Chapter 4- Eleanor Slatefield
"Nell, would you get down from there? I am not having you break your neck on reaping day!"
I roll my eyes, one hand gripping the branch I'm sitting on, the other holding a branch above me. "I'm not going to break my neck! I've never fallen out of a tree yet!"
"And yet you tripped over your own feet yesterday. Get down here; you're not to be climbing today anyways. Don't you know it's a holiday?"
I know it's a holiday, that's why I'm climbing around. I rarely get any time to myself, and I have to take what I can get, if you know what I mean. For once I'm not up in the orchards picking fruit. I don't really mind doing that either, actually, come to think of it. That's what I want to say, but I don't.
"Yes, Auntie," I say instead, and climb down out of the oak tree behind our house.
"There now, both feet on the ground. Go wash up; we'll be leaving within the hour," Auntie says, going back inside the house. I follow her into the squat little place where I've grown up.
Rosa's sitting by the fire cooking something in a pot; Uncle is trimming his beard in the mirror by the only window. The whole place is tiny and dark, and I try to spend as much time out of it as I can. Like every other house in the Roots, the place is made of poorly put together lumber that the Capitol slapped up over fifty years ago, and somehow made it through the Dark Days. Not that I've ever been in one, but I've heard tell that the houses in the Branches have wood floors. Down here, we just have dirt under the table and the beds.
"Getting into trouble again, Nell?" Rosa asks, looking up from the fire. Her face is bright red as far as I can see, and it's no wonder. It's blistering hot outside. July and August are always the hottest months. Reaping weather my mamma always called it, but she's been dead and buried for eleven years of my fifteen. Papa died a few months after I was born, so after Mamma died, I went to her sister Ruth, and here I am.
"Not as much as I could have," I say cheerfully, splashing water on my face from the washing bowl. "Who do you think is going to be District 11's lucky winners today?"
"I don't even want to think about it!" Rosa says, stirring the pot. She's a year older than me, sixteen, and she's got twenty-nine names in the bowl this year. A Peacekeeper came by last week saying that they were going with the last names from M-Z this year, after doing A-L last year. That way the Capitol people can get only those kids into the square; there're too many kids in 11 to have them all in the square. So it evens it up.
Unfortunately, Rosa is a Tallmen, and I'm a Slatefield, so we're both going to the square at one o'clock. I have five less chances than Rosa, but twenty-five slips is still a lot. We need the tesserae, though, so I'll have even more next year. The tesserae slips are cumulative, you know.
"And brush your hair, Nell," Auntie says. "I'm not having you show up to the square like a draggletail."
"But I am a draggletail, Auntie," I say, hugging her from behind. She gives me a swat and I laugh, going over to try to tame my black curls that never do what I want them to. Rosa's the lucky one; her hair is always tamed no matter what she does. Perfect Rosa.
Uncle finishes with his beard and starts to dry his face with the one towel we own. Uncle is not a man of many words, but he's kind and a good worker. He's never been punished by the Peacekeepers, unlike Cull Sparrow two doors down; he's never picked as much as he should in the orchards, and just last week he was whipped in the town square for being a layabout. After that, he was put in the stocks, and his pale face turned red in the July sun, I'll tell you that. Uncle's never had that happen, in his whole life.
I don't own another dress, just like most of us in the Roots, but once I get my hair back into a messy braid and center my locket, I look just fine. Rosa's got the nicer dress, of course, 'cause she doesn't climb around like I do. She likes sitting inside better and doing the cooking. Me, I like climbing the trees in the orchards and bringing the fruit down.
I touch the silver locket at my throat, the only thing of value I really own. Nothing else I have is worth anything, but I treasure this locket almost more than my own life. You see, when I open it, it's got a picture of my mamma on one side, and my papa on the other. It's better than gold for me. Mamma was from the Branches before she got married to my papa, and the locket was a wedding gift from him to her. After she died, it came to me.
"So, what're you making, Rosa?" I ask, turning to my cousin who's still sitting by the pot on the hearth.
"Stew," she says shortly. It's before noon, and she's never at her best in the morning. Me, I'm an all-day kind of person. I get up with the dawn and go to bed when the sun does. It's the best way to live.
