Hey guys! Welcome to District Ten. You may have noticed that this chapter is also a week late, the same as the last one. Since this has happened twice in a row it makes the most sense to switch my posting schedule to every two weeks rather than every week. So the next chapter will be out two Fridays from now. Thanks for understanding!
Now for the chapter~
Harper Goldstein (15)- D10F
The ride to the ranch is long. It gives me time to think, time to feel the cool morning breeze flowing through my hair and the lumbering of the horse underneath me. This is the most peaceful part of my day, when it's just me, my favorite horse, Bella, and my brothers, who know to leave me to my thoughts. In an hour or so, we'll reach the ranch with the other ranchhands' stupid gossip and bickering, and my perfect quiet will be interrupted. I better enjoy it while I still can.
The tiniest sliver of a moon is still visible in the pale blue sky, watching over the four of us. It rained a bit last night, so the horses' hooves make a squelch sound with each step. I feel a small smile prick at my lips. I gently reach over to pat Bella's neck.
"Harper, are you going to clean out the stables today?"
I immediately recompose my face into my usual frown before looking over at my dad. "It's not my turn," I say before turning away.
Dad has the tact to know not to press me further. I return to the retreat of my thoughts, which are racing faster than usual. They always do that near the Reaping, especially these past two years. Even before I turned twelve, the Reaping set a fire of emotions inside me that I didn't quite understand. Seeing any Hunger Games footage on the television didn't induce fear, it only made me blind with rage.
I reach into my pocket where I keep the horse charm that my mother made for me. The feeling of the straw and the cloth helps me stay grounded.
I stew in my ire for the rest of the ride, until the moon has fully disappeared and we're baking under the heat of the sun. As Ten is the southernmost district in Panem, I'm used to enduring work in inhumane heat, but I'll never accept it. I've heard that the Capitol has huge machines that cool down entire buildings, but I've only seen those in the Justice Building. We don't get that luxury down here in the southern ranches.
The ranch itself looks like a massive compound from faraway, and the mooing and groaning of the cows heralds our arrival. A few Peacekeepers guard the entrance, and I eye them suspiciously as we pass through the gates. Their expressionless visors give nothing away as they wave us through.
Bella nickers quietly underneath me, and I reach down to pat her neck again. The loud environment of the ranch tends to unnerve her. I quickly head to our section of the ranch. The compound itself is huge, more like a mega-ranch compared to the small family-run ranches throughout Ten. My family has worked here since before the rebellion, and it's owned by the mayor. In other words, it's owned by the Capitol and overseen by the mayor. All the animals we raise and slaughter go directly to the Capitol without even passing through our hands.
My father, brothers, and I ride through the ranch to our section. We're the first ones to arrive as usual. I dismount from Bella and tie her to the fence before beginning to unlock the barn. The cows will have a few hours to graze and eat hay while we inspect them for any health issues. There was an outbreak recently due to the bioengineered genes in the animals… or something. I don't really understand the logistics behind how the cows are born, or made. And I don't really care. It's not part of my job.
The air stinks of shit and sweat. My brothers, Billy and Comfrey, begin rolling out bales of hay for the cows as I grab my lasso from the barn. No words are needed. We've done this everyday for years, so much that it's automatic at this point. My father disappears into the field with the cows.
One by one, the other families slowly trickle in. The heat has started to become unbearable, and the cows are lowing and shaking their heads to get rid of the flies. I decide to take a short break in the shade near the barn. Delilah walks up to me with two cups of water, handing me one and sitting on a haybale beside me.
"Hot day," she comments. I glance over at her. Her short, dark reddish hair is braided intricately around her head, unlike my own blonde hair that's only tied up in a simple ponytail to get it off my neck.
I nod.
Delilah gulps down the last of her water. "Let's get to it."
Her simple words have always appealed to me more than the incessant chatter of the other ranch hands. A few boys pass us, laughing and punching each other on the shoulder, probably over some dumb dirty joke. I ignore them as we grab our horses and head out into the fields.
A few calves wander from their mothers, so I circle them on Bella, lassoing a few to take them back to their foodsource. They need to get fattened up before their time in the slaughterhouse. As she and I ride alongside one another watching the cows, Delilah glances back over at the other ranch hands and rubs the back of her neck nervously. Her eyes look glazed over. I heave my lasso over my head and swing it expertly, letting the loop land around the nearest fence post.
"What's the matter?" I ask.
Delilah glances around again, making sure no one is near us. We both head over to the fence post and huddle in close together.
"I can't stop thinking about tomorrow."
"You and everyone else."
