A/N: Two weeks. Huh. Anyways, here's the averaged preference list from the last chapter:
1. Kaila Espin
2. Thimble Ake
3. Cade Spyloft
4. Rayon Velour
5. Loom Baybreak
6. Quentin Landsman
7. Jadah Ja Rin
8. Dylan Ashcroft
District 9 Female A: Christy Donahue's POV:
My father came home early last night to tuck me into bed. He works late into the night, so late he's given a pass so he can be on the street after curfew. I don't remember the last time he came home early enough to see me before I went to bed.
I thought it would keep the nightmares away. They've come every night for months, plaguing me, reminding me that even in my sleep I am not safe from the Games. And reminding me that this year, I will have three entries in the reaping ball. I thought that seeing my father before bed would let me sleep in peace.
It did not.
In my dream, I stand at the back of the square. I'm barely over four feet tall, so I have trouble seeing over the heads of the taller, older kids in front of me. It's only a dream, but I don't know this; the fear is real.
The escort, a bouncy middle-aged man I've seen every summer I can remember, picks a piece of paper. And he reads it out. And it's my name. And then he finds me in the crowd and leers at me, showing his teeth. And then he transforms into a dog mutt from a few years ago, and then he's a huge bird from last year, and then he's a wolf mutt from the 74th Games.
And then I wake up, sweating, clawing at the air, fending off the man who sentenced me to death in the dream.
And that's when I remember it was only a dream. I calm down, or try to. I tell myself it wasn't real, it was only a dream, I'm safe, the escort isn't going to pick me because I'm just seven, and my name's only in there three times.
Mother comes into the room, as she does every morning.
"Same dream?" she asks softly.
"Yes," I whisper.
She's silent for a moment, and then she says, "I'm sure all the other children in the district are also having nightmares. But only four girls are going to be picked. And you're not going to be one of them, Christy."
"But what if I am?" I look imploringly at her, my lip quivering. "Maybe there's an older girl there ready to volunteer if I'm picked."
Mother forces a smile. "Of course there is. And in the case that you are reaped - which won't happen, darling, trust me - she'll volunteer. And then she'll win."
I sit back in my bed, relaxed and comforted. "And she won't get hurt at all, right?"
"Not at all." She hugs me. "And you'll be safe as well. You'll stay here with me, and you won't have to worry about the reaping again until you're twelve. I mean, you'll never have to worry about it."
"Never," I repeat.
"You'll be safe forever," Mother croons. "Safe. And maybe the Capitol will come down one day. And you'll still be safe."
"Safe," I repeat dreamily.
"Yes." She smiles at me. "Let's go eat breakfast now, how about? Your father's in the kitchen, and he's very excited to see you."
"Father's still here?" I sit up straight, eyes wide with delight. "I thought his job started already!"
"It's reaping day," Mother says. "Everyone's out of work, because they all have to go to the square. The fields can wait."
"No one works?" I frown. "But in school, they say the Capitol has a...a quota." I grin up at her, proud with my vocabulary.
She smiles. "Yes, they do."
"And if we don't get enough stuff in, they don't send us food?" I give her a questioning look. "But then they don't let us work today?"
"They don't send us enough food as it is," Mother murmurs. Then she raises her voice to a normal level. "The Capitol is...considerate enough to allow us two days a year off of working. The quota reflects that."
"Two days a year?" I ask. "What's the other day?"
"New Years." Mother smiles. "At least that's a happy day. It may be one of my favorite days of the year. You're safe, as well as the other children, and your father gets to stay home."
"I want to see him!" I say, remembering.
"He's in the kitchen," Mother calls, but I'm already sprinting out of the room.
Indeed, he is in the kitchen, he hums softly to himself, and every so often he reaches up to brush the curly blond hair that matches my own out of his face.
"Father!" I gasp.
He turns around and his face breaks out into a smile. All thoughts on the reaping are forgotten, and he pulls me into his arms.
"I missed you," he says. "Every day at work, I was wondering when I'd be able to come back and see my little girl again."
"You don't work today," I state matter-of-factly.
He laughs. "Right. No work. It's great to have a break, even if it's for...for today." His face darkens as he remembers. I remember, too, and I shiver.
"Today's the reaping," I mumble.
"Yes." Father's silent for a moment, his face grim. "But you'll be fine, Christy. You're only seven, you've only got three entries. You'll be fine, I swear it. I didn't take the day off to see you go. It wouldn't be fair. To you, or to me, or to your mother. The Games aren't fair at all, though, I guess."
I think about this. "My teacher says we deserve it."
Father snorts. "Deserve it? Ha!"
"She - she says we reb...rebelled," I say uncertainly, sounding the word out. "We were bad, so the Capitol made the Games."
"We rebelled because the Capitol was tyrannical," Father says darkly. "We...we were right to, and I'd support another rebellion if there ever is one. But don't you ever tell anyone I said this, or they'd take me away. You'd never see me again. Ever."
"I don't see you much now," I point out.
"But I'd be dead," Father says. "Dead. You'd never see me again. Ever. Not even briefly some mornings. Not this winter, not next summer. Never again."
I frown. "Why would they kill you?"
"For speaking out against the government," he sighs. "They'd call it treason. We're supposed to be mute, soulless beings."
My brow furrows. I think of something to say, but I can't find anything.
"Christy, it's okay if you don't understand any of this," Father tells me. "This is an issue we've been trying to solve for over a century. And it's something you absolutely cannot mention in front of anyone other than me or your mother, or anywhere but out home. It's best if you forget I ever said anything."
"Okay," I mumble.
Ten minutes later, breakfast ends, and I return to my room. Mother helps me pick out clothes for the reaping. We eventually decide on a frilly dress. It was my mother's when she was young, like most of my clothes were.
I change into the dress, and we join Father by the door. We leave the house, and walk down the street.
It takes fifteen minutes to get to the square. We're just on time, and Mother tells me there's no time to look for Diane, my best friend. Maybe if she was seven like me, we could stand together. But she's still six, even though only for another two weeks. But Mother says we can see her after. She's coming over for dinner.
Mother takes me to the line where the other kids stand. She leaves me there, and tells me to meet her on the other side.
When I get to the front of the line, a woman wearing gloves grabs my hand. She sticks a needle into my finger, and I yelp. There's a beeping sound, and my name comes up on the screen of her black handheld machine. She presses my finger down onto a paper, and pushes me away.
I wipe a tear from my eye and find Mother. She takes me to the back of the square, and leaves me with a bunch of the other kids from my grade at school, and a few in the year above. I stand there until the reaping starts.
.
It's just like in my dream. Dunky, the escort, greets us very enthusiastically, and then chooses a slip of paper from one of the glass balls on the table. I had thought the fear in my dream was real. But it was not.
This is real fear. This is the trembling, pit-in-the-stomach, sick with anticipation kind of fear. I clench and unclench my fists and stare up at Dunky, willing him to not choose me.
"Our Feeeemale A will be chosen first!" he cries. "Ooh ooh! I get to make the picking, yes!"
