jame. What if he's reaped? He has far more entries than any of us. I wonder how far he'd make it. And what if I'm reaped? What would I do?
Die, that's what.
District 7: Hazel Finley's POV:
I'm so relieved Jackson is only three. He may be an ambitious, strong boy (for his age, of course), but he'd never make it in the Games. If he was five years old, not only would he be eligible, but he would more like be dead by now, because it's not easy raising him alone. Mother died in childbirth - I was thirteen at the time - and Father...disappeared. Technically he just became an alcoholic, but he might as well have disappeared. He's left me to care for Jackson. All by myself.
I have to give Wyatt Baer credit, of course. Since I met him last year, he's been incredibly helpful. He's helped me with Jackson, and even gives me some money. I'm not sure what I'd do without him. Father's still a lumberjack, like most of the people here in the Forests, but he doesn't make much money.
Wyatt said he'd come today, before the reaping. He said he'd help out around the house, and then escort us to the square. Of course, this last part was accompanied with an exaggerated bow.
I'm awake long before he arrives. Jackson woke up in the middle of the night, crying and tossing in his blankets. I soothes him back into a restless sleep, and stayed by his bed until sunrise, unable to sleep myself.
My alarm clock rings at seven, startling me. I jerk, and Jackson wakes up. He grabs at my hand, and I lift him out of the crib. He's three years old, and shouldn't be sleeping in a crib, but there's no where else for him to sleep. My bed is a tiny cot, barely big enough for me. Father's bed is a two-person, but he's already refused to let his son sleep there.
And so Jackson sleeps in the crib.
I lead my little brother over to the small closet we share. Jackson says he picked something out last night, but he didn't tell me what. But he points it out now, and I help him into it.
I go through my side of the closet next, and pull out a dark green sundress. The one with the lace sleeves. I quickly change into it, and pull out black heels to put on later, when we leave. This dress was Mother's, like most of the clothes that I own. I wore it last year, too.
I grab my hairbrush and brush out my brown hair until it hangs down to my shoulders, and the bend in the middle doesn't look like it's a result of my not brushing it.
I give the brush to Jackson, and stare out of the window. On the other side of the house, you can see the road that leads to the Town. But on this side, all I can see is the trees. There's not one house in view. The closest one in this direction is just beyond the thick wall of trees.
There's a clang as Jackson drops the brush onto the small table by the bed. He pushes it too far over, and there's a crash. I whip around and see that he's knocked everything from the table. He looks up at me, lip wobbling, an apologetic smile wavering on his lips.
"Sorry," he whispers.
There's a knock on the door, and I hurry to answer it. I struggle with the door, and manage to pull it open. It's Wyatt. He leans against the doorway, a faint smile on his lips.
"Tell me that wasn't Jackson," he says.
"That crash?" I shake my head. "Sorry, but it was. He smacked my brush down too hard, and knocked everything off of the little table. You know, the one by my bed."
"He knocked everything off?" Wyatt laughs. "Jackson!"
My little brother comes running up. "Wyatt!"
"Hi, little man." Wyatt swings Jackson off of the ground, and sets him back down. "I hear you knocked some stuff off of your sister's table, huh?"
Jackson looks down. "I said sorry."
Wyatt laughs. "Well, let's see if I can clean some things up." He walks into the bedroom, and whistles when he sees the mess. "Man, Jackson, you really killed some stuff here."
"I said sorry."
Wyatt gets down on his knees and rights the table. I help him put everything back on top. Jackson stands behind us, fidgeting impatiently.
I stand up and brush off my hands. "Thanks, Wyatt."
He gives me a ridiculous bow. "You're welcome. I'm always ready to help, Miss Hazel."
I laugh, and push him gently. "If I need something, I'll ask."
"Ask? Wyatt the Daring will fix everything before you ask."
"Does Wyatt the Daring need breakfast?" I ask, laughing slightly.
"Wyatt the Daring does not need breakfast, but of course breakfast is not refused," he answers. "And he would be happy to make breakfast, if that is what Miss Hazel wants."
"Oh, shut up," I laugh. "I've got cereal. It's fine. Come on."
Wyatt drops the act, and follows me into the kitchen. I get out the District Seven Standard, and a few bowls. I give some to Jackson, and he digs in right away.
"Should I get your dad?" Wyatt asks. "It sounds like he's still sleeping. You know, the snores."