Everyone at the ranch seems to be in high spirits, or at least as high as they can be when you live and work on a megaranch in the depths of District Ten. Yet I suspect that deep inside, the Reaping is on their minds. They just try to ignore it instead of facing it head on like Delilah and I do.
Delilah sighs. "What if we just don't go tomorrow?"
I snap my lasso between both hands, staring out at the waving grass. "We should do a mural like they did in Eight."
Delilah glances around once again, clearly fearful this time. "I wouldn't even say that," she hisses. "Not even here."
"They don't have microphones in the grass."
"They might."
We stare at each other for a moment, then I shake my head. "The people here aren't brave like in Eight," I say sullenly. "If anyone here had half a brain or a heart, we would all band together to cut off all the heads of the Peacekeepers in this District, like they did to your brother!"
Silence falls over the two of us. The only sound is the low mooing of the cows and the blowing of the summer wind through the grass.
Delilah grabs the saddle of her horse and steps into it, swinging herself over. "I think we just don't see things the same way, Harper. I don't want more people to die."
She leaves me there with my head pounding with fury. I realize that I'm holding my breath and I let it all out as I squeeze my eyes shut tight. When I open them again, all I can see is red. I hop back onto Bella with gritted teeth and ride off by myself. I reach into my pocket to grip my horse charm, closing my fist around it and squeezing it a bit too tight.
Don't be complacent. My mom's words reach my ears like a whisper on the wind. You're just as good as them. Never forget that.
"Harper!"
That's not Delilah, or my brothers. I turn to narrow my eyes at the culprit. A young ranch hand waves at me from across the field. "Come help us with the calves!"
I ride over to him, where I see one of the calves is entangled in a lasso by its legs. I sigh and dismount from Bella. I grab the lasso and jerk it forward, then quickly untie it with the expertise that years of working on a ranch can give calf immediately stands and runs to its mother, bleating pitifully.
"You're really good at that."
I turn to the ranch hand with a glare. "It's not hard. Learn to use it."
I shove the lasso into his chest and climb atop Bella again, still seeing red, but the pounding of blood in my ears has dissipated a bit. My father and brothers never really understood why I wanted to work on the ranch rather than staying home and helping Mom and Iris around the house. I always knew that I would never be happy staying at home or going to school, and Mom agreed. I'm better than all the boys here anyway.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur of flies, sunburn, fur, and baying of animals. Just before nightfall, as I'm barring one of the barn doors, Delilah comes up to me, silent as a ghost.
"Harper."
I look up to meet her eyes as the barn door snaps shut. We don't have to apologize to know that the other is sorry. I swing my leg over Bella and smooth a hand over her neck.
"You're right that people in Ten aren't brave. Not brave like you," she says quietly.
I don't respond. We slowly ride through the ranch and join our respective families at the gate, where a pair of Peacekeepers eye us suspiciously. Or perhaps that's just my imagination.
The Goldstein house is in the middle of the country while Delilah lives in town. We ride together, listening to our parents talk in hushed tones, probably about the Reaping. I reach into my pocket to grip my horse charm again.
Delilah suddenly rides closer to me. "Maybe we should take a page out of Eight's book," she murmurs.
I glance at her in surprise. Hardly anything surprises me anymore. It's a welcome change.
A slow smile spreads over my face.
Devin Kalbfleisch (15)- D10M
"Devin, hurry up!"
"I am, I am!" I laugh as I slip off my rubber gloves and hoist my apron over my head. I quickly stuff them into my locker, still wet from being rinsed off. I hurry out into the lobby where my friends are waiting. All four of them are chatting in the doorway as Fernando waves his arms around wildly. Ian is the first to notice me approaching. He steps forward to bring me in for a bro hug as Fernando complains about the stores closing early tonight.
"How am I supposed to buy Charlotte a gift for tomorrow if all the fucking stores are already closed and won't even open tomorrow?" he whines.
"Maybe you should have bought a gift earlier then," Trevor says dryly.
"Who the hell has time for that?"
Ian laughs, his eyes meeting mine knowingly. Ian and I have been best friends since childhood, despite our clashing personalities. His rambunctiousness and my more reserved self somehow worked well together. Somewhere along the way, we picked up Fernando, Royce, and Trevor. We're a bit of a ragtag group of unlikely friends.
"Devin?"
All of us whip around to see my dad peeking his head around the door of the slaughterhouse. His smile is still evident even underneath his thick brown beard. "Heading out?"
"Yeah, sorry," I say sheepishly. "We're just going to hang out for a few hours. Is that okay?"
"Yes, of course. Just make sure to be back before midnight."
