District Eleven Reaping
Make a Change

Four weeks before the reaping

Apple Oxon, 18

She was doing her best not to watch. Apple cringed as the boy screamed again, the whip stinging his back, digging deep into his flesh. He was a few years younger than her, probably new to the job. Maybe he'd thought he could get away with stealing a little food. Maybe he'd thought the Peacekeepers would be reasonable. Maybe he was used to getting away with that sort of thing at school.

But this wasn't school. This wasn't a classroom packed full of students, crammed in forty or fifty to a room that didn't have enough chairs. This wasn't the school lunchroom, where no one really cared enough to watch what they were doing, as long as they didn't cause too much trouble. The fields were different. The Peacekeepers were always on guard, keeping an eye out for anyone who stepped out of line.

So she did her best not to. And, most of the time, she succeeded. She'd been whipped only once – for talking too much on her first day of work. She hadn't made the same mistake since. And, even then, it had been a few quick strokes, not the severe lashing the boy was getting now. She wanted to do something – anything – to stop the screaming, but…

But no one ever did. No one dared. It was one thing to step a little out of line. To whisper to her friends or to dally a little bit during her shift. It was quite another to directly challenge a Peacekeeper. She wasn't sure what they would do if someone tried to step in and stop them from doing their job, but it certainly wouldn't be good.

And she wasn't about to find out. Not now. Not for the sake of a boy she didn't even know. Besides, it wasn't as if challenging the Peacekeepers would stop them from punishing him. If anything, it would only make it worse.

Yes. That was it. By not doing anything, she was being kind. If she took his side, the Peacekeepers would only make an example out of both of them. It would be over sooner if she didn't do anything.

She just wished it was over now.

Apple gripped her hoe tighter, swinging again as the screaming continued behind her. She didn't look. It was always better not to look. There would be blood, yes, but that wouldn't be the worst of it. The worst part would be the look on his face – the same look she'd seen before. Terror. Agony. Desperation. She could picture that look well enough without turning around.

Apple's hoe struck the ground, and she clenched her teeth as the boy screamed again. She wished she could take a swing at the Peacekeeper, instead. One good swing from her hoe, and he would never hurt anyone again. But then…

Then she would be dead. If not immediately, then soon after. The penalty for killing a Peacekeeper was death. Sometimes immediately, sometimes at a public execution later. Not that many Peacekeepers had been killed in District Eleven, but she'd heard stories. Immediately after the war, the districts had been more restless. Smaller rebel factions had cropped up here and there, as if the rebels simply couldn't accept that the war was over.

But that was twenty-five years ago. Now they knew better. The war was over. They had lost. The districts had lost. They had continued to lose for the next twenty-five years. And that wasn't going to change any time soon.

"Please," the boy behind her begged, his voice squeaking a little. "Please. Please, just stop. I'll be good. I promise."

A few more lashes, and the whip finally stopped. Apple could hear the boy sobbing behind her, but she didn't dare turn around. It wasn't safe to show any sort of sympathy. Not yet. Later, after the Peacekeepers were gone. Later, when no one could mistake her compassion for encouragement of what he'd done.

Apple swung her hoe again. The boy would learn. He would learn to keep his hands off the food that was meant for the Capitol, no matter how hungry and desperate he was. He would learn to stay in line, just like the rest of them. He would learn, or he would die. That was how it worked. And there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

Three weeks before the reaping.

Ethan Vetch, 18

"Damn it," Ellen muttered under her breath, pushing her glasses up a little farther on her nose. They weren't the right strength, but she rarely complained; they all knew was lucky to have any glasses at all. Ethan probably needed glasses, too, but only when he was reading. And there wasn't really much call for that in the fields. Not after he had dropped out of school when he was … well, actually, only a little older than Ellen was now. He had been sixteen when he had made the decision to go to work in the fields, instead.

His parents had wanted him to try to finish out the year, at least, but even they had relented when he'd pointed out that they needed the money, and it had been a better option than asking Ellen, who had been thirteen at the time, to take out more tesserae. Besides, he had pointed out, he was going to end up working in the fields, anyway. His grades certainly weren't good enough to earn him a different job. So why not get a jump on things and go to work a year early?

