I should be doing homework, but I'm doing this. Hope you all remember James Talbot from TH! Also, I know I already have a minor character called Noel, but I didn't remember in time so now I have two. Whoops.
An Odd Strategy
Lately, I've been habitually avoiding my house, my family. No one at school questions the fact that I get there an hour before the teacher even unlocks the door, that I now begin my walk home only when the sun starts to set. It's not hard to steer clear of my older brothers; Parker and Quince are at work in the forest all day, miles from our home. And our father works at the mill, which is even farther away, so I could go the whole day without seeing him, easily. My mother, however spends the day at the house, so it's impossible not to run into her at some point.
She's also the one who cries the hardest.
It's been nearly a week since the reaping, and she hasn't stopped. Every day on my walk home from school, I pray she'll already be in bed when I get to the door. I'm never so lucky. When I get home, the tears aren't streaming down her cheeks, but I can see them in her eyes. Once I disappear into my room, the room I used to share with him, I can hear her start. Just listening to her makes my eyes start to sting, but I don't emerge from my room. I'll be crying, too, even though he would have told me not to worry.
I guess I look too much like him. Same reddish hair, freckles, round eyes, lanky frame. In a few years, people will start to mistake me for him. I don't like to imagine it. They might scream, run away, maybe even throw things. What would you do if you saw a ghost walking around?
I take a deep breath. I'm getting ahead of myself. My brother isn't dead.
He isn't dead yet.
Talbot!
I turn and it's Noel. He's nineteen, Quince's age. Probably works alongside him in the forest. I didn't think I was this late coming home today. I check over my shoulder, and over his, making sure my brothers aren't taking the same route home.
What are you doing out this late? You know what's on tonight.
I'd never spoken to Noel before this week. I knew him, but barely. He lost his sister in the Games about five years ago; everyone in the audience could hear him yelling from his section when she was reaped. After all that, I don't know why he suddenly wants anything to do with a grief-stricken sixteen-year-old who hasn't even lost anyone yet.
I know. I'm heading home now.
My response is curt, and I'm sure he can see that I'm pretty clearly telling him to get lost. But instead, he falls into step with me.
It's a big night for him. Get home fast, cheer him on.
I turn to look at him, and we're about eye level.
He can't hear me.
I make my words as sharp as I possibly can, but my voice comes pretty close to breaking. I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at him.
Listen, Alvin—
A constant for the men of the Talbot family is that none of us go by our first names. All five of us are addressed simply as "Talbot" when we're out in the district. It's probably a legacy of how many Talbots were soldiers back in the days of the rebellion, before I was born. Sometimes it's just annoying, since there's so many of us called the same thing. In any case, no one calls me by my first name. No one but family, that is.
Please, just leave me alone. I'm going home, I'm gonna go watch him.
I start to blink back tears, my vision blurring a little. Not now, not here. Not in front of him. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, turning away. Noel takes a step closer, looking conflicted. Seems like he wants to hug me. I swear, if he tries it, he won't know what hit him.
He tries it. I do nothing.
...
By the time I get home, my eyes are dry again, and I dread having to go through my mother to get to my bedroom, because she'll probably challenge that. But when I come inside, when I see her sitting in the living room, she doesn't even turn to face me. Something else is different, too. For once, Parker and Quince have made it home before me, and they're the ones wondering where I've been.
I ran into Noel on the way home.
As painful as our conversation was, I'm glad to have him as my excuse.
Talked to him for a damn long time, Al. We thought you were gonna miss it.
Parker, looking drained, slumps in his seat at the table and sticks out his elbow, propping up his head with one hand. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than when I last saw him. Quince is still up and putting away their coats, their axes, even plucking Parker's shoes from where he dropped them in the hall and tossing them into the closet. He does that a lot, cleaning up after the rest of us. If he hadn't been around in the past week, we'd probably all be shuffling around knee-deep in dirty laundry.
Yeah, he had some stuff to say.
Parker makes a face.
You shouldn't listen to him, Al. There's something off about that whole family.
To be honest, I don't think Noel's family isn't any more "off" than ours is right now. I don't say it out loud, though, because Parker doesn't look like he'd respond well to that in his current state of exhaustion.
They're grieving. That's what losing someone does to you.
Quince comes in and takes a seat. Now that I think about it, Noel was probably in Quince's year at school. Not that school was so recent for them. All three of my older brothers dropped out partway through middle school and started working. At grade eleven, I've made it farther in the District Seven education system than any other member of my family.