"That'll be good for after the reaping," I say, going over to take a look in the pot. Not as many potatoes as I'd like, but you make do with what you have. And we don't really have a lot to start with.
"Nell, will you bring that sack of flour over here?" Auntie says. "I'm going to start a loaf of bread now so we can have fresh bread tonight with the stew."
I pick up the burlap sack that sits by the hearth and start to drag it over to the kitchen table when Rosa screams, jumping up.
"What?" I say.
"Mouse!" she shrieks, backing up against the wall.
"Stop that! You're scaring him," I say, dropping the sack and crouching down to mouse level. I've always liked mice, even when nobody else does.
"Kill the filthy creature," Auntie says, pushing a damp strand of hair out of her eyes.
"No," I reply, holding out my hand to the little thing which is frozen in fear. Little creatures like me too; I've always thought of it as my sort of talent. Like magic, the mouse scampers into my palm; I pick him up and take him outside, letting the mouse go in a patch of daisies.
"There you go, mister," I say, watching the mouse go, then go back in the house.
"I don't know what gets into you, picking the nasty things up," Rosa says, having regained her spot by the hearth.
"I don't know how you can bear to sit by the fire on a day like this," I say, dragging the flour over to my auntie.
"It's better than almost breaking my neck up in some tree," Rosa says, her temper flaring. Doesn't take much to get her going.
"I'll have you know that I've never broken my neck," I say, holding the bag open while Auntie scoops flour into the wooden bowl Uncle carved for her. Most of the things we own we've made. Like the beds; the big bed is fitted into the right-hand corner of the room, if you're looking at it from the kitchen table. Underneath it is the trundle bed, which is technically supposed to be for little kids, but Rosa and I share it anyway.
She never shares the blankets.
"Almost, Nell. I said almost," Rosa says.
"Both of you, quit your arguing," Auntie says. "Rosa, you can get lunch; Nell, you can get quiet."
Rosa shoots me a smug look as she pulls out the fixings for our lunch. When Auntie's back is turned, I stick my tongue out at my cousin.
"Fifteen going on three," Rosa hisses at me under her breath.
"Groosling," I hiss back, then carry the sack of flour back to its place by the hearth.
While the dough rises, we eat a quick lunch of roots and berries I scavenged yesterday. Nobody in 11 gets fed enough, so we do what we have to do to get food. While we eat, I regale my family with a story about a flock of birds that almost hit me while roosting in a tree I was sitting in earlier this morning. Rosa rolls her eyes.
"If you wouldn't go so high, Nell, you wouldn't run into these things."
"But that's what makes life exciting!"
"We do not need more excitement," Rosa says stoutly. It's my turn to roll my eyes.
"Girl, hush. Nell, control your tongue, you talk more than any other girl I've ever met," Auntie says. "Finish your food; we have to leave in a few minutes."
Almost on cue, the Peacekeepers march by just then, hammering on the outside walls of the surrounding houses. Nobody has their doors shut in this weather, so knocking on doors doesn't work. Thus, the outside walls. Auntie and Uncle jump up just as the Peacekeepers reach our house.
"Reaping day, let's go!" the Peacekeeper shouts at us, brandishing his gun.
"Coming!" I mutter under my breath; Rosa glares at me. She never says a word when the Peacekeepers are around. They're scary, of course, but she's too cautious about life. She'd have a lot more fun if she'd climb more trees.
On the way out the door, I say, "What if we were the Apples or the Cories or something? They wouldn't be able to make us go, since it's a M to Z year. We could just tell them off, do you think?"
"Shush, Eleanor!" Auntie says, shocked. "One of these days, your mouth is going to be the ruin of you."
I shrug, then turn a cartwheel in the middle of the street. My dress goes over my head, then back down as I land right side up. The dirt road feels smooth under my bare feet. Like a lot of us down in the Roots, my family doesn't own shoes. And why would I want them? Feet are meant to be free is what I say.
Auntie chooses to ignore me this time, but I see a twinkle of laughter in my uncle's eyes. He's always liked me best, I think; he just doesn't come out and say it. Rosa wouldn't like it at all if I was declared the favorite.
I think I am, nevertheless.