That had been his argument, at least. The simple truth was, he actually preferred working in the fields to sitting behind a desk all day. At least this way, he could pretend he was doing something useful. He was helping plant and gather food. He was feeding people, in a way.

Capitolites, mostly. But at least some of the food went to the districts. Maybe not much, compared to the Capitol's portion, but at least it felt like he was accomplishing something. Like he was doing something at least a tiny bit useful with his life.

He didn't say things like that around Ellen, though. She still had her heart set on finishing school and getting a better job than … well, anyone else in the family. Both of their parents were fieldhands, as were their uncles, aunts, and any cousins old enough to be working instead of going to school. Maybe it wasn't much of a life. Maybe it wasn't the most exciting option. But it was better than being dead.

Ethan ruffled his sister's hair as she strained to see her book in the dimming light. They couldn't afford any more light. Not tonight. Their candles were already running low. "Another test tomorrow?" Ethan asked quietly.

Ellen nodded. "If I don't pass…"

"You'll pass." He wasn't sure of that, of course. He wished he could help her the way he usually helped in the fields. He was something of a jack-of-all-trades there. A handyman. He was known for being able to fix things. But this … pencils and books and tests. He had never been very good at that. He was good with his hands. And if he could only have one, he preferred it that way. But Ellen…

She had always been more studious. She wanted more. She wanted something better. None of them had the heart to tell her that she probably wasn't going to make the cut. That the better jobs – the better grades, even – went to the students who had more time to spend on their studies. The ones who didn't have part-time jobs in the fields after school. The ones who weren't struggling to balance their homework and helping to provide for their family.

Not that there were many kids in District Nine who didn't have to work. But there also weren't many good jobs to go around. Odds were, she would end up in the fields, just like the rest of them.

And maybe that wasn't so bad for someone like him. Someone who had never expected anything different. Someone who, on better days, even enjoyed his job. But Ellen had always wanted more. She would never be satisfied with a life in the fields.

But at least it was a life. That was more than some could say. Between their jobs and the tesserae he, Ellen, and Edwin took, they had enough to get by. Elric was only ten years old, but once he was eligible for the reaping, as well, his tesserae would be enough to make up for the tesserae they would lose once Ethan was no longer eligible.

Ethan shook his head. It wasn't fair – the fact that risking their lives by putting their names in more times for the Games meant they got more food. It wasn't fair that his sister would probably be joining him in the fields full-time sooner than she would want to. None of it was fair. But it was the way things were. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

Reaping Day

Nolan Tamarind, 41
Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games

There was nothing he could do to change any of this. Nolan sighed as he took his place onstage, waiting for Isaac to join him. The square was already filling up with teenagers. Children, really. He had been eighteen during his Games, and even that had seemed young. So many of these children were younger. So many of them were more frightened.

He had been frightened of the Games, of course. Everyone in their right mind was at least a little afraid of the Games. But he had lived through the rebellion, and that, in its own way, had been even worse than the Games. As terrible as they were, the Games only killed twenty-three children per year. The rebellion had killed more than that. Many, many more. Those it hadn't killed directly had been left without mothers or fathers, without homes and jobs, without any way to provide for themselves or whatever family they had left. Children had starved to death on the streets because the community homes had been filled to bursting. Those who did find a place in the orphanages were often neglected and half-starved, anyway. Compared to that…

Compared to that, maybe things weren't so bad now. Sure, they weren't good. Maybe things would never be good in District Eleven. But it wasn't as if they had been good before the Games, either. At least now, teenagers who had no other means to provide for themselves could take tesserae and risk going into the Games in order to get by from day to day. Maybe the tesserae allotment wasn't much, but it was enough to ensure that they didn't starve.

Nolan shook his head. He was tired of playing these arguments over and over in his head. Tired of trying to find something good about their current situation. Something good about the Games. There was nothing good about the Games themselves – just some things that were a bit less bad than the alternative.

Sort of like the voting this year. No, it wasn't good, but it was better than two children being chosen at random. At least this way, the district could select someone who might actually have a chance at coming home. Someone like him. Someone like Isaac. Someone who could think on their feet, someone who could make the hard decisions that the Games required. Someone who had it in them to fight, and, when it came down to it, to kill.