There's no official curfew here in town, but the Peacekeepers tend to get a little bored late at night. And of course, there's something else on everyone's minds tonight.
"I will," I say with a nod.
Dad smiles once more before his head disappears back into the slaughterhouse. He'll probably work for another hour or so before heading home.
Fernando punches me on the shoulder. "Carniceria. Wanna come?"
I shuffle my feet a bit, glancing over at Royce who also looks a bit nervous. "Of course," I say. I don't want to miss the fun, and I definitely don't want to go against my friends.
"Maybe we should just hang out at my house," Trevor suggests, practical as ever.
Fernando sighs. "You're all so boring. C'mon, let's go do something fun. Hell, one of us could get got tomorrow."
"Don't say that," Royce mumbles.
"I agree," Ian says, throwing an arm around Royce's shoulders. "Let's go."
That's that.
…
The giant abandoned slaughterhouse and barn is one of the most popular places in town for the kids at school to hold parties. Parties aren't really my thing, and they usually aren't held on the night before the Reaping. I knew it would most likely end up being just the five of us. Still, we need to stay quiet. Peacekeepers will likely be out and about making sure people don't leave town after sunset, and the Carniceria is right on the edge of town, deep in the warehouse district.
I'm dressed in the simple outfit of a T-shirt and jeans that I usually wear. My hair is a bit frizzy tonight due to the humidity, and it bounces a bit when I move. Out here, far away from the smell of animals and slaughter, I can smell myself more clearly. Though I don't look like I just finished a shift at a slaughterhouse, the smell of blood and viscera never really leaves me or my clothing. I subtly scoot away from Royce, who is sitting beside me on a blanket. At least we aren't sitting in the warehouse itself; there's much more fresh air on the roof.
The moon isn't visible tonight, so the sky above us is completely dark other than a few pinpricks of light from the stars. Hopefully we'll be hidden from Peacekeepers if they come looking for any stray teenagers.
"Charlotte keeps saying that I don't try hard enough. What the fuck does that even mean?" Fernando is still on his bullshit about his girlfriend.
Ian pours him a cup of the jungle juice that he lugged up here with us and shoves it into his hand. "Just drink and don't think about her."
"How can I not?" Fernando continues to grumble. "She's the only thing I think about and that's why she likes it." He takes a swig of his drink. Ian sighs and shakes his head, but I lean forward, crossing my legs on the blanket.
"Why does she want you to buy her something?" I ask curiously.
Fernando sighs. "To celebrate that we aren't Reaped!" he hollers, sloshing his drink everywhere. "Even though… you know… one of us might."
I can't ignore the mention of the Reaping here, even though it makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Okay, so she wants a gift to celebrate. Did she tell you what she wants?"
"No!" Fernando yells, before sighing and running his hand over his face. It's way too early in the night for him to be this drunk.
"Well…" I set down my own drink on the blanket, wincing as I try to bend my left elbow farther than it allows. It's a chronic injury from when a bull broke my elbow in the slaughterhouse. "Ouch… okay. Have you considered that she just wants to celebrate with you tomorrow? Like, she's hoping that you'll both be okay?"
Fernando silently contemplates my words. "I guess…"
I sit up with a small satisfied smile, taking a sip of my drink.
"So… should I just spend some time with her and call that a gift?" he asks, grinning widely like he thinks he's found the secret to the universe.
My head drops down to my chest. We're not quite there yet.
"I don't think so," I say, looking back up. "Just get her something sentimental. You don't have to buy it."
Fernando squints as he tries to figure out what I'm saying, then he nods once. "Right. Got it. Something sentimental. Spend time with her. Right."
"But I don't really know," I quickly add. My friends know I've never been in a relationship myself, but everyone says I give the best advice, so I try my best.
With Fernando's love woes temporarily solved, the five of us attempt to have a fun night, but I can tell there's only one thing on all of our minds. Even Ian seems a bit down, which doesn't happen often. I try to lift the mood by retelling the story of how we first met, when we were put together for a group project at school. He was a bubbly ball of energy, unable to focus on one thing at a time and constantly getting into fights after school. It helps the group relax, which in turn helps me feel calmer. Just as I'm recounting the time Ian and I met Royce by defending him from some bullies at school, we hear some strange clunking noises from the ground. Ian jumps up to look over the edge of the roof, but I reach over and grab him by the back of his shirt.
"Stay hidden!" I hiss.
Ian glances back at me and kneels down beside me. My heart is pounding as I grip the edge of the roof and peek over.
"What is it?" Fernando whispers, as Trevor motions for him to get down.
The warehouse district is eerily quiet once again. The ground is littered with trash and scraps of metal, but there are no signs of movement.