He unfolds the paper, and I close my eyes. "Who will it be? Oh, the suspense! Alrighty! Our first lady will be Christy Donahue!"
I freeze. But Mother said...Father said... I'm scared out of my mind. I search the crowds for my parents. I spot them by the ten-year-olds, and break out of my section and sprint over. I wrap my arms around Mother's waist, determined to never let go, to stay here forever.
The Peacekeepers come. They pry me free. By this time, I'm screaming bloody murder. They drag my to the stage, and drop me at Dunky's feet. He hauls me up and jerks my hand.
Tears stain my face. This is just like my dream. But this is not a dream.
District 9 Female B: Bailee Michelle's POV:
I've never once taken tesserae, but I can't help but worry about today. Today, the reaping. I'm fourteen, so I've only got ten entries in the bowl, but what do I do if I'm picked?
Nothing, I expect. I'd walk up to the stage and accept my fate. I wouldn't cry, like some do when they're chosen. I wouldn't stare at the escort, agape. I wouldn't run away, like I bet some of the youngest children reaped will do. I would be strong.
I hope.
It's never seemed like a possibility before. The odds have always been normal. The eighteen-year-olds are at the greatest risk, the twelve-year-olds are generally safe, and those of us in between just hope for the best.
But this year, the odds are unpredictable. Five-year-olds are eligible. I'm in the older half. The odds are all screwed up, and everyone might think they're in their favor until they're reaped.
I can't get my hopes up. I haven't taken any tesserae, but I still have more entries than some. Than many.
And I wonder how well I'd do in the arena. Would I be the cold and hard killer that many tributes - well, many Careers - become? Would I go insane, like Titus from District Six, and become a cannibal? Or would I manage to keep my values and beliefs, and not harm a soul?
I don't know that, either. But I wonder how long I'd live. I'm a pretty good healer, and I'm smart, I guess. But weaponwise, I'm not sure how I'd rank. I bet some five-year-olds from Career districts are more experienced than I am in that area.
Thinking about it gives me a headache, so I push it out of my mind. With any luck, I won't be chosen at all.
Or next year. Or the year after that.
The old, dirty alarm clock on my bedside table beeps. I roll over in my bed. It's six thirty, and curfew's just been lifted. We're all free to roam about the streets. Luke will probably be heading over now, though he's the sort to ignore the curfew and risk getting taken by Peacekeepers. He'd risk that for his friends.
I'm not sure the word friends is sufficient anymore. It used to be, when we were younger. But now, he's more than a friend.
Well, if he's coming over, I'd better get ready.
I roll out of bed and go over to the closet. I spent a while yesterday finding something to wear today.
No, not like a Capitolite. Not like, I have a million beautiful dresses, and I can't decide which one to wear! Not like that. It more like, I know what I'm going to wear, but I haven't worn it for months, and I have no idea where it is!
But I found it, and now it's conveniently draped over the foot of my bed. No need to waste time today searching for it.
See? I think ahead.
It's a pretty white dress with pink accents. It's nicer than the clothing you usually see on the streets of District Nine. It's been in the family for generations, passed from mother to daughter.
If I survive the reaping, and the following years' reapings, maybe my daughter will one day wear this for her reaping. Or maybe she'll grow up in a better world, with no Hunger Games and no reaping and no Capitol.
Maybe she'll know freedom.
But that's a problem for tomorrow. It has always been.
Our ancestors left it to us, and now we're leaving it to the next generation, who will most likely leave it to their children.
I change into the dress, and brush back my wavy brown hair. Then, I leave the room and head over to the kitchen.
Mother and Father are already there, along with my older brother, Riley.
"And here she is," Riley says. "Back from the dead."
"Back from sleep," I correct.
"Back from the ever so deep sleep of the dead." Riley stretches his arms out towards me and rolls his eyes back into his head.
"Stop it." I stifle a laugh.
Riley composes his self and grins. "Did I scare you."
"Of course not."
He shrugs. "Well, I was serious. We couldn't wake you up."
"Like you tried."
"Oh, I tried!" he insists. "You just didn't want breakfast. Queasy about the reaping, huh?"
I force a laugh. "Of course I am. So nervous that I slept so lightly there's no chance you wouldn't have woken me up if you tried to."
"You got me." Riley grins sheepishly.
"Wanted the cereal for yourself, did you?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Totally." He grabs the box from the table. "Speaking of cereal, want some?"
"District Nine Standard?"
"As opposed to what?" Riley gives me a bowl, and pours some Standard in. "Did you get a Capitol ID, or a Capitol coupon?"
I grab a spoon and start eating. Then, I remember what he asked me. "How could I have gotten one?" I ask. "Is that possible? Because if it is, tell me, and I'll go and beg for one."
"As far as I know, it's not." He shrugs and laughs. "So eat away, because this is the only kind of cereal you'll ever get to taste."
I oblige, and manage to ignore him for a few minutes. When I finish the bowl, I look up at my older brother questioningly.
"How are you not nervous about the reaping?" I ask.
"Who says I'm not?" He stares at me. "Is that even possible?"
"Probably not," I admit.
"At least it's my last year." Riley sighs. "One more day, and then I'm free of duty."
"Lucky," I mutter.
"Hey, one day you'll be eighteen, too," he says.
"Not if I die before then," I point out.
"That is very unlikely."
I stand up and say, "Well, it's possible. And I need to go get ready. I suggest you do, too."
He groans and follows me back to the bedrooms.
I've only just stepped back into the room when there's a knock on the door. I straighten, and go to answer it.
It's Luke. Come at last.
.
"Welcome to the reaping for the one hundredth Hunger Games!" Dunky cheers. "Our century marker, our fourth Quarter Quell, et cetera. What matters is that today I get to select four times as many tributes! Four girls and four boys! They might be as young as five, or as old as eighteen. I do wonder!"
He goes over to the first bowl, and draws the first girl's name.
It's some seven year-old. So young, and going in to die. I wince in sympathy. But at least it isn't me. I'm still safe. But three more girls will still be chosen.
"Feeemale B will be next!" Dunky says.
He goes back to the bowl and takes out a second name. He returns to the mic, and says, "Female B, yes? Well, this lucky lady is..."
I close my eyes and hope with all my might that he won't say my name, that I'll be safe another year, if not for just a few more seconds...
"Bailee Michelle!"
The words echo around the square, and I jolt to life. A rag doll walking. I manage to compose my face into a mask. I step out of the section, and step by step, make my way to the stage.
"Bailee!"
I stop, and search for the voice. It comes from the eighteen-year-old male section, from someone who cannot volunteer for me.
Riley.
I give him a solemn look, and walk past him to the stage. There is nothing he can do for me now, other than to do what I doubt he can do - convince someone to volunteer for me.
I have no doubt he'd volunteer himself if he could, or that Luke would. But they're both males, and they can't help me anymore.
I took no tesserae. I was as safe as I could be. But I was reaped. I cannot rely on the odds anymore.