"He's probably still asleep," I agree. "I'd love it if you could get him up. Thanks, Wyatt."
He turns to go, and then steps back into the kitchen, and takes something from his pocket. It's a length of twine with a pinecone strung onto the end. He offers it out to me, looking a bit embarrassed.
"It's for you, Hazel."
I extend my arm, and he drops the pendant into my hand. I put it around my neck, so it rests on my heart.
"Wear it for the reaping," he says. "For good luck."
I nod, and he leaves the kitchen. I hear a thump and a groan as he wakes Father up.
"What's that?" Jackson asks, pointing up at the pinecone. I kneel down, and he cups his hands around it. "Cool. Do I get one, Hazel? I want one!"
I laugh. "You can ask Wyatt. Maybe he'll make you one. I'm sure he'd be happy to."
"Yay!"
Just then, Wyatt comes back into the kitchen, supporting my father. He leads him to the table. Father's a large man, muscular from life as a lumberjack, but alcohol hasn't treated him well.
As we sit down to eat, Father booms, "So today's reaping day, is it?"
"It is," I say stiffly.
"How many names d'you have?" he asks.
"Thirty-six," I reply.
"Twenty-six," Wyatt says.
"None!" Jackson makes a zero with his fingers and proudly holds it up.
"I've got none, too," Father says, thumping his son on the shoulder.
"You stand with him while we're in the square, okay?" I say.
He frowns. "Why can't you? I'm betting with the guys from the bar. Better for him not to be there. Unless you want him messing with those guys, of course."
I sigh. "Father, Wyatt and I need to stand in the sections. We can't stay with him, and there's no one else to look after him. You have to. Just keep an eye on him, okay?"
"Oh, fine. But you hafta come back right after you're released and get him."
I agree to this, and Father promises to watch after him. Still, I'll be relieved when Jackson is old enough to stand by himself. I don't want him mingling with the drunkards from the bar.
When we finish breakfast, Wyatt hoists Father out of his chair and helps him over to the door. We put on our shoes and leave the house. It takes a bit of pushing and rearranging to get Father out, but we manage.
When we walk down the road, Jackson is the only one talking. He talks about is school, his class, his new best friend from the southern end of the Forests, et cetera. I can't pay attention to him - fear is beginning to seize me. I know it's extremely unlikely that I'll be reaped, but what happens if I am reaped? What will happen to Jackson? What will happen to me?
Wyatt seems to read my mind. He reaches over and touches my pendant. "Good luck, remember?" he says softly. "You'll be fine. And if something does happen, I'll make sure Jackson and your dad are fine."
"Thanks," I say quietly.
"But I'm sure it won't be necessary," he says. "We'll all be fine."
"I hope so."
Half an hour or so later, we get to the square. I give Jackson a tight hug, and tell him to follow Father, and to meet me outside right after the reaping. He nods, wide-eyed, and wishes me good luck.
Wyatt and I follow a group of trembling five-year-olds to the sign-in line. Wyatt signs in first. The black device beeps as his blood enters the system. Baer, Wyatt. 17/YO appears on the screen.
I'm next. I give the man my hand. He squeezes my finger, and pricks it on the needle. He presses it down on his ledger. Finley, Hazel. 16/YO. I push past the table and follow Wyatt to the front of the square.
He gives me a quick hug, and whispers into me ear: "Don't get picked."
.
Male A is a volunteer. Male B is his brother. Male C is a short, round eight-year-old with one arm. Male D is a stunned looking eleven-year-old with large glasses. My mind wanders to another scenario - Jackson, five years old, called to the stage. Put in the Games...
But he's only three. He's safe. Unlike me.
Dontie picks the first girl. He reads her name aloud. It's not me. It's a nine-year-old with brown hair and wide eyes. The sister of Males A and B. I can't help but feel bad for their parents, and whatever other relations they're leaving behind.
"I'm now going to choose Female B!" Dontie squeaks. "Partner of Jame Stoil, if the letters end up meaning anything! May the odds be ever in your favor...Hazel Finley!"
I gulp.
At first, I'm not my primary concern. Jackson is. What will he do, with only my father to look after him? And Wyatt? But will Wyatt stay true to his word? Was his promise not just something to make me feel better? Because he thought I'd never be reaped?
And then I think about my situation. Forget Jackson - how am I going to survive? Am I going to be an easy picking, like many tributes from our district? How far will I make it?
