When I open my eyes, the first thing that registers is the soreness permeating through every inch of my body. I attempt to rise from the thin mattress, thinking that I have to get ready for work before I remember what day it is.
I push back the covers and jump up, hugging myself tightly.
It's reaping day.
Quietly, I head down the hallway to what poses as a bathroom in our house. The room, paneled with dark wood, contains a small bucket and pump with threadbare towels in the corner. I strip and scour all the dirt that accumulated over yesterday's shift away and wash the grease from my hair. I've just thrown a towel around my shoulders when the door opens and my older sister pokes her head in.
"Do you mind if I pick an outfit for you?"
"Not at all."
My fashion sense is abysmal, and even that's putting it nicely. I wear the same outfit every day to the woods, so Kaylie's help is the only way I'll look presentable.
In a couple of minutes, I'm outfitted in a golden dress with matching shoes. The dress has black lace flowers stitched around the neckline and flowing bell sleeves that delicately cover my heavily muscled arms. Kaylie works at the tangles in my wet hair until it is soft to the touch, then pins a few loose strands back with a simple pearl pin.
Her hand lingered on my hair for just a little longer than usual.
"You look beautiful," she says.
"Yeah, if the Capitol likes their entertainment dressed up like a present," I retort.
Kaylie rolls her eyes, but she and I both know there's truth to what I said. My sister knows the blunt, sometimes rude way I talk about people I don't particularly care for. In this case, it's the citizens of the damn Capitol.
My gaze flicks to the mirror before I can stop it.
The best word that can be used to describe me is plain. I have dark brown eyes and a somewhat angular face, with high cheekbones. My hair is the same shade as my eyes, straight, and falls down to the middle of my back. I am utterly forgettable-looking. Not like my twenty-year-old sister, with her glossy black curls, rosy skin, and blue eyes that look like water.
Once after I answered a question correctly at school, a boy told me that my sister is so stunning she probably sells her body in the Capitol. That afternoon he went home with an inflamed cheek and a black eye.
"You only have one more year after today, Johanna," Kaylie says.
I nod, but all I can think is that she is safe. I am not.
"I would volunteer for you, if I was eligible," my sister adds.
Although she tries not to show any emotion, it's hard to remain calm when a sibling is at reaping age. I remember being nine years old watching Kaylie, then twelve, at the reaping ceremony. I waited, both my parents' arms wrapped around me, and prayed the arena wouldn't take my sister away from us.
The Capitol was merciful to my sister. We got lucky, but there's a lot of families in District 7 who couldn't escape the power of the ruling city of Panem.
Sometimes I see them around the woodland where I work. They're starved, pallid creatures, faces sorrowful and heavy with the loss of a young child. I can't imagine my family going through that! That's why Kaylie and I work ourselves to the bone along with our mother and father. As long as we can get by, my baby brother never has to sign up for tesserae. Kaylie kneels down so our eyes are level and cups my face with her hand, smiling kindly.
"My little iris is in full bloom."
At the mention of the nickname she gave me when I was not even two years old, I smiled too. She always knows exactly how to make me feel better.
Kaylie stands up and takes my hand.
"Are you ready?"
I nod again, and the two of us head into the living room that doubles as a kitchen. It's small like my bedroom and Kaylie's, sparsely furnished with a fireplace, wood counter, and a couple baskets where we keep food. My mother and father are standing near the fireplace, talking in hushed but insistent voices. They stop immediately when they catch sight of me.
Both of them hug me and we all eat a quick breakfast of bread and cheese which my mother takes out of one of the baskets in the corner. We're not like other families in District 7 that can afford nicer food, not even on reaping day when many of the merchants sell their wares at half price. I am impoverished, but nowhere like the children in District 12.
I look from one tense face to another. None of us speaks until my little brother comes running in as fast as his little legs will carry him. Seven-year-old Chase heads straight to me and I scoop him up, laughing in spite of my mood. His chubby finger pokes my face.