District 9 Female C: Alessia Lingenburg's POV:
Four years. That's how long it's taken me to adjust. To change from a middle-class girl, pretty normal, with a father and a decent life, to a poor girl with no father, a hard life, and little food and money. Yes, I used to be like that. One of the lucky girls, part of the town band I still se at school every day.
I was eleven then.
Well, I was ten when my life and that of my family began spiraling down into the abyss of poverty and bad fortune. I was ten when my father contracted a fatal illness. But we lived in the town, and I could count on three meals a day, however meager.
I was eleven when he died. When my mother, my brother and I were forced to move into an outer borough. My mother has struggled to support the three of us ever since.
I like to think that it hasn't affected me much. But I know it has. Just maybe not as much as it would others.
I wake up early the morning of the reaping to the sound of wind whistling through the cracks of the small wooden shack I've lived the past four years of my life in. I'm peaceful for a few moments, or as peaceful and comfortable as you can get in this run-down place. I close my eyes, ignore the wind, and breathe deeply.
And then I remember the reaping.
I groan and rub my eyes. There's no point putting it off any longer. Today is reaping day, and I'll have to sit up and face it eventually.
I force myself into a sitting position and look around the small room. Mother's side of the bed we three share is empty. It's not warm. She must have left a while ago.
On my other side, my brother Lucas lies, curled into a ball to conserve heat. It's colder than most mornings, and I can't blame him.
I get out of bed and fold the thin sheet so he's covered by two layers. He shivers again, and turns to face me.
"Oh, you're awake?" I force myself to smile at him. He's nine, and he must be scared out of his mind about today's reaping. Even more than I am.
"I'm awake." Lucas nods. "How could I sleep? Especially after that nightmare."
I know he wants me to ask about his nightmare. But I also know that if I ask, he'll tell it all, even the littlest details, and he'll elaborate, and the whole thing'll probably take several minutes.
But it's reaping day. I humor him anyways.
"What was your nightmare?" I ask.
Lucas rolls his eyes and manages a laugh. "The reaping, of course. What else? So, I was signing in, and he took a lot of blood, just like you said he would. I knew it would hurt, because he was cutting my finger or something like that, so I told him no, I wouldn't let him take my blood. But he said I had to let him, or the Peacekeepers would take me away and torture me to death in the Capitol." He takes a breath. "And, you know, I didn't really want to be tortured to death, so I gave him my finger, and he cut it and took a lot of blood. And then my finger really hurt, and I told him to stop, but he said he needed to take my blood, or the Capitol would take more when they were torturing me, and so I let him take my blood."
"And then you woke up?" I say hopefully.
"No, that wouldn't really be as scary a dream as I said it was," he says. "Remember, it woke me up, and I couldn't fall back asleep. It got a lot worse, Alessia. I got so scared in the next part. Because really, what if I'm reaped? I don't know. I was thinking that maybe you'd tell me, and then I could kill all the other guys, like the Careers. Because they let you train, right? Three days! I could learn everything! All weapons, and all survival skills, and I could get a twelve! And then I could be the youngest ever winner!"
I snort. "Sure you could."
"What? I could!" Lucas insists. "I'd get a twelve, Alessia. Wouldn't you want me to win? I think Father would want me to win. I remember him, you know. I was five years old. He - he told me I'd win one day. Really!"
"Sure he did..."
"No, I mean it." He gives me a serious look. "The odds say I could win."
"Just tell me the rest of your dream," I say, slightly exasperated, as I always am when he gets talking.
"Fine." He sits up next to me. "So, I went to my section, with the other nine-year-olds. Because they separate it by age, right? And I was standing with the other boys. The girls were on the other side. I was looking, but I couldn't see you, Alessia. Sorry." He gives me an apologetic look. "Really, I was looking for you! You were probably near the front. But I was looking, and really, Alessia, I had no idea where you were, because I couldn't see - "
"Dream," I interrupt.
"Right." Lucas takes a deep breath. "So, the Dunky guy, who's the escort, you know? He talked for a while, and - oh, yeah, the mayor was first! He was talking about the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason and that stuff, you know? Like he did last year. And I was really super scared because I'm only nine and I'd taken tesserae. And I was also scared you'd get picked, because I'd be more likely to win, because I'm a boy." He grins at me, pleased. "And the odds say more boys have won."
"Not nine-year-olds," I say, exasperated again.
"Well, this nine-year-old!" He takes a breath. "And then Dunky came up. The escort, you said? And he was weird looking, like last year, because he's from the Capitol. But if he was from the Capitol, why'd he leave and come here? The Capitol's cool. It's colorful, and there's a lot of food. Whyever'd he leave? If I was from the Capitol, I'd never leave. I'd stay there forever. Really!"
"Your dream," I remind him.
"Oh, yeah. So, Dunky picked the girls first, and you were one of them! Dunky said your name. Alessia Lingenburg, you know. And then I saw you. You were in your section near the front, with the other girl fifteen-year-olds, right? And I was waiting for you to go up, like the girl did last year. But you didn't, and I waited, and you still didn't, and we all still waited. But you didn't go, and so there was a loud sound, like a CRACK. And then you fell down. I think you were dead. There was a bunch of blood. And then Mother started screaming, I think. And there was another CRACK, and she was shot, too. It was scary, Alessia! I didn't know what I'd do."
I'm silent. I stare at my younger brother, eyes wide.
"Yeah." His eyes tear up slightly. "And then Dunky called the boys, and the first name was...it was..."
"It was what?" I ask softly.
"Billy Lingenburg," Lucas whispers, his eyes clouding with tears.
A small gasp escapes my throat. I haven't heard my father's name for months.
"Father..." I murmur. "No way. What...?"
"And there was a guy in the crowd, and he went up to the stage. And he looked exactly like Father did." My brother takes a breath, and continues, sounding slightly hysterical. "He was Father! And I think I was crying by then, but I really don't remember. And then...the Peacekeeper, he...shot Father. For no reason! He was just standing there, on the stage! But he still shot him! And then I was screaming, I think. And the Dunky called the next boy, and it was me! And that was too much, Alessia. That was too much for me."
Lucas breaks off, and stares out of the broken old window, the one that shattered last year, the one who's sheet covering has blown off.
"I was so scared," he says quietly.
"I bet you were." I'm silent for a moment, and then I say, "Don't worry. It won't happen today. We'll both be okay. Later today, we'll come back home, and Simonia's going to come over. She's bringing cake, you know." I give him a bright smile. "Cake! Haven't had that since last year! It's going to be really good. It doesn't matter that we've both taken tesserae...and a lot of it. We'll be fine."
The look he gives me is filled with uncertainty and distrust. The fear in his eyes is unmistakable.
"It's going to be okay," I murmur. "Let's have some breakfast now, okay?"
He perks up. "Breakfast?"
I smile. "District Nine Standard. Haven't had breakfast in a while. But we saved up for today."
He jumps out of bed and scampers to the small second room of the shack. There, Mother is working her way through a small bowl of cereal. The box is on the tiny wooden table.
My brother jumps into his seat, and I pour small servings for both of us. We eat, and soon finish the tiny portions. When I'm done, I return to the room and go through my small pile of clothing.