Are we getting a taste of it now, then? Is this what it's going to be like?
I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. Quince immediately looks like he's in pain, and Parker pulls a face like he's just drunk something disgusting.
Don't talk like that! We all know James can pull through.
Quince flinches when he says the name. Since the reaping, I've barely heard it, since none of us can bear the sound of it anymore. None of us except for Parker, that is. Parker, the oldest by two years, the only Talbot I haven't seen break down this week. Our mother cries every day like she's shattering for the first time. Our father started the night after the reaping, when we had dinner with an extra chair for the first time. I stayed dry-eyed until that night, sharing a room with his empty bed. Quince lasted until James's rock-bottom training score was revealed. I knew Parker was tough, but no one's made of stone. Maybe it's because he truly believes James can do it. That he can win, and we'll see him again.
But does that mean the rest of us don't believe that? I can't think about it.
Parker…
Parker shoots Quince a look that makes him shrink, and he doesn't finish his thought. We hear a voice from the living room. It's our mother.
Boys, come over here. It's starting!
I blink. I can't hear sadness in her voice. Because we're about to see him again? It makes no sense, since he's still so far away, but I feel some of the weight lift off my chest when I hear her without the tears. Parker and Quince rise from the table immediately, and I follow them to the living room, where the Capitol-issued projector is set up, throwing tonight's mandatory viewing onto a blank spot on the wall where a photograph usually hangs. The brightly colored hair of the television host bobs up and down on our drab wall as he waves to his audience.
Welcome, everyone!
It's not much of a living room, I think as I sit next to Quince on the ground. Not much of a house, either. Parker has dragged over his chair from the kitchen, and sets it down on the other side of the room. There's space for one more in our mother's large chair, but Dad will probably take that seat once he gets home.
We start to watch the program, and none of it seems interesting to our mother. Not even the second interview, where the boy from District One refuses to take a seat in his chair for some odd reason. She just sits there, on the edge of her own seat, wringing her hands and waiting for James to appear. Even when our father finally gets home from the mill, she just hushes him and waves him toward his seat, her eyes never leaving the wall. Together, we stare at the program and will it to progress quickly. Quince doesn't watch while the kids from the Career districts are interviewed, but Parker has comments for each one of them.
That one's a bloodbath, I'm sure. I'd bet my life on it.
That one's a Career, and I'd bet my life he's got his sights set on winning.
She might be strong enough to get a ten in training, but James could beat her if he finds an axe.
James got a four in training, and even if he does make it past the bloodbath, everything's hinged on his getting his hands on an axe somehow.
What's Four going to do, beat people with his fishing pole? That kid's not a threat.
Can he even hear himself anymore? The tributes from Four have probably been training for this their entire lives. I'll bet even the fishermen there are combat-ready.
With each statement, Parker is losing a little bit of steam. He sits forward in his chair when the boy from District Six leaves the stage, though.
James's district partner is a merchant-class girl named Cypress Hanlon. I see her around the district a lot. She even goes to my school, though she's a year above me. We've never spoken before. In her interview, she talks with a steady voice, and it seems like she's done a good job preparing for the arena in her week of rudimentary training. She has a weapon of choice, a strong ally, and she seems confident. I can only hope James has done this well, too.
Thank you very much, Cypress. Ladies and gentlemen, Cypress Hanlon of District Seven!
The crowd roars. Quince looks up.
Now, let's welcome James Talbot to the stage!
And there he is. Our mother lets out a sob of relief. He looks healthy. Healthier than he's ever been, even. He must be getting better meals in the Capitol than we could dream of here. He's sharply dressed in an emerald green suit with a black tie, and the smile on his face is radiant. It almost looks like the one Quince has on now.
Oh, please, call me Talbot!
The audience chuckles. I relax.
Talbot, eh? I like it. And do you always go by your last name, Talbot?
Yes, most of my family does. And there are quite a few of us. You can imagine how hard it is to tell which Talbot people are talking about!
A small laugh from Quince, then a sniff. He's still smiling, and so is Parker.
Oh, well, you can be certain they're all talking about you, now!
James laughs. It's been a week since I've heard it, since any of us have. We were so worried. But now he's right in front of us, and he's okay. For the time being, he's okay. I push away the thought that he might not be so "okay" this time tomorrow.
Hah, yeah, I'll bet!
Tell me, Talbot, is everything in the Capitol to your liking?