He would never have imagined, of course, that he had what it took. Not until his name was called at the reaping. His family had stayed out of the fighting during the rebellion, and unlike some of his peers, he had never fancied himself much of a fighter. He had been hoping for the rebels to succeed, of course – practically everyone had been hoping for that. But he'd never particularly wanted to join them himself.

But, when push had come to shove, he had been willing to fight. And he had been willing to kill. Not just one or two people, either. He had killed four of the other tributes. Not a particularly impressive number, maybe – not compared to Elva the year before, who had killed seven, or Angelo the year after, who had killed eight. But he had taken four lives. Four tributes were dead because he had been willing to kill them in order to come home.

And the worst part was, his life in District Eleven was pretty good. He was certainly better off now than he would have been without the Games. Even with the guilt, even with the memories, he still wouldn't trade it for a life of meaningless labor in the fields. As it was, his family would never have to worry about going hungry. His son Durian would never have to take tesserae. That wouldn't change his chances this year, of course, but he was only fifteen…

Nolan nodded silently to Isaac as the boy joined him onstage. He had a younger brother who was still technically eligible for the reaping. But Asher was only thirteen. He had even less of a chance of being chosen than Durian did. That was small comfort, of course, until the reaping was over, and Isaac's gaze was fixed on the thirteen-year-old section.

Nolan's gaze found his own son, standing with his friends near the edge of the fifteen-year-old section. Surely he wouldn't be picked. Surely the district had more sense. They would want to pick someone who might actually win. Someone who might bring home a victory for District Eleven – and, consequently, a year of more food and supplies from the Capitol. That was what they wanted. What they all wanted.

Maybe it was even what their new escort wanted. The boy – for he was, in fact, little older than Isaac – took the stage with a smile. "Hello there, District Eleven! I'm your new escort, Felix Leonardo, and I'm just tickled pink to be here."

Right. No one was glad to be in District Eleven. Not that he blamed them for that. Most of the citizens in District Eleven weren't glad to be there, either. Why should the escorts be? None of District Eleven's escorts had lasted more than a year, and for good reason. District Eleven was a stepping stone. A district that the Capitol used to break in new escorts, give them a little experience before they moved on to something better. Somewhere better. No one wanted to stay in District Eleven.

That wasn't particularly unique, of course. District Twelve had been in a similar position for years. And until recently, so had District Ten.

But there was no point in telling Felix that. No point in insisting that by the end of the Games, he would be ready to be done with District Eleven. Nolan had gone through the same routine with escort after escort. They all started out insisting that this was exactly where they wanted to be, but, after the Games, none of them had felt the same way. Why should this year be any different?

Felix, for his part, was still grinning as Mayor Pomelo handed him a pair of plain white envelopes. The mayor was doing her best not to look nervous, but Nolan knew she must be as anxious as he was. She had two daughters of her own, after all – twins who were … what? Seventeen this year? He was pretty sure that was right. Either sixteen or seventeen now. Only a few years older than Durian…

Felix gleefully tore open the first envelope, then blushed a little. "Whoops, I'm sorry. The envelopes look so much alike. I guess it's boys first this year, then. Ethan Vetch, come on up to the stage."

Nolan glanced over at Isaac, who couldn't help a small smile. Maybe it was a small thing, but he was glad Felix had revealed the boy first. Now he didn't have to worry – at least not this year. Durian was safe. Asher was safe.

And, to his relief, it was the eighteen-year-old section that began to stir, parting around a tall, muscular boy with dark skin, close-cropped black hair, and dark brown eyes. He took a step backwards, but he didn't run. He simply turned towards one of the girls in his section and wrapped her in a hug before heading for the stage, his fists clenched tightly as he made his way up the steps. No tears. No fighting. No fuss.

Good. That never helped anyone. The Capitol loved drama, of course, but tears were the wrong kind of drama. They didn't want to see weaklings; they wanted to see contenders. And this boy certainly seemed like one. Maybe there were no good choices for who to send in the Games, but he didn't seem like such a bad option.

Felix seemed to agree, and clapped Ethan on the back before opening the second envelope. "Well, then, ladies … second. Come on up, Apple Oxon!"

