Chapter 11: Remembering
A simple white dress with a blue sash around my waist. A second ribbon braided into my hair. Flat white shoes with thin soles. Reaping clothes.
I don't want to go to the main town today. For one, these shoes are not going to be comfortable for walking several miles on the rocky paths, and for two, I don't want to go to my first reaping. Somehow, being old enough to be reaped changes things, even though I'm only as likely this year to be reaped as either of the boys was last year. My name will be in the drawing four times. Once for me because I have to and once for me, my mother, and father because I'm signed up for tesserae. I don't fuss though. I just let my mother tie up my hair, slip on the shoes and then walk with them on the path that leads into town.
We meet up with the boys and their parents as we exit our village and together the seven of us walk the rest of the way. Somehow, Cato and I can't find it in us to joke just now. He's already gone through this once. It should just be old news but he seems tense anyway. His name will be in there ten times today. It makes my four seem insignificant. I manage to try at least for some playfulness. I make my feet walk toward him and then push him with my shoulder. He doesn't push me back though. Instead, he just raises his eyes from the rocks, gives me a half smile and says, "Come here, Tiny," as he pulls me into an awkward walking-hug. I hug him back because it's nice to hug someone. "Nervous?" he asks, letting me go.
"I shouldn't be," I answer. "Even if I get reaped, which isn't likely, I know I won't be going."
He could prompt me to actually honestly admit that, yes, I am at least a little nervous, but he has the decency not to. He just nods and says, "Me, too."
We're separated at the reaping as usual. They stand in the pen in front of me and to my left and we stand as close together as possible so we'll be able to reunite quickly when the reaping is over. I stand in the front left corner of our pen, they in the back right corner of theirs. Knowing I won't be a focal point for the cameras for the reaping, I allow my hands to grip the rope that forms the wall of the pen when the escort in her high heeled purple shoes clicks over to the girls reaping ball. Tapping out a pattern won't help. It'd be too distracting. I want to look like I have my wits about me if my name is called. The rope would offer some support if I really needed it, but as it is, I just use its rough surface as something else to concentrate on –– some other sensation to occupy my nerves –– until the escort asks for volunteers and I know that whatever name she pulled from the bowl was not mine. Then I relax.
There are no 12-year-old girls who want to volunteer, so I'm able to keep my position at the ropes until the fighting dies out up front. A girl named Sterling Scheer wins for the girls. She's the typical female from District 2, tall and strong and well-trained.
Both Cato and Caleb keep their eyes on the stage this year as the boys' reaping takes place. They aren't called though and a boy named Stark Fernley wins the fighting. I've seen Stark Fernley at training and I don't really like him. He's that kid, the one that tries to one up everyone including the trainers and I don't like that. If you're good, you're good, get better. If you're not as good as you think you are, shut up and learn something rather than waste everyone's time.
"Two down, four to go," says Cato when we're together again after the crowd's been dismissed.
"For you," I answer. "Mama, can we bring other shoes next year? These are hurting my feet."
"You're such a girl," Cato teases me and then runs. I chase him six or eight feet before I feel my dad's arms around my middle.
"You're going to ruin your dress if you run around," he tells me sternly, then softens, "I'll carry you so you don't have to walk on your sore feet." I hug him and let him carry me for a while before it starts to get hot. It's already hot here in summer, but having someone hold you makes it hotter.
"Daddy, put me down. I want to walk," I say, trying to squirm free. He lets me go and sets me gently on the ground. I see Cato's dad put a hand on his oldest son's shoulder, telling him not to make me chase him. I walk the rest of the way home, take my shoes off the second I'm inside and then go into my room to change into something more versatile for the rest of the day.
Cato's and Caleb's family comes to our house for Reaping Day Dinner, bringing some food of their own to prepare with us. We're friends, but we're well aware that neither family can provide for a decent meal for seven. Caleb stands in the kitchen with our mothers, helping them cook and learning to do it himself. Cato and I run around like lunatics for a while before my dad grabs Cato, and spins him around and around. Cato's grown bigger than me now, but my dad is a mason and has spent all his adult life lifting heavy rocks. A squeaking little boy is nothing. He laughs as he puts Cato's feet back on the ground and then tells us to go inside and play the violin and piano quietly.