Closer to town, or the Trunk as most of us in 11 call it, the crowds become denser. You see, District 11 is like a tree; the bottom where I live is the Roots, the town is the Trunk, the richer areas are the Branches, the orchards and other food production areas are the Leaves, and the Victor's Village is the Fruit. I've never seen the Fruit myself; if you're from the Roots you tend to stay in the Roots.
I wave to a few girls I know from the Roots, Blue and Angelica. Angelica comes running over to me, saying, "Good luck today, Nell!"
"You too!" I say. She grins at me, with her gap-toothed smile; she lost a tooth last year after hitting her mouth on a low branch while running through the orchards. I teased her for weeks before the joke got old.
"See you after!" she says, then runs back to her family.
"You two go ahead and sign in," Auntie says, pointing to the lineup. "You two be good."
"You don't have to worry about me, Mamma," Rosa says, like the insufferable good girl she is.
"And Eleanor," Auntie says, pointing at me. "There will be no mischief like last year, do you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, Auntie," I say, then run off to the lineup to wait my turn to sign in. Last year I caused a little bit of a commotion while waiting in my age group, when I did a handstand and accidentally kicked Raven Billowside in the head. She still hasn't talked to me.
I'm behind a boy from the Branches all the way along, up to the sign in desks. When it's my turn, the woman Peacekeeper seizes my hand and stabs a needle in my finger.
"Ow!" I say, and she glares at me, forcing my finger onto a sheet of paper; the fingerprint I leave behind is bloody.
"Write your name," she says, handing me a pen and the sign in sheet. In wobbly letters I write Eleanor Slatefield. In fact, it's the only thing I know how to write. It's only the kids from the Branches who typically go to school beyond learning to read and write their name.
"Fifteen-year-old section, straight ahead. Next!" the Peacekeeper shouts, and another one, a man this time, pulls me roughly towards my age group.
"I can walk!" I tell him, and he shoves me into the crowd. I nearly fall into some Branches girls, who laugh at me and my homemade dress. Their dresses come from the shops around here; their papas and mammas are probably merchants or run the production factories. Usually, the hard labor belongs to the Roots, but during harvest season everyone gets marched to the fields and orchards and put to work. It always gives me such satisfaction to see the town girls up a ladder.
Blue and Angelica have ended up a few girls away from me; they wave, then turn their attention to what's happening on the stage. District 11's mayor, Grove Clearie, has come out onstage, accompanied by two Peacekeepers holding the reaping bowls. Seeing all those white pieces of paper temporarily dulls my cheeriness, knowing that twenty-five of them are mine.
Mayor Clearie looks through his notes for a little bit, waiting for all the kids to get into the square. I can't see Rosa anywhere; she's behind me somewhere, but there's too many people to see her. This is why they divide up the names every year; District 11 is one of the biggest districts in Panem.
My eyes wander to the high fences surrounding the district; the thirty-foot-tall steel and concrete wall, topped with razor wire. Nobody gets into District 11, and nobody gets out without Capitol permission. Like every year at the reapings, I get the humor knocked out of me by the realization that I'm trapped. There's nothing funny about the hundreds of Peacekeepers who line the walls either, or about the ones guarding the entrance to the Justice Building.
I know why they're there; a story goes that years ago a tribute tried to make a run for it after they were reaped, and instead they got shot. Another piece of paper had to be drawn, and it was a mess. Now the tributes are secured immediately.
Everyone must be here, because the mayor has stepped up to the microphone. "Today begins the year of the 41st Hunger Games. Today is a time to remember the days we must never repeat, and to think on how we can better help the Capitol and Panem shine."
I stop listening when the mayor starts talking about the Dark Days, and how the districts rose up against the Capitol. District 13 got obliterated, and the rest of us got the Hunger Games.
Lucky us.
"In District 11's history, two tributes were the strongest of their years and returned home as heroes," the mayor continues. "The victor of the 33rd Hunger Games, Seeder Howell." Seeder, a pretty young woman with short hair and olive toned skin acknowledges the crowd with a smile.
"And Harvest Maycorn, victor of the 37th Hunger Games." Harvest, a dark-skinned young man with twitching hands, nods to us all.