Nolan heard a grunt of disgust as the eighteen-year-old section parted again. "Great. Just great." The crowd quickly made way for the girl, who was just as muscular and almost as tall as the boy. She had dark skin, curly black hair, and dark brown eyes that were glaring out at the crowd. "Thanks for nothing," she muttered, but started for the stage before the Peacekeepers had a chance to move in. She was still grumbling as she plodded up the steps, but she knew better than to complain too loudly, or to try to run or fight.

Ethan hesitated, but then held out his hand. Apple was scowling as she shook it, but she said nothing. One by one, the cameras clicked off and the rest of the district headed back home, relieved that their names hadn't been called. Felix gave each of the tributes a pat on the back before herding them towards the Justice Building.

Once they were gone, Nolan turned to Isaac. "Got a preference? I chose first last time."

Isaac nodded. "I'll take the girl."

"Okay by me," Nolan agreed. Either one would have been a good option. They were both older and stronger than the tributes that District Eleven had been sending for the past few years. Maybe the rest of the district had realized that they should choose someone who stood a decent chance of winning. Maybe they were tired of losing. Maybe – just maybe – this was the year that they could do something to change that.

Apple Oxon, 18

Maybe this would end up being a good thing. Apple clenched her fists tightly as she paced the small Justice Building room. Her family had come and gone, as had her friends. All of them had been trying to appear confident. Certain that she would be the one coming home. That the district wouldn't have voted for her if they didn't think she had a chance of winning.

And maybe they were right. But even if she had a chance, it was still only that: a chance. There were no guarantees. She would try her best to come home, of course, but that didn't change the fact that there were twenty-three other tributes in the arena trying to do the same thing. All of them wanted to come home. But only one of them would get to. Did her district really think it would be her?

But if it was her…

If it was her, if she managed to win the Games and come home alive, then she would never have to work in the fields again. She would never have to work again at all. Neither would her parents, or even her little brother Milo. What would they do with the rest of their lives? What did the Victors do when they weren't busy mentoring tributes? Just sit around and be grateful that they didn't have to work?

Actually, that didn't sound half bad.

Apple shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself. First, she had to win, and that was far from certain. Physically, she was probably as strong as anyone else in the arena – besides the Careers, of course. She'd been working in the fields and hauling heavy equipment almost as long as she could remember. But strength wasn't everything. She had to be willing to fight, to kill, to do anything if she wanted to come home. Was she really ready for that?

Ethan Vetch, 18

He wasn't ready for this. Ethan held his family close, trying not to let the tears slip from his eyes. Just a little longer. He only had to hold on a little longer. They had all come at once – his parents, his younger siblings, and Penny. She was practically part of the family now. She was his fiance in all but name. They'd been putting off making it official until…

Until after the reaping. Until they were both safe. This was their last year. They were supposed to be home now, thankful that they hadn't been chosen, just like every other year. After the quell twist had been announced, he hadn't even been particularly nervous. He'd figured the district would pick someone else. Someone they wouldn't be sorry to get rid of. Maybe even someone who deserved it.

But they hadn't. They had picked him. What had he ever done to them? Ethan held Penny a little tighter. At least they hadn't chosen her. She would never have stood a chance in the Games.

Was that why they'd picked him – because they thought he would have a chance? Maybe. But that didn't make it any better. That didn't make it any easier to hold it together for his family's sake. That didn't help him pretend to be certain that he would be the one coming home. "Please come back," Penny whispered.

"Of course I will." But even as he said it, he could hear how shaky his voice sounded. How uncertain the words were. If it were up to him, of course, he would be coming back. But it wasn't just up to him. There would be twenty-three other teenagers in the arena trying to do the same thing. Trying to make it home. His district partner, Apple – she would be trying to make it home, too. Her family was probably in the next room, trying to tell her the same thing – that she'd been chosen because she had a chance.

And maybe she did. Maybe he did. Maybe most people in District Eleven didn't care which of them came home, as long as one of them did. But if he wanted to make it back to his family, then he couldn't afford to worry about what happened to Apple. Because if he wanted to come home, then she would have to die.