Beautiful place you've got here. My favorite part is the food, though!
The host grins at my brother. It must be nice for him when tributes do well like this. The boy from Five barely said a word. He looked like he was about to pee himself in front of the entire nation.
And the Training Center? How have you been getting along there?
James's face darkens a bit. Next to me, Quince stiffens.
Oh, things could be better, Egnatius. Definitely.
How so?
Well, I'm not much of a fighter… You could say I'm more of an intellectual type.
Parker draws in a breath. I look around at my family for their reactions. This is the opposite of the route I anticipated James to take with this interview. My youngest older brother does appear physically weak, with his skinny arms and graceless height, but the guy's a lumberjack, and a good one. He can swing an axe like he's been doing it for decades. Pair that with the fact that he dropped out of school in the eighth grade, and James has a very worrying strategy.
What is he doing?
Parker's expression is pure disbelief. Our father and Quince shush him at the same time.
An intellectual type, huh? Well, I'll bet that means you've got a killer strategy!
The host is trying his best to keep James afloat, and in return my brother smiles and gives him the response he wants.
Right you are! I've really carefully considered this one, and I think it's going to be a winner. Or rather, I think I'm going to be the winner.
The crowd roars with laughter and applause, and James beams at them.
Excellent, excellent! Any details on what this plan of yours is?
Afraid not, Egnatius. Can't give my competition down there much more than a sneak peak, can I?
He chuckles, gesturing to the two front rows of the audience, where the other tributes sit. The camera does a quick shot of them all in their seats. Only the younger-looking ones seem remotely entertained by the show James is putting on. Once the crowd dies down again, the host turns back to my brother.
You said you had a big family, didn't you? Tell us about them.
This smile, directed at the camera, is the realest one. Maybe I'd smile back if I really believed he would know.
Well, I live at home with my mom, dad, and three older brothers.
Something is wrong. James is a year older than me.
Parker's twenty-one, Quince is twenty, and Alvin's nineteen. You could say I'm the baby of the family, but not by much!
The audience laughs, and I'm going pale. What is he doing?
Anyway, my brothers are all lumberjacks. I'm probably the only one in Seven who can't wield an axe for the life of me! Shocking, right?
At this point, Parker has tried to verbally object again, and again has been quieted by our parents and Quince. I don't understand. Why is he lying?
I say, it really is! While they're out in the forest, Talbot, what are you doing?
Oh, I'm still in school. I mean, someone has to do it. I'm actually the only one in my family who's made it to high school.
Is that so?
It is. It's hard to believe though. My parents and older brothers are the smartest people I know. I really look up to them, I always have…
Now, Quince has taken Parker's arm and led him away to the kitchen. The walls are thin. I can hear them fighting from in here.
Great to see a man who cares so much about his family!
James nods, but he's biting his lip.
I do care, I care a ton. Egnatius, I'm going to get back to them if it's the last thing I do.
With that, the buzzer goes off, and the host thanks James for his time. My mother and father talk in very low voices, as if they don't want me to hear what they're saying about him. And I can't hear them. But I can hear the host's voice from the speakers, welcoming the girl from District Eight to the stage. I can hear Parker start to cry in the kitchen, hear him say that there's no hope for James, that there's nothing he can do. Loudest of all, I can hear my own screaming thoughts, because it's finally dawned on me. Why James's answers were so strange, why we couldn't understand his strategy. Why he lied his way through his interview, and why it was all so familiar.
My brother's strategy in this, the most dangerous time in his life, is to be me.
...
AFTER THAT: Alvin was kept awake wondering how James thought pretending to be him would be useful in the Games. But, during the bloodbath the next day, James escaped completely unscathed. None of the Careers paid him any mind as he burned valuable time struggling to lift an axe half the size of the ones he used at home, nor did they pursue him as he lugged it into the woods where he hid, and displayed his skills as a survivalist to all of Panem. The rest of the audience didn't figure out his strategy until James allied with Hue from Ten, and told him his plan was to appear less of a threat by assuming the role of his younger brother. James almost made it back home, too. But in the end, once the other tributes realized how much competition he really was, he entered the finale badly injured and weak. His old ally, Hue, killed him (albeit reluctantly) and went on to become the victor.
I've been writing this for about three hours when I really should be studying. I enjoyed writing Alvin's POV, though, so I might do it again sometime, if I ever figure out another scene to write for him.
Feedback would be great!