[1] - Rochelle
"Everybody up!"
I groan as the room around me is flooded with light. Miss Fedhelm rakes the room with her beady eyes, slowly landing on the bunk below me. Reaching her fingers into her mouth, Fedhelm lets out a shrill whistle, and I feel a thump as Maria is violently awoken beneath me, followed by a muffled moan of pain.
"You all know what's happening today," the hunched old lady calls. Her words echo across the dormitory. How could any of us forget? Today's the only day we're allowed off work other than Reaping Day.
"The ceremony will begin in thirty minutes," Miss Fedhelm continues, her voice wavering slightly. "Any of you not in attendance will be automatically selected."
As if anyone would be stupid enough to do that. Fedhelm slams the door with a bang, and the girls around me slowly get themselves out of bed.
There are about a hundred of us in the expansive dormitory. A hundred girls, from twelve to eighteen. The girls around me are all the same age as me - fifteen. This'll be our fourth time experiencing the ceremony; none of the girls in my age group have been selected so far, but it's only a matter of time.
"A gentle pat one of these days would be nice," Maria groans as I climb down the ladder to her bunk. "Or an alarm clock."
"You know Fedhelm can't stand us," I laugh, helping her to her feet. "If it wasn't you, it would be Allison or one of the triplets. You know that."
"Unfortunately, I think you're right," Maria sighs as we walk to the communal bathroom. "Hey, clear out, let's go!"
A group of younger girls is crowding around someone in the bathroom, many of them laughing and nudging each other. I recognize one or two of them - they must all be in the twelve-year-old age group. At the sight of us, most of the girls clear out of the way.
A tiny girl is standing at the center of the group. She looks terrified. Immediately I notice that her pants are wet.
"Are you alright?" Maria asks as the last few girls clear away. The girl's face reddens as we approach.
"I'm fine," she mutters. "Just nervous. I didn't make it in time."
"Well, get yourself up to the nurse, then," Maria says, lightly pushing the girl in the right direction. "Twenty minutes until the ceremony, and you know what happens if you miss."
The girl quickly nods and runs away. Maria sighs as we approach the sinks. "Those girls just get worse and worse," she complains. "We weren't like that at that age, were we?"
"Come on, Maria," I reprimand her as she leans down and scrubs her face. "We were all terrified the first time. Nobody wants to be selected at that age, it's a death wish."
"It's definitely a death wish if you're already pissing yourself at the thought of it," the girl next to me says with a laugh. "Let's go. Can I borrow your purple dress?"
"If you promise not to stain it again," I say, elbowing her as we head back to our bunks.
As is her habit, Miss Fedhelm returns five minutes early, forcing us out of the dorm half-dressed. I spot the nervous twelve-year-old from the bathroom at the front of the crowd, dressed in a new raggedy dress, as Maria and I follow the others through the winding corridors of the orphanage.
The winding halls lead us outside to the main courtyard. We're organized by gender and age - the oldest of us stand in the back, with the tiny twelve-year-olds in the front. I watch my step as I follow the triplets to the section for fifteen-year-olds - the courtyard was built even before the revolution, and almost none of the stones are evenly aligned anymore. Allison trips on the way to our section, but one of the sixteen-year-olds ahead of us manages to catch her as she falls.
Attendance is taken as quickly as possible. The staff all know us, so it's pretty easy to see who's here and who's not. The fifteen-year-olds all know the drill already; we're exactly in the middle of the crowd this year, and we organize into a single line. I end up standing between Maria and Shelly, another girl in our group. I scrunch up my nose as the older kids filter in behind us; Shelly works in the kitchens, and the smell of cooked onions never leaves her no matter how much she tries to scrub it off.
Silence falls over the crowd as the doors to the main building open. Leading the procession is Dr. Vitale. She presides over the orphanage, but she's really more of an administrator. Everyone around here knows that it's Miss Fedhelm who's in charge of the girls and Lucilio who's in charge of the boys, but it's no secret that Lucilio is much younger and much nicer than Fedhelm. He's the only staff member the kids call by his first name; I don't even know what Miss Fedhelm's full name is, and I've known her since the day I turned twelve.
The courtyard is unsettlingly quiet considering the size of the crowd; this is the only time this year that all 207 teenagers will be gathered in one place, but the only sound I can hear is the clicking of Miss Fedhelm's heels as she follows Dr. Vitale to the front of the crowd. The wind whistles around us, bringing with it the humming and whirring of the textile mills across the street.