"Now, our Capitol representative, Taizy Diamond," the mayor finishes, stepping away from the podium. The same woman as every year, Taizy comes out in high heels and her trademark purple spiked hair. This year she's included whiskers that jut out of her cheeks; it's horrible! I don't understand the Capitol at all. Nobody in the Roots would ever dream of doing that.
"Happy Hunger Games!" she trills at us in that awful accent of hers. "I'll bet you're all looking forward to finding out who your lucky winners are!"
I almost call out to her, "We sure are!" but Auntie would throw a fit. I promised to be good today, and I will, mostly.
"As per tradition, we'll start with the girls!" Taizy continues, strolling over to the reaping bowl. Twenty-five slips are mine, twenty-nine are Rosa's. That's a lot of odds that can go wrong.
Taizy's pulled a slip out and is happily walking back to the podium. I cross my fingers and hold my breath as she opens it, smiles, and reads out the name written inside.
"Eleanor Slatefield!"
Well I'll be darned. It's me.
The girls around me, Branches and Roots alike, pull away like I have the measles. What am I supposed to do again? Oh, right, I have to head up to the stage.
The journey there takes forever. The whole square is so quiet I can hear every footstep I take, even though I'm barefoot; the wood stairs make a squeaky sound as I take them one at a time, then go over to where Taizy is standing with a Peacekeeper, waiting to take me into custody.
"Hello, hello!" Taizy says, even more awful up close. I catch Seeder looking at me carefully; I'm her newest recruit after all.
What on earth is my family going to say?
"Do we have a volunteer for Miss Eleanor?" Taizy asks the crowd. As I expected, silence. So I do what I do best: break the silence.
"It's Nell, actually," I say, leaning into the microphone. "And let me tell you, District 11, you've been a fabulous audience today!"
The Peacekeeper seizes my arm and starts to pull me back towards the doors; I get out a last call, "See you in a few weeks!"
I don't fight the Peacekeeper, just let him take me over to the doors. He can't do anything to me; I'm the tribute. "I'm not going to run," I tell him. He ignores me. I decide to throw being good straight out the window.
"You're a nice strong man, ain't you?" I say, grinning up at him. He stares straight ahead, not paying attention to me. "Why would I run when I've got you here to protect me? You can let me go, I'm not going to run, I swear. Promise."
"Shut it," he growls. There is nothing more satisfying like getting to a Peacekeeper, I tell you. Just being able to talk back to one puts me in a cheery mood.
Meanwhile, up at the front, Taizy is digging around in the boys' bowl. I'm curious to see who's going to be my district partner going into this. Should I be more upset about being reaped? I guess it's just my way to make the best of whatever is thrown at me. Heck, and I'll get to see the Capitol too, which is a bonus.
"Eisle Lornsee!"
The boy called Eisle doesn't even get to move before a tall and rather wiry boy yells out, "I volunteer as tribute!"
Now the crowd is murmuring; between me and this new boy, District 11 hasn't gotten such an interesting reaping in years. As the new boy comes up to the stage, I get a good look at him. He's taller than me for sure, with darker skin than mine, and really short black hair. As far as I can see, he's not scared at all.
"What's your name, love?" Taizy asks.
"Lotem Raanan," he replies. His voice is deeper than what I would have thought it would be for some reason.
"And how old are you?"
"Sixteen."
Alright, so he's a year older than me. We can work with that; we can work with that for sure. The Peacekeeper holding my arm drags me up toward Lotem so I can shake the boy's hand.
Maizy calls out, "District 11, your tributes! Eleanor Slatefield and Lotem Raanan!"
"It's Nell Slatefield!" I yell, then I'm being pulled backwards through the opening doors of the Justice Building; my Peacekeeper opens a different door once we're inside and shoves me in.
"See you soon!" I tell him cheerfully as the doors shuts with a bang.
The whole thing suddenly becomes real: I'm going to be a tribute in the Hunger Games. This is worst case scenario, right here, right now. Too bad for the other twenty-three; I'm the one who's coming out alive.
But, right now, I'm standing in a gorgeous room, with white and gold wallpaper, bookshelves full of colorful books; paintings on the walls. Under my bare feet the carpet is soft and plush on top of wood floors. This must be what all the houses in the Branches look like.