My inside is boiling with emotions, but I keep my face straight. I conquer my expression and walk slowly to the stage. I don't look into the eyes of the other tributes. But I look at Dontie. I shake his hand, and step back. I take my place next to the other girl, and try to find Jackson in the crowd.
District 7: Chiny Stoil's POV:
I dream of Ajay. We are walking together down the road. We are four years old. It is reaping day three years ago. The tributes have been picked. They're a girl and boy from the Outskirts like us who we all know will die soon. The Capitol car with them in it drives down the road. I see it and jump out of the way. I yell at Ajay to follow. But she is not there. And then I see her: she is on the ground, covered in blood. She does not move.
Sometimes in my dreams I bring her back to life. I take her hand, and we walk into the trees together. And she laughs, and tosses her dark hair when I say she almost died. And I laugh with her, for she is still alive. She never left me.
And I wake up, tears of joy on my face, and remember. She is dead. It was a dream. But I try to believe it was not. I tell myself I am silly to think Ajay died. And I believe myself. To me, Ajay is always alive.
The night before the reaping, Ajay tells me to watch out. The car is coming. And this time, she is the one to escape. I am caught by the car. I collapse under it, and the screaming around my turns to a dull hum. And then I wake up.
And I remember that today is also reaping day. Like it was when Ajay died.
Mika sits next to me and she tells me not to worry. I have three entries because I am seven. And there will be thousands of names, so it won't be mine. And Ajay has none, but I don't want to tell Mika this. Ajay is for me.
Ajay is lucky, I think. She does not have to participate today. She's safer than we are. She should be happy. I hope she is. I miss her.
Then Mother and Mika and Father and I eat breakfast. Jeff's never here, but Jame usually is, so I'm surprised when his seat is empty. But Mother says he went to see Kay. I like Kay.
Mika doesn't, she says. She tells me he's rude and mean and pushes people around. But that's not true, because he's nice to me. And he's Jame's friend. I don't think Jeff likes him, either. Mika says they got into a fight once. But that was probably Jeff's fault. Everything's his fault, my friends tell me. Even they know him.
Ajay knew him, too. He was nine. She told me he didn't say hi to her anymore. And he used to. He used to say hi to me, too. That's what Mika tells me. But I don't remember it. I was a baby, she says.
Before we leave, Mother finds me my sandals. I haven't seen them for a while. Mother says they used to be red and orange. Now they're grey tinted different colors. Sorta orange, I guess. I dunno.
We leave, and walk to the trees. A bunch of other families are also leaving. We walk with the family of the boy who died in the Hunger Games a few years ago. There's a big sister who's even older than Jeff and Jame. She's twenty or something. And her parents are also there. They talk with Mother and Father about how the big girl is looking for a job in the wood-crating industry, or something like that.
I tell her good luck, and she smiles at me and wishes me good luck, too. I say thank you, and she pats my back.
"Are you nervous for today?" she asks me.
I don't reply. I shrink behind Mika.
"I'll take that as a yes," she says. "But trust me, Chiny, you won't be picked. There is no chance. At all." She gives me a bright smile. "Not like my brother. He insisted on taking all the tesserae. That's why his name was in so many times. The odds weren't in his favor. But they're in yours. And yours too, Mika."
"Thanks," Mika says. "But I just can't wait for this to be over."
"May the odds be ever in your favor."
"Dontie says that," I say, remembering the wig-wearing, funny escort who comes every year. "He says that all the time."
"It's in his job prescription," Mika says. "He has to wish us good odds, and then prove to two people - eight this year - that the odds weren't in their favor."
"That's a pretty accurate way of putting it," the older girl says softly. "The odds in my life haven't been good at all."
"At least you're safe from this reaping," Mika points out.
"Yeah..."
The early morning light fades as we reach the forest. The run's rays are cut off my the trees. I slip my hand into Mika's and wordlessly follow her through the trees.
The road to the Town is very crowded. All the families are coming now, at the last possible second. I almost lose my grip on Mika's hand, and I cry out. She finds me again, and gets a firm hold on my wrist.
"Let's find Mom and Dad," she says.
She pulls me after her in pursuit of our parents, and I'm reminded once again of a crowded street, a scream from a small girl, a car roaring down the road...and then nothing.
When our family regroups, we try to navigate the crowded road, and soon the crowded street of the Town. It takes us a while, but we eventually end up at the square.