I'm always happy to play and we know the rules about touching the instruments. First thing's first, go inside and wash our hands. We don't want dirt and grime and grass stains all over the place. We don't fight or get excited when playing. We never have. We've seen the way my mother handles her instruments and seen how her eyes watch us when we did when we were littler and we know how important they are to her and we wouldn't dare hurt them.
Cato sits down on the piano bench while I take the violin and bow out of the case. I hand him the violin and he tunes it against the piano by just plucking the strings while I put rosin on the bow. Then I stand beside him and we play. We're not perfect by a long shot. Sometimes my fingers don't quite find the right places in time and the notes come out a little wrong and sometimes Cato's fingers slip and he hits a white key when he should hit a black one, but we play on anyway. There's one point when he hits a wrong note, thinking it's the right one and that throws us both off so he stops. "No, wait," he says, confused. "How does that...?" his fingers find the keys again and he tries once more, stopping where he messed up.
"This," I say playing a few notes for him. I've been playing for nine and a half years. I should know how this goes. He tries again and, having figured it out, we finish the song. Then we play another and that runs through just about flawlessly, although we play this one all the time and it's shorter and easier but still, he looks up at me, smiling and holds up a hand. I take the bow and the violin both in one hand and give him a high five.
"Well done, you two," says my mother from behind me. I turn around to face her, smiling still. "That sounded wonderful."
"Can I come in now?" We hear Cato's mother ask from the kitchen.
"Yes, come on," my mother answers and then explains to us, "I didn't want to make you nervous but I did want to come on and check on you."
"That was fantastic!" Cato's mom says, coming over, hugging Cato around the shoulders and kissing him. She knows very little about the actual fundamentals of music, but it's nice to hear that she liked it anyway. Cato goes a little pink when she kisses him. "I just can't imagine this. It looks hard. Lily, can I?" she asks, indicating the piano keys. I turn to watch Mama's face. She's very protective of her piano and she should be. Her mother spent a fortune on it years and years ago.
"Only if your hands are clean," Cato answers for my mother, saving her the discomfort of having to tell her no.
"I've been cooking, honey, of course they're clean." She makes to touch the keys but Cato takes her hand.
"Won't they be covered in cooking stuff if you've been cooking?" he asks. She pauses and then withdraws her hand.
"If I go wash them, then can I try?" she asks him this time.
"If you promise to be gentle," he says. She promises and goes back into the kitchen.
"Thank you, Little Man," my mother says. I guess it means something to her that he refused to let his own mother touch her piano until she complied with the rules. When his mother comes back in, Cato teaches her a simple song with only a three notes. After a few times through, she gets it, kisses her son and goes back into the kitchen, pleased. "Keep playing while we finish up dinner if you want. It'll be ready soon," my mother says before returning to the other room as well.
Reaping Day Dinner is as enjoyable as ever, despite the discomfort of this morning. With tesserae and training rations from three kids, we're able to sell some of the less delicious things for items that would otherwise be too expensive. Our usual dinner of mushy grains and a few vegetables is improved vastly by the quantities of meat and fruit. My dad bought a butchered chicken that we've just had to cook today and Cato's family splurged on sweets, mostly strawberries because everybody likes those. I think they begin to regret that decision though as Cato and I realize how much energy we've just pumped into our bodies and begin to relieve it by wrestling. Caleb joins for a few minutes too, which makes the grown ups smile.
At the end of the night, Cato and I sit on the piano bench again and play a few songs while the others clean up. They say it's nice to hear us play and that the kitchen would be too crowded with everyone washing things and putting them away, but I think they figure this is a good way to keep us quiet and calm and out of their hair. Whatever. I'm not about to pass up an opportunity to avoid household chores to play the fiddle instead.
Like last year, the party breaks up a little before everyone usually goes to bed anyway. It's been an exhausting day and, required as we are to celebrate the Games, we're not required to mess up our sleep patterns for them. The boys and their parents are home by ten o'clock.
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Disclaimer: Don't own.
AN: I just realized the next few chapters are very Games/training-oriented, so I hope you like those. And as always, please excuse any typos. I do apologize for them.
To my lovely reviewers:
hungergames98: Thank you! I'm glad you're liking the story and grateful you took the time to review with your phone in a shady wifi area. :) Also, I'm sorry for such a short response. I feel like a scrub.