I pick out my only formal clothing - a purple blouse and a black skirt. I change, and wait as Lucas changes into his own clothes. He's quiet again, a shadow of his former self. As I am, I guess. As most people are the day of the reaping.
Mother meets us my the door, and we leave for the square.
.
Twenty minutes later, I stand with the rest of the fifteen-year-old girls near the front of the square. I think of Lucas near the back, with his fifteen entries. I shouldn't have let him take tesserae, I should've take it all myself. If he's reaped, I'll never forgive myself, I'll always know it's my fault.
And then I think of my own thirty-three entries. The odds should be in my favor. But everyone must think that, before they're reaped.
The first two girls, though, aren't me. One is a small seven-year-old, and I feel a pang of sympathy. The second is a fourteen-year-old who I think I've seen around before.
But neither is me. Maybe I am safe after all. Hope begins to rise in my chest.
"We are through with two selections," Dunky intones. "If this were a normal year, we'd be done! But no, we have six more tributes left to reap. Two girls and four boys. We will now continue choosing the ladies. Female C will proceed Female D. This makes sense, yes?"
He strides over to the bowl and yanks out a slip. He takes a fancy bow, flourishing the slip. Then, he returns to the microphone.
Not me, not me, anyone but me...
"Alessia Lingenburg!"
My eyes widen. Me. Me and my measly thirty-three entries, me. Me, Alessia Lingenburg.
I take a shaky breath, and hide my shock and fear behind a bright smile. Channel the regular Alessia, okay, Alessia? No more frowny-faces. I walk to the stage, and manage to smile at the crowd.
District 9 Female D: Ava Ruth's POV:
The pain that wakes me up is a reminder of last night. My father has always hated me. My mother died in childbirth, and he turned to alcohol soon after. I look exactly like my moth did, and that only serves to remind him. And what does an alcoholic do to a daughter he hates, you ask?
He beats her with beer bottles.
Last night was worse. Usually, my sister, Lily, is there to hold him back. But she went to sleep early, and I was left alone with him. And he started talking about the reaping, and how he hoped I'd be reaped, because I'd deserve it, because I killed my mother.
Five years has not been long enough for him to forget.
I haven't forgotten. I had nothing to remember.
He had been drinking more than usual, as it was just after the anniversary of my mother's death. My fifth birthday. He had just finished his fifth beer that night. He started yelling at me, and hitting me with the bottle. It soon broke, which made it hurt all the more.
I have scars from up to two years ago. It's the main reason I don't have any friends.
I just stood there and didn't move, because I know from experience he'll just chase me, and it'll get worse. So I hung my head and just let him go on ntil Lily awoke and came to rescue me. I paid for that. The pain is still fresh, hours later.
I lie in bed, thinking about the reaping. I don't know much, but I do know that it's how they choose the two tributes. And maybe they'll win, and be rich and famous. Maybe I'll get chosen. And if I win, what'll Father have to say?
But Lily said she'd volunteer for me, as she's sixteen and would have a better chance of winning, whatever that means. I could win! I could totally win! And then I'd be rich and famous, and maybe Father would forget Mother, and we could all live happily together.
That would be nice.
"Ava? Are you awake?" Lily asks.
I roll onto my side, wincing. "Yeah. I've been awake for a while."
"Poor thing." She gives me a sympathetic smile. "Look, Ava, don't worry about today. You've only got five entries. There'll be thousands upon thousands in the bowl. There's nothing to be scared about."
"I'm not scared," I tell her. "You'd be rich and famous!"
"Or dead."
I frown. "And Father's be happy, right?"
"He'd probably be happy if you died," she admits. There's a moment of silence, and then she continues, "Hey, he loves you. Really. He...he's just sad. He misses Mother. So do I."
"He hates me," I say tearfully. "He doesn't like me at all."
"I know he can be a bit rough at times," Lily says. "But he does love you, deep inside. Really."
I brighten slightly. "You think so?"
"I know so." Lily smiles. "When I was little, he was really kind. He'd let me sit on his lap, and he'd tell me stories. About America."
"America," I repeat. "My teacher says they lived in...in...tee-ra-nee."
"Tyranny?" Lily snorts. "Freedom, more like. They could travel all over the country. All over the world, really, if they had the money. And there was no Hunger Games. People were happy, I bet. Really happy," she says wistfully.
I frown. "There weren't Hunger Games?"
"Nope."
"So...no famous people? And everyone was poor?"
Lily laughs. "No. Just...no one won the Games. No one was famous because of that. If you were famous, you had done something else, like write a really good book, or got some important position."
"Weird." I make a face.
"And they got breakfast every, every morning," Lily says.
"Breakfast?" I say hopefully. "Today?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," she says. "District Nine Standard. Let's go eat. I bet Father's already eating."
As it turns out, Father is done eating. He probably finished a while ago. Now, there's an empty bowl on the table, and his chair is pushed far back. Lily goes to get the cereal from the cabinet.
She's hoisting it onto the table when she stops and frowns. "What the..."
"What?" I sit forward, grasping my spoon eagerly.
Lily shakes her head in annoyance. "The nerve of that man. Seriously." She squints at some words inscribed on the box.
"What does it say?" I ask again.
"It says, Ava isn't allowed to have cereal. If she does, she'll regret it. Tell the illiterate that, Lily." Lily swallows. "Ava, I'm so sorry."
"So..." I give her a questioning look. "Going to give it to me anyways?"
"Of course." She forces a smile. "How could I not? I'm going to pour one bowl, and we can both eat, okay? That way, he won't get suspicious."
I nod. "Thanks."
She pours the bowl, and we both attack it with our spoons. I haven't had breakfast in ages, and I haven't had any food since my fifth birthday a few days ago. I need the calories; I'm only thirty-one pounds.
When the bowl is empty, we go back to the room. Lily changes into a dress, and helps me into one of my own.
It's a lacy white dress that was my mother's once. It's huge on me, so Lily pins it up so I can wear it. Then, she braids part of my hair and ties it with a pink ribbon. Then, Lily takes something from her neck. It's a small locket on a chain. She hesitates before handing it to me.
"It was Mother's," she says quietly. "It's all we have left of her. Wear it for the reaping. For luck." She smiles warmly at me. "Look at the pictures, too."
I stare blankly at her. She opens the locket, and we huddle around it.
On the left is a picture of Lily when she was about my age, playing with a man who looks vaguely familiar. I realize its Father. But a younger version of him, and his face is lit up by a smile. His expression is one of affection and love. I have never seen it before.
The picture on the left shows a slightly younger Lily with a young woman who looks very, very familiar. I stare at the picture, and finally see what others think of when they look at me. It's my mother.
"Keep it," Lily says. "For luck."
I nod and string it around my neck.
.
All three of the first girls chosen are older than me. I stand in the very back of the square, craning my neck, trying to see the winners. The first girl is seven, and the next two are teenagers. But not Lily, and not me.
"Our last girl will now be chosen," Dunky says brightly. "We all wonder who it is, right? Well, it's..."