"Jo-Jo, you look like a princess!"
"Thanks, little buddy."
I'm unsure how else to respond to that, but Kaylie sees my expression and jumps into the conversation.
"Do you know why Johanna's wearing that dress?"
"Why?"
"She's been invited to go dancing with someone very special. Isn't he?"
She winks at me. Chase looks at my startled face, eyes wide.
"Are you in love with your boyfriend?"
I slap my sister's hand.
"Stop it! Now you've got him convinced I'm boy-crazy and a scandalous flirt!"
I laughed at the very idea of having a crush. The boys at school love to pick on me since I'm the only female lumberjack and lead climber in the teens division. What they think doesn't matter to me, and I've shown them just how strong the 'little woodland princess' is on numerous occasions.
Kaylie and I tickle Chase, who shrieks with laughter until he begs us to stop. I put him down, his face still red with joy.
"It's time, Johanna," my mother says.
Our whole family leaves the house and proceeds down the road to the section of woodland where I work six out of seven days a week. Although the work is taxing, I mostly enjoy it. My mother taught me how to throw multiple kinds of axes, hit any target, and how to scale a tree's branches quickly and nimbly. She doesn't call me her lumberjack queen for nothing.
Today, the warehouse containing workers' tools is dressed up with a banner boasting the seal of Panem with the words 'Panem Today. Panem Tomorrow. Panem Forever.'
I narrow my eyes at it. My family can barely make ends meet, even with four working people. Kaylie's a carpenter. I work until my fingers are calloused from tree bark and red from axe handles. Chase collapsed from hunger once when I was fourteen. I can't believe our government has the nerve to include all of us in its goal for a better nation when so many of its people are near starving!
I think Kaylie can sense my thoughts because she clamps a hand on my shoulder. I swallow hard, fighting to compose myself before I say something rash. My father always claims I was born without any self-control.
"I'll be right over there where you can see me."
My sister points to the spectator section roped off with white tape.
"I'll see you soon."
Then she's gone. I join the rapidly growing throng of kids and hastily scrawl my name on a sheet of paper before getting a blood sample taken on a piece of paper. The Capitol wants to keep tabs on any potential tributes. Nothing is safe from them, even our own blood.
After I sign in, I move aside to stand in a cluster with the other seventeen-year-olds. I catch the eyes of some of them and they scowl at me in response, turning away.
I keep to myself at school, so I don't have many friends. Everyone in my year knows my strong personality, though. I don't let anyone push me around.
The wealthier kids make fun of me for how dirty I am and how worn my clothes are, but I don't give a damn. My family cares for each other, especially through trying times. Even if I was the richest person in District 7, I couldn't stand living in Panem if I didn't have love.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" trills the annoying high voice of District 7's escort, Lola. She's in a frilly purple gown and dyed her frizzy mane of hair bright green.
I don't know why the people in the Capitol look like shallow idiots all the time. Maybe it's because they are.
She stands on a makeshift stage in front of the warehouse, two enormous glass balls on pedestals flanking her. I look over at the tightly clustered families and see Kaylie giving me a bemused, albeit a little strained, look. Chase waves at me, and I return it discreetly.
"In just a few moments, I will draw the names of the children who will have the honor of participating in the 71st Hunger Games. Before I do so, here is a message from our president!"
The TV screen mounted between two redwood trees plays the video that gets shown before every reaping in all of Panem: The districts rebelled, the Capitol stopped the uprising, now we have the Hunger Games. The screen fades to black, and everyone's attention is again fixed upon the stage. I can feel the anxiety of every parent and relative radiating through the air. Everyone's thinking the same thing: Please, not my child.
"Ladies first!" Lola screeches.
She crosses to the bowl on her left, swishing a manicured hand around with surgical precision. She selects a slip of paper, opening it like a rose she doesn't want to crush. In a voice that has at once become clear and articulate, the name of the female tribute is called out.
"Johanna Mason!"