"Maybe it's just a stray cat–"
Crash!
Right underneath us, two figures sprint out of the Carniceria, bursting through slats of wood and metal. One of them stumbles over something and nearly falls over. As the second figure comes to help them, I can see their upturned faces in the starlight. Two girls, about our age. One of them has dark red hair, while the other has dirty blonde hair that spills over her shoulders. As the blonde one helps her comrade get up, she glances around, and I watch in horror as her eyes flicker up to the roof. Her eyes meet mine for a moment.
Suddenly, flashlight beams appear out of the Carniceria. I know those lights.
Peacekeepers.
"We need to get out of here," Trevor hisses.
I nod, and we all slowly crawl away from the edge of the roof. I quickly begin to roll up the blanket while the others pack our food and drinks into our picnic baskets. Royce winces as a bottle clinks loudly. We hear sounds of footsteps, low voices, the breaking of wood and the scraping of metal, and then a shout.
"Come out! You're under arrest for defacement of Capitol property and obstruction of justice!"
I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. The footsteps recede, and I slowly let out my breath.
"Let's hurry," Trevor says.
Grabbing the blanket, I hurry to the ladder and began my descent to the middle of the abandoned slaughterhouse. The others follow me, and we all quietly creep to the exit. The inside of the building is so dark it's nearly black, so I have to find my way with my hands along the wall. When we emerge into the night air, we're met with a very unexpected sight on the wall of the warehouse across the street.
The drab gray metal sheeting is covered with a huge mural. It clearly wasn't painted by an experienced artist, but the faces of the people on the mural are clearly identifiable. There's the shaved head and earring of Caiden Clawford from last year's Hunger Games, as well as little Denver from two years ago. Two bloodbaths that probably no one would recognize other than District Ten residents. But floating above them are Jeremy Caulfield and Filly Marcoffe. Jeremy, in his blue eyes and blonde hair, who joined the Careers last year before stealing their supplies and running away, only for them to hunt him and slaughter him. And Filly, who, two years ago, placed fifth after losing her mind and being punched and stabbed by little Tag Nylon and his ally Seb.
In their left hands, Filly and Jeremy are each holding a bloody sword. It looks like the painting was interrupted as the artist was finishing the weapons, and it looks as if they might be holding something in their right hands as well. Something that looks suspiciously like an unfinished head.
"This is insane," Ian reads my mind.
"We have to get out of here before the Peacekeepers come back," Trevor urges, pulling at my shirt. "Hurry!"
"That's just like the one they did in Eight…" Fernando says slowly. Trevor grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him forward.
"No shit," Ian hisses.
The five of us bolt through the warehouse district like lightning. I had no clue that Fernando and Ian could be so quiet, but it seems we've all been shocked into silent dread.
Once we reach our neighborhood, we don't even have to confer before heading to my house. I keep my bedroom window unlocked, so I motion for everyone to follow me. Ringing the doorbell would alert any nearby Peacekeepers to our presence. There's technically no curfew in the city, but I have a feeling being out this late will make us automatic suspects in the vandalism case.
I push open the window and climb inside, rolling on the floor to get out of the way. I hear my friends piling in behind me as I lay there in the darkness of my room, finally breathing easy.
Someone flicks on the light, and I look up to see my mom standing there in her nightgown. "Devin?" she asks, her eyebrows creased in worry. "What are you all doing here?"
"Sorry, Mrs. Kalbfleisch," Trevor says quickly, jumping up and dusting himself off. "We were just… um…"
"There were Peacekeepers," Ian blurts out. "They were chasing someone."
"What?"
I motion at Ian to hush down. "Don't worry, Mom. They didn't see us."
"You all need to get out of here," she orders, looking stricken. I hardly ever see her looking so serious.
The group slowly gets to their feet and glances around nervously at each other. I can tell what they're thinking.
"Maybe they should stay here tonight," I suggest slowly. "The Peacekeepers might still be out looking for someone."
"Their parents will be worried," Mom hisses. I can hear my dad moving in the hallway behind her, probably coming to see what all the commotion is about.
"I need to go home," Royce says suddenly. He still looks terrified, and I can't say I blame him.
"We'll try to stay out of sight," Trevor says reluctantly.
Mom nods once. She walks over to me and grabs my hand, helping me up. I wince as my elbow extends, but I hop to my feet regardless.
"Don't worry, Mom," I lean in to whisper to her. "We didn't do anything, and nobody saw us."
"I just hope nobody saw you coming in through the window," she says.
I nod, motioning for everyone to follow me to the front door. "If anyone asks, we were all here tonight," I tell them as we move through the living room. "We haven't been to the Carniceria since last summer."