Mother and Father go to one line. Mika grabs my wrist and leads me to the other. As I lose sight of our parents, I begin to scream. I strain to free myself from Mika's grasp, but she doesn't let me go.
"We'll see them in an hour or two," she whispers. "But right now you have to come with me. We're going to sign in, and then I'll take you to your group. Okay?"
I can't hold in a whimper. But I nod in assent, and allow myself to be led to the end of the line.
The line is very long. It takes us a long time to get to the front. And when we're finally there, the Capitol man grabs my hand. There's a beep and I feel something stab my finger. I shriek and try to withdraw my hand, but he holds it tight. He presses my finger down onto his ledger, and it leaves a bloody fingerprint.
Mika is next. After she signs in, she leads me to the back of the square. To the rest of the seven-year-olds. She tells me she'll be right back, and then she leaves.
She doesn't come back.
.
I'm surprised when there's a volunteer. And I'm even more surprised when it's Jeff who goes to the stage. He stands there proudly, and murmurs his name into the microphone.
And Jame is reaped next. My eyes widen when I see him walking to the stage.
I don't know the next two boys. There's a short, round boy missing an arm, and then there's a wiry boy with glasses. I don't know them, but I feel sorry for them.
And then Mika's chosen.
I start to cry when her name is read. I glare up at Dontie. And then I glare at Mika for going to the stage.
The next girl is a sixteen-year-old who I don't know. I think she's from the Forests, though.
And then Dontie chooses me.
"Our Female C is...Chiny Stoil!"
Air rushes up my lungs as I gasp. I look around for Mika, or for Ajay, for someone who will tell me I'm imagining it. This isn't real. It can't be.
I find Mother and Father in the crowd. They're breaking down by now. Sobbing.
And then I see Ajay. Her dark hair blows in the wind that I can't feel, can't see. Her dark eyes stare mournfully at me. And her mouth opens, she's going to say something...
And then someone steps in front of her, and I can't see her anymore. And then I remember that she was never there.
I start sobbing. I look around through wet eyes, and everything blurs up. But I can still see Mika up on the stage, and there's Ajay, next to her... I take a shaky breath, and run to the stage. I hug Mika around the waist, and don't let go, not even when Dontie offers his hand for me to shake.
Ajay is safe. I wish I hadn't jumped out of the car's path. I wish I was safe, too. That I was with Ajay.
I will be. Soon.
District 7: Camille Pineda's POV:
Today, Bonsai brings me a button. Sometimes it's a piece of twine, and other times it's a metal twig. But today it's a button, green and threaded with grass. Bonsai always brings me the strangest things.
"Where'd you get this, huh?" I ask the fox, bending down to stroke his fur. "This is plastic, is it not? Who would throw away something plastic?"
Plastic is expensive, even for Foresters. I can't imagine where he found it.
Bonsai grunts and rubs against my legs before dashing off and disappearing into the underbrush. I take a few steps after him, but decide to let him roam free. He may be friendly with me, but he's still a fox, and foxes aren't meant to spend all their time with humans.
On the walk back to the the house, I pass my favorite climbing tree. It's tall and covered in branches. It's the main reason why I'm such a good climber.
It takes me ten seconds to scale the tree. I go as far up as I've ever gone. Any higher and I'm not sure the branches will support my weight. I stop at my usual resting spot and sit with my back to the trunk. I close my eyes and doze for a second.
And then I remember - I'm meeting Cloey today. We're hanging out for a while before the reaping. I squint through the treetops. I find the town clock and start. I've been in the woods for quite a bit longer than I'd thought.
Mother gives me lots of freedom, and I try not to abuse it. But I'd promised Cloey I'd come to her house.
I clamber down the tree and land lightly on the ground. I race through the Forests, as fast as I can go. I'm panting hard by the time I get to the small log house in which she lives.
Cloey sees me coming and opens the door. I go in and follow her to her room. We sit down on her small mattress.
The first thing she says is, "Did you know that twelve-year-olds, on average, have forty-three and six thirteenths entries each?"
"Wow," I say. "I have twenty-four."
"I have forty," she replies. "The average here, in the Forests, is thirty-two and one fifth. In the Town, it's sixteen and four sevenths. A bit unbalanced, wouldn't you agree?"
"Very."