I hope it isn't Lily. She didn't want to be chosen.
"Ava Ruth!"
A rush of excitement comes over me. Me? Ooh! Now I can win, and show Father! Maybe he will love me when I'm all rich and famous.
I push out of my section and run to the stage. I can't keep the small grin off of my face. Dunky looks slightly surprised at my enthusiasm.
I spot Lily in the crowd. Her face is white, shocked. I grin at her.
Money and fame, here I come.
District 9 Male A: Zarath Samuel's POV:
I have nothing to miss about my family. My parents abandoned me when I was young, still in my single digits. They left me on the streets. I stayed with a homeless man for a few months, and then I ran away. I lived on the streets, learning to fight, learning how to intimidate others. It's served me well the past few years.
My sister I don't remember much about. She was just a soul who I once knew. Nothing more.
You could also call Jax Samuel my family. I saw him on one of the Games replays a few years ago. I saw him fighting in the final battle, I saw his death, and I knew we were related. I expect he's my uncle.
I guess you could call Samantha my family. I met year years ago, and she's helped me out ever since. She's a Peacekeeper, so she's been able to get me food and a shack to live in. It used to be an outhouse, she told me. It's not much, but what more can you hope for when you're a homeless man without any support?
It's just a few minutes after curfew's lifted when there's a knock on the wooden door of the tiny shack. I get out of bed and go to the door. I peek through a small crack. It's her. I open the door.
"Hi, Zarath." She salutes. "Good luck today. Your second to last reaping, correct?"
"No, my last."
She raises her eyebrows. "I thought you were seventeen."
"I am seventeen," I say. "But I'm volunteering today. Victors are exempted from the reaping."
"Oh!" Samantha smiles. "Good luck, Zarath. May the odds be ever in your favor. I'll be rooting for you."
"Great to know."
"So, I brought some bread." She takes a small loaf from her bag.
I take it. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Good luck." She salutes again, and leaves.
I close the door and go to the small pile of clothes by my bed. I take out the peacekeeper clothes that Samantha stole for me a few weeks ago. I change, and tuck my old clothes into the pile.
I leave the house and walk down the dusty road. For the first time since New Years, the fields are completely devoid of all people. The workers walk down the road with me, heads low, eyes averted, the children trembling and scared.
They won't be reaped. I have taken more tesserae than anyone else, because really, what does it matter if I'm reaped? I'm going to volunteer even if I'm not. And in a few weeks, these children will get more food and money than ever before, for their district will have their first victor for two decades.
Soon, I cross the border to one of the inner boroughs. The rags change into slightly more decent clothing. The people are slightly less dirty and hopeless. Eventually, the fields change into buildings, and I enter the city.
Some of the people here wear clean, respectable dresses and suits. But the aura of fear and uncertainty has not changed.
I briefly scan the crowd for Samantha. She'd told me she'd be one of the Peacekeepers lining the square, though many are exempt from the reaping altogether. I find her easily. She stands by the sign-in line, overseeing the process.
I go to the back of the line, and sneak a wave. She catches me eye and smiles at me.
Trust is a new feeling for me. For a while, I didn't trust her. I couldn't. I'd never thought it possible, trust. But there's now exactly one person in Panem I can trust, and it's Samantha.
I wonder if my sister is here, now. I consider looking for her, too. She might still be eligible. I could probably find my old parents - I mean, the man and woman who pretended to care for me once upon a time. If they ever did, that is. I start to look. Maybe I'd still recognize them, after all these years.
But I stop myself. I can't go looking for the "family" who abandoned me a decade ago. That would be weak of me. I don't need them. I never did. And I hate to be weak.
I straighten and go up to the Capitol woman. I give her my finger, and she takes some blood. Her handheld device beeps, and Samuel, Zarath. 17/YO shows up on the little screen.
I go to my section near the front. I settle in, and observe the boys around me. If the competition is like this, I'll win for sure.
.
The girls won't be hard to beat. There's a five-year-old, a seven-year-old, and two younger teenagers. Maybe they don't all break down and cry, like some tributes do, but still.
Then, Dunky moves on to the boys.
"Male A!" he says happily. "Male A, where are you?"
Right here, Dunky, you idiotic Capitolite. Just read the name, and watch the little boy cry, and thank me when I volunteer. Just choose the name already, old man.
"Here you are...Kare Oldnoose!"
There's a sharp intake of breath from a boy near me. His brother, I expect.
A thirteen-year-old makes his way to the stage, fear in his eyes.
"I volunteer." I step out of the section.
Kare gives me a look of evident relief, as if I was a good person. He returns to his section.
"What's your name?" Dunky asks me cheerfully. "O volunteer?"
I go up to the stage. I jostle Dunky, almost knocking him over, as if saying, I am not afraid of you, even if you are from the Capitol. Mess with me, try to exploit my limits, and you will regret it.
"I am Zarath Samuel."
District 9 Male B: Luke Winston's POV:
My sleep the night before reaping day is restless. I'm rocked by a nightmare, as I'm sure many are, children and parents alike. Not that I really consider myself a child anymore. I haven't since our parents were shot, caught stealing.
But unlike most children, it is not I who goes in to die in my dream. No; it's the two people closest to me.
Bailee is chosen first. She cries out for me to save her, to help her, to do something. But I am not a girl. I would volunteer if I was, but I am not. She gives me the most helpless look I've seen on anyone's face before. I wish I could volunteer, do anything to save her, but I cannot. I am as helpless as she is, probably more so.
Then, Amber is chosen. Amber Winston, ten years old, the only person I have left of my bloodline. Tears stream down her face as she walks to the stage. She too looks at me for help, as she always has. But there is nothing I can do.
Their faces swim in my mind. Bailee Michelle, the only girl I've ever liked, with her sweet nature and beautiful self. Amber Winston, my little sister, who I swore I'd protect, who depends on me for everything. Both of them, gone into the arena, dead for sure.
I wake up, panting and sweating, shivering with anticipation. I glance to the right, and slump with relief when I see the ten-year-old girl sprawled out next to me. She's still safe, and surely she'll survive today with her six entries.
I've taken all the tesserae that I wouldn't let her take. I persuaded the community home to let me take the tesserae they'd otherwise make her take. It's myself I should be worried about. But I've never really been that selfish when there are my loved ones to consider, so I barely give myself a thought.
Suppose it really does happen. The unthinkable. Amber's reaped, or Bailee, or even me. Bailee's strong enough, she'd probably make it some ways. But Amber? The years of hardship, the loss of Mother and Father, they've taken their toll. She's fragile, and I don't know how long she'd survive. Factor in the four-hundred percent increase in tributes, and now what do we have?
Or me. My name's in the reaping fifty times. If one of my entries is chosen, I'd be in the Games. With any luck, Bailee and Amber would be safe, or as safe as you can get in District Nine. But me, I'd soon be dead.
No, I'd probably survive longer than they would. I'd pick up some skills when training in the Capitol, right? Maybe I could get far. Or even win.