"They chose that spot on purpose," Trevor hisses. "Everyone goes there after school. They wanted everyone to see it. As many people as possible."
The implication hangs heavy in the air. I can barely see my friends' faces in the darkness of the living room, but I can sense their anxiety simmering, threatening to boil over.
"We don't know what they were trying to do," I say to calm them down. "They might have just wanted to make an homage to the tributes."
"You're kidding," Fernando blurts out. "It looked just like that painting they did in Eight!"
"Those girls are dead," Ian says, shaking his head. "And so are we if the Peacekeepers find out we were there. She saw us, I know she did! If they torture her–"
"Maybe we should go to the Peacekeepers," Fernando says, sounding panicked. "Before they come to us. Tell them about what we saw. If we're on their side–"
"Let's not panic. There's no reason for her to say that we were there," I interrupt. "And we don't know their intentions. Everyone needs to just calm down. Go home, and I'll see you tomorrow."
My words do seem to have some effect, even if I don't entirely believe them myself. The tension in the room drops somewhat and I'm finally able to convince them to leave. One by one, I watch as my friends walk out the front door, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. After Royce has walked out the door, I close and lock it with a heavy sigh. I let my head fall and stare at the ground for a few moments. Now it's time to quell my parents' fears as well.
(And also my own– even if I don't want to admit that.)
Harper Goldstein (15)- D10F
I'm used to people staring at me, even whispering about me or laughing at me. I've never let it bother me. The other ranch hands respect me for my work ethic, but they've always thought that I was weird. Let them think what they want to think. They don't understand what I've been through, or the retribution that I seek.
Today is perhaps the first day in forever that I've actually paid attention to how people react to me. Not that I'm scared. If the Peacekeepers arrested me in the middle of the Square with everyone watching, that would help get the word out about the mural that we made. The Peacekeepers have probably already painted it over, which is a shame, but the action itself is what matters. I'm sure the word will spread somehow.
Delilah stands beside me in the fifteen year old section with her foot tapping incessantly. Her eyes are bloodshot and are flicking back and forth from the stage to the audience, over to the Peacekeepers then back to the stage.
I nudge her with my foot. "Stop," I murmur. "They're going to be on the lookout."
"I know!" she hisses. "Those guys saw us. Do you think they'll turn us in?"
I shake my head. "Why the hell would they?"
Delilah glances over at a pair of Peacekeepers who are ushering people into their age's section. Their faces are unknowable as always. "I don't know, to save their own asses?"
"Then they deserve to come down with us."
Don't be complacent.
Silence falls over the two of us. My blue dress is very itchy and very unlike anything I would ever wear otherwise. It's the same stupid dress I wear every year, and it's starting to get a little tight. I wish my mother was still here to buy a new one for me, because I have no idea what to get. Or better yet, Iris, my little sister, who was wise beyond her years and knew the ways that colors worked together. A fleeting smile appears on my lips as I wipe some dirt off the hem of the dress. My mind wanders to later today, when we'll be having a steak dinner with my dad and brothers. Billy and Comfrey have been saving up scratch for weeks so they could get the best cuts in town from the butcher, and Dad actually managed to get some fresh fruit from the market. Just a few peaches, but my mouth is already watering just thinking about them. Iris always loved fruit.
"How are you so calm?" Delilah suddenly asks.
I turn to her with a raised eyebrow. It seems like all the girls around us are too absorbed in their own fear to pay attention to us, but we can't be too careful. "This is what I've wanted to do for three years," I say.
Delilah's eyes are still filled with worry, but she seems satisfied. "I know," she says quietly, then looks to the stage again. Our only living victor, Charolaise Xinya, is standing in a pirstine sundress, a large straw hat casting a shadow over her face. She stands with pride, authority, and grace. I've never really known what to think about Hunger Games victors. I hate the Careers, of course, but those who were thrust into the spotlight like Charloise have always had my respect.
The Panem national anthem suddenly blasts from the speakers around the Square, making both of us jump slightly. The same video that played last year and the year begins playing, and we stand completely still along with the rest of the girls in our section, watching, transfixed. As the voice of president Snow drones on about the importance of unity and national pride, I feel anger begin to engulf me once again. Instead of masons from Two and miners from Twelve shaking hands, or the Capitol presenting gifts of friendship to the fishers from Four, I see visions of my mother and sister, little Iris, laying motionless in bed, so weak they could barely talk.
"Don't be complacent, Harper. You're just as good as them. Never forget that."
"They don't seem to think so."