Cloey's older brother, Richard, died in the Games a few years ago. Ever since, she's been obsessed with statistics, and even the Games themselves. It's a bit strange.
"And only just over five percent of victors originate from this district," she adds unhappily.
I laugh. "Aren't we lucky?"
"No."
"Any other facts?" I ask.
"Here you go." She pulls a large book from the shelf and puts it on my lap.
I look down at it. "Odds of the Hunger Games?" I ask.
"Haven't you seen it before?" Cloey asks, looking surprised. "I've had it for years."
"You've shown it to me before," I say, remembering. "It's...interesting."
"There's a second book coming out in the fall, after the Quell," Cloey says. "About percentages, apparently. And other stuff, too. I'm getting it as soon as it gets to the Town bookstore."
"Sounds cool," I say, though I don't find the Hunger Games as rapturing as she does.
"I'll show it to you when I get it," she offers.
"Awesome."
"And maybe by then we'll have six percent of the victors."
I laugh. "I doubt it. We had better luck in the first few decades. We haven't won for a dozen years now."
"Hey, that's pretty good," Cloey points out. "Jenniah Birch, correct? And wasn't your mom supposed to go in?"
"Yep." I nod. "Apparently they didn't think it would be good for the ratings, since she was pregnant with me. So Jenniah went in. Mom says she was surprised when she won."
Cloey grunts. "Everyone was. It's not every year that we have a victor. And, going back to what I said, one victor in twelve years is pretty good. It's just as it should be."
"But before that, we hadn't had a victor since Johanna Mason. And Blight, before her, and what's-his-name the tall dude..." I shrug. "The point is, we're not going to win this year."
"It's unlikely," she admits.
We continue discussing the odds until the alarm clock beside her bed buzzes.
"Half an hour to get to the square," Cloey says. "We'd better leave now. Mother and Father left a while ago, so it'll be purely out fault if we're late. And I don't think anyone would be happy if we ended up in custody."
"Probably not," I agree.
"I like your dress," she says. "Just noticed it. It's cool. Better than mine, at least." She holds up a plain brown dress.
I look down at my own. It's a swirl of pink and brown cloaking my body. "Hey, yours it cool."
"Thanks." She smiles. "But it's the odds that matter."
"Always."
We leave the house and walk through the trees. Cloey spouts more statistics, and I look out for the road. When we get to it, it's more crowded than it's ever been.
We walk along it, dodging old men and skirting around little kids, who are sniffling nervously. As we pass by the axe storeroom, I'm jostled by a small girl in a faded dress who races past. I roll my eyes.
Ouskirters.
We step off of the road and run through the trees. We travel much faster, and we soon get to the Town. I follow the stream of people down the street and to the square. When the stream splits in two, I follow the other kids to the sign-in line.
It takes a while, but I eventually find myself at the front of the line, facing the man from the Capitol. He holds out his hand, and I give him my finger. He pricks it, and his machine thing beeps.
Pineda, Camille. 12/YO shows up on the screen.
Cloey is with me a moment later, and we go to our section, which is near the middle of the square.
"May the odds be ever in your favor," she tells me.
I force a grin, and hope that they are.
.
"We have now chosen seven of our eight tributes!" Dontie says. "Female D is still to come! I wonder who it'll be! Don't you? Oh, this is so exciting! It could be any of you girlies down there!"
He goes over to the bowl and plucks out a name. He rubs it between his fingers, and then unfolds it.
"Female D is...Camille Pineda!"
My jaw drops. Me? Me? Of all people, why me? This has to be a mistake. Something went wrong with the choosing.
But he said my name, didn't he?
Maybe he mispronounced it, and it's really someone else.
It's my name. Obviously he chose me.
But he couldn't have. No way. I have a life. I can't be in the Games!
Yes way. What else could have happened? And your life doesn't matter to the Capitol. Obviously.
I shake my head to clear my mind, and walk slowly to the stage. I breathe deeply, and shake Dontie's hand. And I try to convince myself that I'm dreaming.
A/N: Please review, and rank the tributes from favorite to least favorite. You don't have to, but the reviewing will add to your sponsor points, and you can bend the placement of the tributes. And, speaking of reviews, I didn't get nearly as many for the last chapter as I got for previous chapters...
I'll update sometime in the next few weeks. Whenever I can.
If I don't update for a while, check the bottom of my profile. I may explain my absence or say how far I am with the next chapter.