But none of us will be chosen, I tell myself firmly. Tonight, we'll all come back safe, and we'll go over to Bailee's house to celebrate. Riley and I will exchange jokes and laughs, as we always have. Amber will go to sleep safe, and Bailee will be happy, and I will rest in peace, knowing that we'll all live another year.
I get out of bed and go over to the closet that the ten other boys in the community home dorm share, plus Amber. They wanted to separate us, and put Amber with the other girls. But I fought, we both fought, and they grudgingly agreed to let her in with the youngest boys. I joined her.
I pull out a pair of clothes. We don't own much nice here in the community home, but we have a bit. I take out a slightly ripped old t-shirt and old, worn pants. I change, and take out some clothing for Amber. I place it at the foot of her small cot, and get ready to leave.
The other boys start waking up. Most of them will wait for breakfast, as I usually do, but I need to see Bailee before the reaping. I'm sure she'll give me food. I don't like asking for food, but anything's better than the bland old oatmeal they serve here.
And that's not the main reason I'm going.
I rouse Amber. She blinks a few times, and squints blearily at me.
"Luke?"
"Yeah?"
She takes a shaky breath. "I had the worst dream..."
"I know." I give her a comforting smile. "But it's okay. It won't happen. I had a nightmare, too. But you've only got six entries. You'll be fine. You're only ten, Amber. You won't be chosen."
"But...what if I am?"
"You won't be," I insist. "Believe me. And if you are, which you won't be, then someone volunteers. I - I, uh, paid someone to volunteer."
She frowns at me, considering this. "You did?" she asks skeptically. "Who'd say yes to that?"
"Um..." I fight for an answer. "Someone. You'll never need to find out, because you won't be reaped."
"It's not Bailee, is it?" Her question, put so bluntly, startles me.
"Of course not! I would never ask Bailee to do something like that?"
"Good." Amber manages a faint smile. "Well, then who is it?"
"You'll never know who it is." Good. Maybe she'll be more curious, not as scared. But I know it's probably not going to work for long. And if she is reaped? She'll die thinking I'm a liar.
Amber gets ready, and just as she meets me at the door, the district clock chimes. Curfew's lifted.
We step outside, and walk to Bailee's house.
Bailee lets us in. Her face breaks into a smile when she sees us. It makes my day to see her so happy despite the reaping.
"Come in, come in!" she says. "I expect you're hungry. They don't start serving breakfast at the home until curfew's lifted, right? Come in, have some Standard."
"Standard?" Amber's face lights up. "Cereal? Thanks!"
She follows Bailee into the kitchen, and I trail behind. Bailee lugs a huge box of cereal from a cabinet, and pours us both bowls. We're both digging in when Riley comes in, all dressed in a suit and tie.
"Ah, hello," he says. "Nice to see you again, folks." He takes a flourishing bow, doffing an imaginary cap.
Amber laughs, and I say, "Hi, Riley. Are you a gentleman for the reaping, perhaps?"
"A gentleman?" Riley frowns. "I expect you mean a turkey, Master Winston."
"Oh, a turkey, I see." I try not to laugh. "Very, ah, gentlemanly, turkeys. Nice to meet you...Master Turkey."
"Hi, turkey!" Amber says.
"Hello, Miss Winston!" Riley bows again. "How fare you on this...fine day?"
Her smile fades. "I'm scared," she admits, her lip quivering slightly.
"Nothing to be scared of!" he booms. "Nothing at all! Prepare for a wonderful day."
Amber's lips twitch slightly, but she doesn't manage a smile. Her face is pale, worried. My heart pangs, and I pour the remainder of my bowl into hers. She nods at me, thankful. I'd always give her my food. She's so painfully skinny, and we haven't had a full meal in years.
I coax her into finishing the bowl, and I get Riley the turkey to shut up. He grins at me, and mimes something. I can't figure out what at first, but then I realize he's trying to dance.
I roll my eyes, and turn my attention to Bailee.
"How've you been?" I ask.
"Not bad," she says. "Just...Amber isn't the only one who's scared."
"Who isn't?" I shrug. "I am, and I bet Riley is, too."
"Too bad turkeys aren't exempt," he mutters, and I grin.
"You tell that to the Peacekeepers," I dare him. "Se if they throw you in some mental institution."
"Yeah, because they care so much about our mental health."
"Sure." I roll my eyes. "So, Bailee. How many times is your name in?"
"Just ten," she says. "I've never taken tesserae. You?"
"Fifty."
"Fifteen?" she says hopefully.
"Fifty."
Bailee frowns. "But...I thought in the community home you had to take two tesserae additions. So shouldn't you only have thirty?"
"I should," I admit. "But then Amber would have eighteen entries. I...I couldn't let her do that. They let me take the tesserae for her. So, fifty entries. I'll be fine, Bailee. It's okay."
She glances down at my sister. "Are you sure, Luke? I couldn't stand it if you were chosen."
"I won't be chosen," I insist. "There are thousands of names. Thousands upon thousands. None of us will be picked."
She swallows. "If you say so. Stay safe, Luke. Please."
Amber finishes the cereal, and we wait by the door as Bailee gets ready. Soon, she meets us, and we walk to the square.
.
The girls are chosen first. I stand in my section, biting my nails. The first girl is a seven-year-old who'll probably die in the first few days. But it's not Amber. And it's not Bailee. I sigh in relief.
Dunky goes back to the bowl. "Female B, yes? Well, this lucky lady is..."
Not Amber, not Bailee, not anyone I know...
"Bailee Michelle!"
My breath catches in my throat. My eyes search the crowd, and I see her immediately: beautiful, kind Bailee, rooted to the ground, staring at the cruel, cruel Dunky. Step by step, she walks to the stage.
Someone, probably Riley, calls out her name. She wavers slightly, and finds the owner of the voice. Then, she moves up the steps, and shakes Dunky's hand.
No. Bailee, she only had ten entries. Only ten. There's no way she could have been picked. And if she wasn't safe, why should I believe Amber to be?
But the following two girls I don't know. I think of my sister, back in her section, safe. How is she reacting to Bailee's being chosen? I have to stay with her. I need to protect Bailee, but I must protect her, too...
The first boy is a volunteer. It's a seventeen-year-old I've never seen before. I stare up at him. Why ever did he volunteer? Maybe I'll visit him when the families come and beg him to protect Bailee. But why would he do that?
No, I can't rely on anyone to do my job.
Dunky choses the next boy. "All this excitement!" he squeals. "I wonder if we'll have three more volunteers! Wouldn't that be just fabulous? Let's see!"
He unfolds the slip.
"Luke Winston!"
Amber. She's the first thing that flits through my mind. My little sister, Amber. What will she do, with both me and Bailee gone? Surely Riley will take care of her, if he's not chosen himself. He can adopt her, right? Take her out of the community home?
Bailee. I can see her out of the arena. Surely I can get her to win. I'd die, but it'd be worth it.
I go to the stage, and shake Dunky's hand.
Oh, how I hate you, Dunky. If I die, if Bailee dies, you will pay.