I was sullen back then, three years ago, even more than now. Depressed about my mother and sister falling ill, and not understanding the lot that life had given me. I was the only healthy girl or woman in my family, resigned to cleaning the house and taking care of our animals at home. I hadn't wanted that fate. I had fought against it. I'd dropped out of school to help on the ranch, but the other workers had trouble accepting me. I wasn't just a girl, I was too young, too morose, too weak. Or so they thought.
I had overcome their prejudices, but Mom and Iris couldn't overcome their illness. And after that is when I became angry.
It wasn't the fault of fate that they had died; it was the Capitol's fault. When they needed life-saving medicine, where were the doctors and the scientists from Three who were shown in this video? Where were the engineers from Five who could figure out how our well water had been contaminated, or better yet, detect it before any of us became sick? They were all sequestered away because of the Capitol. Keeping us separate, poor, weak.
By the time the video ends, all I can see is red.
I don't hear the escort as he begins his spiel about the Hunger Games and their importance. All I can hear is the ringing in my before the Games start, Delilah and I should find another spot to make a mural. This time, we'll have time to finish. Filly and Jeremy won't just be holding swords, they'll be holding the severed heads of the ones who keep us in fear like this. President Snow, and his little dog Bellona Presque, the Head Gamemaker.
"Harper Goldstein!"
I'm broken out of my thoughts as all of my plans for tonight, for the next week, for the rest of my life shatter around me like glass.
I look once to Delilah for confirmation taht this is really happening, as if everyone around us staring at me isn't enough. Her eyes are already brimming with tears as she stares at me.
"Harper…"
My feet start to move of their own accord, like I'm following a predestined path. I walk stiffly up the stairs, over to the escort, all while the Square is so silent I could hear a pin drop.
"Welcome, Harper!"
The escort sounds ecstatic. I look at him for the first time since the beginning of the Reaping, and I'm disgusted by what I see. His skin has been dyed an ugly leopard print pattern, and his eyes are enlarged to have feline pupils. While I stare at him in shock and revulsion, he turns to the crowd to ask, "Would anyone like to volunteer for this young lady?"
The Square is still silent, but somewhere deep in the crowd, I think I can hear Delilah quietly crying.
"No? Then let's move on to the boys!"
As the escort moves toward the boys' bowl, I realize that this is it. I'm actually going to be in the Hunger Games. There's a camera trained on me right now, gathering all my reactions and broadcasting them to the entire nation. My eyes drift up to the camera, staring into that little red light, and slowly I begin to smile. I even have to choke back a laugh when a few of the twelve year olds in the front of the Square look surprised. This couldn't have worked out better. I the Peacekeepers seek to punish me for making the mural, then they'll be wishing they had just executed me in the street like they did to Delilah's brother, not sent me off to the Capitol with thousands of cameras watching my every move. They don't realize that I have nothing left to lose.
My attention is suddenly drawn back to the microphone, where the escort is now unfurling another slip of paper. He clears his throat once before reading it, his catlike eyes squinting at the paper.
"Devin… Kal…flee-ish? Devin Kalb–fesh. Is there anyone here by that name…?"
No, idiot, it's just a made-up name on a piece of paper. Some of the boys murmur and look around at each other with wide, terrified eyes, and it seems for a moment that we might have a no-show. Until a boy with a mop of brown curly hair and a shell-shocked expression slowly walks out of the fifteen-year old section. My age. I would probably recognize him if I still went to school.
Then, as he comes closer to the stage, I suddenly realize that I do recognize him.
What are the odds that two of the kids there at the mural last night ended up being Reaped the next morning? I guess the odds really weren't in our favor.
Devin unknown-last-name comes to stand beside me. He looks right through me, and his eyes are completely devoid of anything, like he's not even aware of what's happening.
"Great! Now, would you mind telling Panem how to pronounce your name?"
Devin slowly looks over to the escort, blinking twice like he's just registering the words. The escort smiles and holds the mic closer to him.
"Uh. Devin Kalbfleisch."
The escort snatches the microphone back and grins widely. "What a unique name! Now, shake hands with Harper and let the Games begin! Congratulations to the two of you!"
Devin turns to me, his eyes still empty, and I quickly shake his hand and let go before he has time to grip his fingers around my hand. Then the Peacekeepers come to retrieve us, and he walks like a robot into the Justice Building. Maybe he doesn't recognize me. Not that it matters now.
…
The room they put me in reminds me of the one I waited in with Dad and my brothers after Mom and Iris had died. We needed to get death certificates for them. It was the only thing that the Capitol would provide for them, and only after they were dead.
I stare at the wooden floor as the door opens. First pours in Comfrey, then Dad and Billy. Comfrey wraps me in a hug without saying a word. It's been so long since I've hugged anyone that it feels almost foriegn to me.