Dr. Vitale faces the crowd as the rest of the staff find their places behind her. She's dressed impeccably, as usual; her gown looks similar to a piece I worked on last year in the textile mill, and I'm sure she got it for a discounted price. If only the mills offered their workers the same discount, then I wouldn't have to wear the same five outfits every day until they fall apart at the seams.
Dr. Vitale takes a deep breath before beginning her typical speech. "This, as you all know, is the Selection Ceremony. This year marks the tenth annual Ceremony.
"Here in District Eight's orphanage, none of us should take lightly the privileges we have been afforded by the Capitol. It would also be wise of us to remember that nothing comes for free; everything has its price. Ten years ago, as some of our older residents remember, this orphanage was a place of desolation and sorrow. Without funding, we were unable to provide medicine to our orphans, and food was not expected to be served every day.
"And look at us now, all of us. 207 of you stand before me today, and 156 more children younger than you have been provided a home in our nursery. We should take none of this for granted, none of it. Without this orphanage, so many of you may not be alive today. It is important to remember that.
"With that being said, sacrifices must be made for the well-being of this institution. Ten years ago, I approached Mayor Cyril in dire need of help. Time was running out before the orphanage was forced to close for good; only a week's worth of food was left in our storehouse, and we were forced to turn orphans away, leaving them as beggars on the streets.
"Fortunately, my attempts were not in vain; Mayor Cyril and I came to an agreement that could benefit almost everyone on all sides. To fulfill his end of the deal, Mayor Cyril promised to use his influence in the Capitol to help us keep our orphanage open. In return, two of our orphans would be selected each year to enter the Hunger Games."
There it is. The crowd around me bristles at the Doctor's words. We all know the truth: we're worthless to the mayor. It's perfect for him: his citizens are saved from the horrors of the Games, and he stays popular as a result. It's also perfect for the Doctor; at the cost of just two of us, she can keep her orphanage open and protect the children. It's perfect for everyone except the two of us who are selected. A small price to pay for the greater good.
"The official Reaping is to be held in exactly six months," the Doctor says, her voice echoing around the courtyard. "The two of you chosen today will be selected at that time. This ceremony will give you six months in advance to prepare yourselves. And one final word of advice before we begin: do not give up hope. Nearly every year our selected orphans attempt to kill themselves rather than be Reaped. Just know that if you prepare yourself, you have a chance of survival in the Arena. A chance to return to District Eight as a hero and as a champion."
Dr. Vitale looks over the crowd with a proud look on her face as if she's said the most inspirational thing in the world. She's met with a sea of bleak stares. The doctor steps back and prepares herself for her next words without missing a beat.
"With that said, let's begin with the boys."
Dr. Vitale gives Lucilio a nod, and he steps up to stand next to her. Lucilio has a ripped paper bag in his hand, and he gives it a shake before reaching inside and pulling a slip of paper. 207 pairs of eyes watch as the paper is passed to the doctor, who slowly unfolds it.
"Diego Guerrero," she calls, and Maria and I let out sighs of relief. None of our closest friends were chosen, and Maria's brothers are safe for another year. I've heard of Diego - everyone knows everyone in here - but we've never talked. He makes his way from the back of the crowd, and his expression is ice cold as he turns to face us.
"Perfect," Dr. Vitale says, composed as ever. "Time for the girls."
Miss Fedhelm hobbles to stand with her colleagues, another paper bag in hand. She doesn't give the bag a shake like Lucilio did, opting to grab the first name in the bag and pass it unceremoniously to Dr. Vitale, who takes a moment to unfold the now-crumpled piece of paper.
"Rochelle Carrillo," she calls, and my heart plunges through my stomach. Maria steps away from me, horrified.
The Doctor's voice echoes in my head as I slowly make my way to the front of the crowd; this is the first time I've ever heard her say my name. I feel like I'm walking through a vat of tar, my legs sinking into the ground with every step I take to the front of the courtyard. The Doctor gives me a look of sympathy as I approach her, but it's so fake, so over-produced, that it's nauseating. It's odd that the Doctor was preaching such inspirational nonsense before I was selected, and now she's looking at me like there's no way I'll survive in the Arena.
Dr. Vitale has no idea how wrong she is. I'm not going to just lay down and die; if I wanted to do that, I would've been dead a long time ago. I will return to District Eight as a champion, no matter how much I have to sacrifice to do so. And when I return, I won't be just a nameless textile factory worker in the slums of District Eight. Really, Dr. Vitale's given me the greatest possible gift: no matter what, I will leave this orphanage in six months, and I'll never return.
Good riddance.