District 9 Male C: Nikolai Peridue's POV:
I can't love the Capitol, but I do respect them. I respect them for their technology, and their victory in every war they've ever participated in. Which is exactly three. The first was World War Three. They formed, and struck down the other world powers. The next was the Dark Days, and after that, the Mockingjay rebellion. I must respect them, yes.
But I will never follow them.
You could say they've never done anything to me, at least not directly. My father, the Mayor, has a comfortable life, as does his wife and the six of us who are his children. Mother has a good job, too, and the eight of us have lived "happily" in the Mayor's place by the Justice Building for the past several years. We've never been as hungry as most in the district, and we live in relative luxury.
My father is a pawn of the Capitol, and this is how they manipulate him. I will never be a part of that.
So, I make it my duty to spend as little time as I can in that house.
It's not like I actually belong there. I do by blood, but by nothing else. Of course, Father's always working, so the six of us have to fight for Mother's attention. I never won the fights, when I bothered to participate, so I grew up with exactly one person paying attention to me: myself.
I like being alone. I've never belonged. Anywhere. I spend much of my time in the library room, where no one but Father and my studious sister, Marria, has ever stepped foot inside. I must have read every book in there ten times over the course of the twelve years I have lived.
Father taught me to read. Well, he gave me the first basic steps. I used the words I knew and pieced together the puzzle of the entire language. In addition to that, I've become fluent in Latin, the dead language that my father scoffed at me for learning the last time we really spoke, a year or two ago.
Yes, Latin. It's never served me much, as no one else knows it. My father knows some, he told me, but only the phrases they teach in school.
In addition to Latin, I know some French, Spanish, and Italian. I am not the most fluent in French yet, as I only began teaching it to myself last year. I am now trying to learn Japanese. Perhaps I can get it in before my creativity seeps away, as it seems to have in all the adults I've met.
And, my father being the Mayor, I've met quite a few.
I woke up at five this morning. The other boys, three-year-old Marnos the hyper kid and sixteen-year-old Elliken the sports lover, were both still asleep. "Conked out", as they would put it. And, as usual, Elliken as snoring louder than should be possible for a human.
I slipped out of my pyjamas and put on a black t-shirt and trousers. It's what I usually wear, and why should I humor the Capitol and dress up formally? Then, I left the room and walked to the library.
On the way, I passed the girls' room. Lanta, ten years old, was snoring almost as loudly as Elliken had been. She's loud by nature as well, so I guess it makes sense. Marria, fourteen, and Tike, six, were probably asleep, too.
But even if they were awake, they wouldn't have heard me as I passed. I was as silent as I usually am.
I got to the library, which is where I sit now, reading a book on military strategy. I flip through pages of clever tactics punctuated with the stupidest techniques I've ever heard of a military doing. Seriously, who attacks the enemy at their strongest point when they're low on firearms and have absolutely no chance of winning?
And then they were surprised when they were all killed or taken captive. The idiots.
Eventually, I switch to the Japanese character guide. I've read it through a few times, but am still in the process of memorizing it. When I've got the characters down pat, probably in a month or two, I'll work on the composition of phrases. It's a technique that's always worked for me in the past.
I stare at foreign symbol after foreign symbol. Did the Japanese have a way to say reaping?
Oh, the reaping. Yes, the reaping. I have eight entries, but I know better than to assume I'm "safe". The Capitol rigs the reaping, that I'm certain of. Why wouldn't they take interest in the Mayor's second son? The outsider who the Mayor may or may not have completely forgotten he had?
No, I am not safe. No one is. If I am reaped, I am not safe. If I am not reaped, I am not safe. No matter the circumstances, if the Capitol reigns, I am not safe. And if the Capitol falls, I still cannot assume that I am safe.
I am a realist. I don't pretend the odds are in my favor.
One good thing about the reaping? No school today. One day off of sitting in a stuffy classroom, pretending I haven't known the material for years.
When the bell on the district clock rings, lifting curfew, I put the book away and walk down to the kitchen. Tike's already there, trying to pour herself a bowl of cereal. Lanta comes in, and sees her struggling.
"Oh, it's too heavy for you?" she jeers. "Can't lift the box, huh? That's too bad, Tike. Looks like you don't get cereal."
She walks over, snatches the box, and easily pours herself a bowl. I wait, and take it when she's finished. I pour myself some, and set it back on the table right as Tike begins to cry.
"You're always so mean!" she says to Lanta. "Pour me cereal. Now!"
"Not happening." She smirks.
Tike's sobs turn into wails. "Then I'll tell Mama!"
"Go ahead." Lanta turns away. "You big baby."
"I'm not a baby! I'm six years old! Six is not a baby! You're a baby!"
"Oh, so seven isn't a baby, but ten is?" Lanta rolls her eyes. "You pathetic little baby, don't you know any math?"
"I know math!" Tike insists. "I do!"
"Then tell me, what's the square root of...eighty-one?" Lanta grins. "Can you answer that, huh, Tike?"
Tike hesitates. "What's a squaroot?" she asks.
"A square root," Lanta corrects. "See? You idiot, can't you do any math?"
"I can! One plus one equals two, two plus one equals three, three plus one equals four!" Tike beams, her tears temporarily slowing. "See! And I can even do thirty-three plus one! It's...forty-three!"
Lanta bursts into laughter. "No! You idiot! You - you idiot! It's thirty-four! Not forty-three! You added ten, not one! D'you know the difference between one and ten, Tike? Do you?"
"Yes! I do!" she insists, but Lanta's laughter doesn't halt, and she begins to cry again. "You're mean! Just pour me cereal!"
Lanta refuses, of course. You'd have thought Tike would think of asking me to pour her cereal. Maybe I would have, but I've never thought about it; it's never happened before, or anything like it. Today is no different. Neither of my sisters offers me even a glance, and I finish my bowl and walk away.
I pass the others in the hall. Mother ushers Elliken, Marria, and Marnos to the kitchen. Father trails behind, looking as though he's just had a shower. They do not so much as glance at me, either. I walk right past them, and get ready to leave.
Five minutes later, my boots are on, and I step outside. My hands in my pockets, I walk down the street.
The Mayor's house - I will never call it mine - is right down the street from the square. I'm one of the first in line. I wait, and then sign in with the woman there.
She pricks my finger. Her blood identification device beeps, and my name appears on the screen. Peridue, Nikolai. 12/YO.
I walk past her and settle in my section near the middle. I wait there for the reaping to begin.
.
Dunky, the escort, choses four girls. I know none of them, and I know quite a few people. I've just spoken to nearly none of them. I'm not chosen, at least not the first two times. My life changes when he choses the Male C.
"Male C!" Dunky squeals. "Let's see, who will it be?"
Bored, I stare at him. He choses a slip, and says, "Ooh! Familiar name, last name at least! Nikolai Peridue!"
There's a flit of recognition on Father's face up on the stage. But nothing more.
I wonder if I should be scared. I probably should. But I'm more curious. I wonder how far I'll get. I wonder if I can win. But the odds are not in my favor.