"Harper," Dad says. I can't see him behind Comfrey, but I can hear the worry in his voice. The careful worry, the kind you feel when you feel guilty for even doubting that someone can't pull through. The kind you're not sure if you should reveal or not.
I pull away from Comfrey and notice that his eyes look a bit wet. Both of my brothers are above reaping age, Comfrey just having his last Reaping last year. They probably thought their years of Hunger Games anxiety were behind them. I step back to see Dad sitting on the wooden bench in the corner of the room. His hat, a hide one that he always wears, his sitting beside him.
"Come here," he says, motioning to me.
I reluctantly step closer and sit beside him, feeling a lecture coming on. Instead, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, my head meeting his chest. "Harper, my little girl, I love you so much," he whispers.
"Is that all you think of me?" I push away, far enough I can look him in the eye. "I'm not that little anymore."
"I know," he says, looking tired. "You've outgrown yourself."
I open my mouth to retort, but then I falter, confused. Outgrown myself? What does that mean?
"Harper," Billy suddenly says. He's looking at me imploringly. "Don't say anything that might get you into trouble. You have a chance- a really good chance! Don't ruin it, okay?"
They don't know what I did last night, or why I suspect that I'm doomed to die in that arena.
"I don't care if I win,"I say truthfully. "They're going to pay."
Billy's face falls. "Harper, there's no way that you can do anything to them– whoever you're talking about– we're nothing to them."
"Then I'll become something!" I roar, springing to my feet. "
"You're already something to us," Dad says, sounding sad.
Once again, I feel my resolve waver. When was the last time I sat with my Dad like this, or my brothers? When was the last time that I chose them over work, or over my own memories? I've barely even thought about them these past couple of days. I've always loved them, trusted them, more than anyone else. They may not understand me, but I'll miss them.
The realization hits me like a truck. I may have lost my mother and sister, but I still had a family. Had. Until I was Reaped. Now they'll have to continue on without another sister, daughter.
Maybe I really do have something left to lose.
"I…"
The door opens, and Peacekeepers stream into the room. One of them grabs Dads shoulders and pushes him out the door. "Remember we love you, Harper!" he yells. Comfrey tries to give me one last hug, but he's torn away from me. My fingers wrap around his wrist as he disappears through the door, then he's jerked away. The door slams closed.
When Delilah comes, I'm sitting on the bench with my head in my hands. Delilah doesn't say anything at first, only sits beside me on the bench. I peek between my fingers to see her hands curled in her lap, picking at her fingernails. I slowly sit up, crossing my arms.
"I'm going to get justice for them," I say, monotone. "I promise."
"Harper," Delilah says, sounding choked up. "Please win."
I'm at a loss for words once again. I wish I could tell her that I'll win, or at least that I'll try. Nothing seems certain anymore.
Delilah puts her hand in mine, and I look up at her for the first time. "Harper, if what we did caused all this…" she lets out a sob before trailing off.
"I don't regret any of it," I say firmly. "Delilah, I'll… do my best."
"Promise to win?" she asks, tears reflected in her eyes.
"I'll try."
She gives me one last hug before the Peacekeepers come.
Devin Kalbfleisch (15)- D10M
I feel completely numb. The first time I feel anything since the escort called my name is when Dad slips his leather cuff bracelet onto my wrist. I look up at him in surprise.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"To bring with you," he says, tears in his eyes. He still grips both hands around my wrist. "So that you can always remember where you came from."
The bracelet was his father's, a grandfather that I never met. He always wears it on important occasions. It feels weird for it to be around my wrist instead of his. This all can't be real. It has to be a dream.
"Devin." Mom puts a finger under my chin to tilt my face towards her. The fire in her eyes helps ground me a little bit. In her eyes, I can see anger, fear, and determination all at one. " Don't be too soft on the others. Remember that only one of you can win. Be strong. Come back to us."
I feel that she's expecting me to nod, so I do so robotically.
My dad puts a hand on my shoulder and drags me into a hug. "You're the sweetest, kindest son we could ever ask for, Devin," he says around a sob. "We wouldn't change you for the world. It's not– it's just not right."
He's trying to be strong for me, but I can tell he will break down right after they leave. Working by instinct, I reach up to rub him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Dad. I'm going to come back. I promise." The words leave my mouth before I know whether I actually believe them.
…
I absent-mindedly rub the leather bracelet on my arm as the door opens once again. In pile all of my friends, the boys who I've always taken care of and kept out of trouble, who will now be left without me. Probably forever.