The door opens and Auntie with Rosa bursts in. Rosa is sobbing her eyes out, and Auntie just looks furious.
"Come here, girl," she says, and I go to hug her. Auntie is bony, yet soft at the same time; I used to love hugging her when I was little. I outgrew it in the past few years, but it's so nice to hug her now.
"I can't believe they picked you!" Rosa says, almost hysterical.
"Calm down, Rosa! It's me, not you!" I say.
"That's worse! Now I have to watch you on the screens in town!" she sobs, sitting down on the couch.
"Pull yourself together," Auntie commands, and when she tells you to do something, you do it. "Nell, I don't know what sort of display that was on the stage back there, but-" She pauses there.
"But what?"
"Keep it up." I pull away from her, and she's smiling at me. "They're going to want a show, aren't they? There's no other girl I know who's half as prepared to give a show as you are. Be my Nell Slatefield, and make them love you. They'll fall over themselves sponsoring you, and then you can get home."
"I'll do it, you'll see," I say. I let go of Auntie completely to go sit by Rosa, who's still crying softly. "Rosa, I'll be fine. I've been in worse messes than this, haven't I? I'm going to go get fat in the Capitol, and you won't recognize me when I get back here."
"I don't want you to die," Rosa sobs.
"Quit grumbling, groosling," I tease her. She looks up and glares at me.
"Shut up," she mutters.
"That's enough, you two. Behave; I want to remember you as being better than this," Auntie says.
"I've got my token," I say, holding up my necklace. "Watch for it in the arena."
"Time's up!" a Peacekeeper barks, opening the door. Rosa throws her arms around me.
"See you in a few weeks," I say, and she nods. My cousin flees out the door without another word. Auntie Ruth wraps me up in a last hug before she goes.
"Good luck, Eleanor," she whispers.
After Rosa and Auntie leave, my uncle comes in to say goodbye. As I've said before, he's a man of few words, so we end up just sitting on the couch together.
"Make me proud, you hear?" he says finally. I nod.
"I'll give them their show, just like Auntie said."
"You were born to be a performer; your mother always said that when you were a small one," Uncle says. He smiles. "You've been a firecracker since you were born."
"I'll beat them all at performing," I say, then my voice cracks a little. "What about the others, Uncle? I'm going to have to kill them."
"They're just grooslings, Nell. Just birds that you need to eliminate to save the crops. You're the crop this time, though."
The Peacekeeper opens the door and Uncle stands up, placing one hand on my shoulder. "You'll do fine, Nellybee," he says, using my childhood nickname. Then he goes too.
For the rest of the hour, nobody else comes. I don't have many friends, but I thought the ones I do have would come. Then I think about how Raisa got reaped three or so years ago; I couldn't bring myself to go say goodbye to her. So I can't blame them, really.
The Peacekeepers escort me out at the end of the allotted hour and put me in a car with Taizy Diamond and Lotem; the doors lock from the outside so there's no chance of escape, but Taizy doesn't seem fazed by it. If she turns her head a certain way, her whiskers brush against me and I shudder every time it happens.
We're taken out through the first armored gates, where I've never been before. On the other side of the wall is a white and silver train, surrounded by Peacekeepers and cameramen who are waiting for us to get out of the car. The one I recognize as the Head Peackeeper unlocks the doors; the others help us out and escort us to the door of the train. I think the security is overkill.
I wave at the cameras as cheekily as I dare before stepping onto the train that will take me far away to the Capitol. Right before the doors close, I blow a kiss.
I'm standing by the window when the train starts up, going slow at first as we go through the second gate, which is even more heavily reinforced. It just drives home the fact that District 11 is a prison. The gates open, we pass through, and then they shut again. The solid walls with the barbed wire obscure my view of my home, and then the train is going so fast that it all just blurs together into a streak of grey.
That's my last look of home.
"Let's get a look at you," a woman says behind me, and I spin around to see Seeder Howell looking critically at me. "I'm Seeder, your mentor," she says.
I size her up, then smile. "Hello Seeder, I'm Nell, your tribute."