I go up to the stage. A rush of self-consciousness comes over me as I shake Dunky's hand. I've never had so many eyes focused on me at once, and it's overwhelming. How do people stand it, always having someone talking to them, staring that them, with the intense gaze Dunky is giving me now?
Suddenly, he jumps. "Oh! That's right! You're Mayor Peridue's son, aren't you!"
"Verum," I croak. I haven't spoken for days, and often, I think in Latin, and the affirmative is at my lips. But then I notice my mistake, and hastily correct myself. "Yes."
"How interesting!" Dunky exclaims.
Yes, it is interesting.
Oh, the odds are not in my favor. They are only in one group's favor, and that's the Capitol.
District 9 Male D: Emmer Cassel's POV:
Farina's not scared. I keep telling her how I snuck into the Justice Building and removed my seven entries from the bowl, and her one. So there's no chance either of us'll be picked. I must've told her five times each day since the Quarter Quell announcement in the winter.
I'm pretty proud of myself for that one. She was scared out of her mind, as she's five years old and therefore eligible for this year's Games. But now she's got nothing to be scared of. She didn't even cry last night, and I saw plenty of older kids crying yesterday. Mother and Father lowered the prices at the tavern to try to comfort them.
I told them I'd snuck into the Justice Building and took a look at the list of who'd be picked, and they weren't on it. They didn't believe me. This one little girl, she shoved me away, and told me to stop lying.
Was I lying? Well, yeah. I guess I was.
I went to the back of the tavern, where Mother and Father and the people they hire make the food and everything. I sat down on a stool and sulked until Mother came over and told me to get up and help her with the soup.
And then she bribed me with some money. And I know where she got it.
See, Mother's hospitable and friendly to the customers' faces, but when they turn around, she's busy picking their pockets.
I brightened up, and agreed to help her. And I got more food as a reward. There are advantages to having your parents run the main tavern of the district. Most people are starving year long.
My stories are all pretty good. I lost most of my early memories when I fell down the stairs to the cellar when I was eight, and so I make up "memories" to take their place.
When I wake up the morning of the reaping, Farina's still sleeping peacefully, curled up in the fetal position. I look at the coins on the table, the ones Mother gave me yesterday, and I start thinking of something to tell Farina.
She wakes up before I finish concocting the story. She sits up and rubs her eyes blearily. She mutters a 'good morning' in my direction, and lies on her back on her bed.
"Hey, Farina," I say.
She stares up at me, her face blank. "Yeah?"
"You do know I removed our names from the bowl, right?"
"Of course I know that." She gives me a serious look. "So neither of us is gonna be reaped, right? We're both safe."
"Right." I nod. "Hey, Farina."
"What?"
"You know, I found a secret key yesterday." I grin at her.
"A what?" she asks, frowning.
"A key." I pick up the coin and show it to her. "See?"
"That's not a key," Farina tells me. "That's a coin. I know that. Don't kid me."
"I'm not kidding you," I insist. "It's a key. Look at it. It's totally a key."
"Really?"
"Really." I nod.
"What's it open?" she asks.
"A secret door to a secret passage," I tell her. "It goes to the Capitol, and it connects all the districts. I'm gonna be running around Panem with it, and they'll never find me. Maybe I'll take you with me, Farina. You want to go? We can even go to District Thirteen!"
Farina frowns. "The big blown up place they show on TV?"
"Yeah, that's it." I grin. "But they key gives us protection from the radiation, so we can go in! We can even see where they lived! A lot of it's underground. It'll be cool."
Her eyes widen. "Cool! Where's the door?"
"I'm still looking for it," I say, poker-faced.
"Tell me when you find it."
"I will."
"Hey, Emmer," she says.
"Yeah?"
"You took out our names, right?"
"I did." I grin. "So they'll never pick either of us."
"How'd they not see you sneak in?" she asks curiously.
"I was invisible," I tell her. "I can turn invisible, you know."
"Do it!" she begs. "Do it now!"
"I can't," I say. "I gotta eat my special mix first."
"So eat it!"
"I don't have the right ingredients right now."
Farina sulks. "Meanie."
Mother yells something from her room. Something like, Get dressed this instant and come to the table, your father and I've been waiting forever.
I turn to my sister. "We gotta get dressed now," I say. "You know what you're wearing?"
"Yeah." She goes over to the closet we share and picks out a dress. She goes over behind the bed, and changes.
I go to the closet next, and find a tan shirt and brown pants. I pick up the patchwork cap my uncle Rufous made for me, and jam it onto my head. He's a nice man, and he's cool; he dances and juggles and does tricks at the tavern to earn money. He's like the brother I never had. Then, I put my pendant around my neck. It's a strangely shapes cork - an alien artifact.
Farina and I leave the bedroom and go to the dining room. Mother, Father, and Rufous are already there, eating leftover soup from the tavern. Most people have District Nine Standard, cereal, for breakfast. We have leftovers that no one'll want today.
Rufous pours us both a bowl, and we wolf it down. There's more, but Mother insists we leave it for lunch. Or maybe some really poor customer will buy it. But most likely the former.
When we're all done, we get ready to go. Ten minutes after the meal is concluded, we leave the house.
.
I stand near the middle of the square, with the other eleven-year-olds. Farina's at the very back. Dunky choses the girls first, and I remind myself that Farina hasn't got any slips in there.
So I'm not at all surprised when she isn't reaped. But I can't help feeling very sorry for the four girls who are. They don't seem very happy.
Then, Dunky choses the boys. A tall teenager who volunteers, who has a hard, tough look in his eyes. A fourteen-year-old who at first looks stricken, and then manages to conquer his feelings. A skinny twelve-year-old with pale skin and dark eyes, who confirms he's the son of the Mayor in Latin at first.
One more left. I remember that I don't have any entries in the bowl, I took them all out, so I'm safe.
Dunky choses a name and says, "Male D is Emmer Cassel!"
But then...
I start thinking up a cover story to tell Farina. I'm an alien spy, and I'm being called to the Capitol for a debriefing on my mission, and I should be back by next week, and by then I'll have found that secret passage. I almost believe it myself for a moment.
Then, I remember I'm supposed to go to the stage. I join my fellow - what are they, reapees? - on the stage, and shake Dunky's hand.
Capitol, here I come.
A/N: I only know some Latin, and we have three tributes including Nikolai who speak it. That'll be interesting.
I had some time last week, so I was able to write more than usual. Next week will be awful. I have about ten assessments that I know about; a science project, a Social Studies paper, and an English essay due; and a ton of other homework. Also, I have flute and violin lessons, and a track meet, and I'm trying out for the school soccer team on Wednesday. No time. I don't know when the next update will be.
Well, at least we're three fourths done with the reaping.
You know the drill: rank these eight tributes. Yeah.
I got twenty-two bloodbath sacrifices, I just counted them. I'm aiming for thirty to forty to die in the bloodbath, so I'm picking on weaker tributes, and tributes who's creators don't review as much as others.
We got to 100 reviews. Awesome, people. Can this chapter boost us to 120?