Everyone is uncharacteristically hysterical, except for Ian. He sits beside me, his face empty and body limp as he stares off into space, while Fernando paces the room, running his hands through his hair erratically. Royce is sitting on my other side with his head in his hands. I can hear his quietly crying. Meanwhile Trevor is on his feet, pointing at the door and yelling, his voice booming as it echoes off the walls of the small room.
"There's no fucking way they can do this jsut because we were there! We did nothing wrong! I'll talk to the Peacekeepers and figure this all out. They'll draw a different name and then–"
"And then what?" I ask timidly, a bit afraid to interrupt him. Trevor hardly ever yells. But at the sound of my voice he quiets down and Fernando stops in his tracks to listen. "Then they'll send some little boy to the Capitol instead of me?"
Trevor opens his mouth for a moment, then closes it. Fernando, on the other hand, doesn't understand what I'm getting at. "Yeah, they will!" he picks up where Trevor left off. "They can't rig this thing! It's supposed to be a lottery for fuck's sake!"
"So should they also re-draw the girl as well?" I ask weakly. "So that it's fair?"
"Hell no, let that little bitch die for all I care–"
"I don't think they care about what you think," I say, having to spell it out for him. "They've never redone a Reaping before. They won't now."
I can tell that my words get through to him this time. His face falls, and he suddenly stops pacing and drops into a squat on the floor, his head in his hands. The energy in the room is overwhelming, so heavy with grief that I feel like I'm drowning in it. My instincts kick in and I look over to Trevor, knowing he always needs a purpose. Something to hold onto.
"Take care of them, Trevor," I say. He meets my eyes, and the sadness dissipates just a bit to make way for his familiar tenacity. He nods resolutely. "I will, always."
"Keep them out of trouble."
"What if they come after us?" Royce suddenly asks, looking up from his hands. Tears are streaking down his face.
I lean over to put a hand on his shoulder. "We don't even know if the Reaping is rigged or not. Maybe it's just a coincidence, you know?"
Royce nods, but I can tell he doesn't seem convinced.
"Listen," I say quietly. "If this is the price that I have to pay to keep you all safe, then I will."
Royce sniffles. "If you win, then the Peacekeepers won't be able to mess with us. They wouldn't dare."
"Yeah…" I say. The energy in the air shifts completely at the mention of winning, and the implicit alternative. "I'll do my best," I whisper.
"You're going to win," Fernando says, abruptly jumping up from his squat and striding over to me. He nods stalwartly, looking far off, far away in his own fantasy where I play the perfect Games and return home with fame, money, and impunity. "You just have to make alliances. The big alliances always go far. Make some friends and you can help each other out. And just… learn how to fight in training."
It's not a foolproof strategy, but he's staring right at me as he says it, making sure that I'm absorbing it. My mother's words ring in my ears. "Don't be too soft on the others. Remember that only one of you can win."
Just like I did with my mom, I meet him where he's at. "You're right. If I make some allies that I trust, we can fight together," I agree.
Fernando nods once, then resumes his pacing. I sigh and glance over at Ian, who has not said a word. He's still sitting there as if he's frozen, absent. He's in shock just like I was when I was Reaped. He's miles away from the boy that I met years 's changed so much since then, in part because of my 'good influence', as his parents call it, but at his core, he's always been that same excited kid, always looking for the next adventure. Whether it's breaking into the school after dark to play flashlight tag or hanging out and drinking on the roof of the Carniceria, I've never regretted any of it. Our friendship changed my life forever, even more than I changed his.
I wish I could tell him that, soothe him just like I always have, pull him back from his endless need for self-destruction, but it's too late. The Peacekeepers come before I'm ready, and the boys each stiffly walk away, eyes wide and staring at me. I realize I'll probably never see them again. They don't seem to know what to say, so I simply whisper, "Goodbye," as the door closes.
The car ride to the train is one of the most uncomfortable things I've ever experienced. The tension in the air is palpable, so much that I wonder if Harper also feels suffocated by it. I give her sidelong glances as we silently sit side by side, listening to the escort prattle on about the odds of Reaping two fifteen year olds. Harper's strange smile that she had on the stage has disappeared, replaced instead by a dubious frown as she stares out the window at the plains and fields that make up our home.
I tune out the escort and gaze out my own window. A few hours ago, I knew my place in the world and what I wanted from life. Now everything is uncertain.
Thanks for reading! If you liked it, leave a review telling me what you think of Harper and Devin. Do you think the Reaping was rigged or not? And which district do you think we'll visit next?
Thank you so much to GildedArcher for submitting Harper, and TyQuavis, the creator of Flux from UV, for submitting Devin!