Chapter 1: All My Love Stolen
I stare at my own reflection in the grimy panes of the mirror. My expression is flat and emotionless as Mother finishes doing up the pins in the single braid running down my back. She leans back to take me in, admiring her handiwork, complemented by my traditional blue Reaping dress – the nicest article of clothing I own.
"Now you look beautiful, too," she murmurs quietly.
"I wish I looked like you," Prim remarks from the settee.
"Oh no…." I fawn, completely oblivious to how Mother's face seems to fall in something that might be hurt. "I wish I looked like you, Little Duck!"
My baby sister averts her eyes, and I feel my heart pang. I know how nervous she is about today – hell, I'm more terrified for her in her first Reaping than I am for myself in my…. fifth. I frown as I have to take a moment to determine how many years I've stood eligible in the District 12 Square for possible commission into a death match. As for Prim herself, it hadn't helped either of our nerves that she woke up screaming in terror from a nightmare this morning.
"Hey," I muster an easy smile that I in no way feel. "Wanna see what I got for you today?" I hold out the grimy golden pendant I picked up while trading in the Hob this morning. "It's a mockingjay pin. And as long as you have it, nothing bad will happen to you…. I promise." I lean in and kiss her forehead. Prim – the one person who I'm certain I love.
There is a frenetic knock at our door in that moment, and I turn to glance down the foyer. I suck in a deep breath. "It's time."
We meet my hunting partner and best friend, Gale Hawthorne, out on the front porch of our simple home here in the Seam. I fall into step beside him, keeping an eye on the back of my sister's un-tucked blouse, still struggling to become even more loose with every rustle and movement, every step – steps more subdued than would be normal for my sister. On any day but today, Prim would be running, skipping ahead of us in her innocent excitement. Mother trails behind us, largely forgotten, not that I mind. She's been an almost invisible, impotent presence since my father died in a mining accident five years ago.
I feel Gale lean into me. "She OK?"
I shake my head. "Nightmare last night. She was in hysterics."
"She has one slip in the bowl."
I shoot him a baleful glare. "One slip is one too many, especially for an angel like her. Anyway, how did you feel when you were twelve? Weren't you scared, your first Reaping?"
"No," Gale shoots back sharply. I snort at what is surely tough-guy arrogance, especially from an eighteen who only has to do this dance one more time. So it surprises me when he clarifies, almost like an afterthought, in a whisper: "I was terrified."
We've just about reached the border between Seam and Town. I can see the back brick wall with the latched gate belonging to the rear of the Mayor's compound and mansion. It's an adjacent, additional dwelling for the District's First Family, though hardly used – it's well understood that Mayor Undersee and his loved ones largely live as well as work in the Justice Building. So I'm surprised when I see the round, pretty face and lush blonde curls of Madge Undersee, the Mayor's only daughter, steal out from the back gate as we pass and match us stride for stride.
Gale nods cordially. "Undersee," he grunts. It sounds curt. Granted, that's never stopped Gale from helping me sell off strawberries at the Justice Building's rear service door to our classmate. I wouldn't exactly call Madge a friend, but considering I've never been very good at making friends, she's probably one of the few who is the closest thing to it. If it were possible to be more anti-social than me, Gale is, especially around 'Townies,' as he calls the Merchant upper crust who live marginally but crucially better than the rest of us in the Seam. The daughter of a politician, Madge is the richest kid in the district. That alone can earn Gale's coolness, despite the fact that Madge is friendly.
"You two look glum," she sighs.
"Were you expecting us to be chipper?" Gale queries back sarcastically, even bordering nasty. I glower at him to knock it off.
Madge finds my hand, gives it a squeeze. "How's your sister?"
"Scared out of her mind," I stare at her brokenly, if also gratefully, the Square and our reality looming. It only exacerbates my fear.
"Did she get a Reaping Kiss? That always helps."
I wrinkle my nose in healthy skepticism. The Reaping Kiss is the oldest superstition in District 12. No one knows who started it or why, but legend has it that if two people of Reaping age share a kiss on Reaping morning, both are guaranteed not to be picked. I've waltzed through four Reapings (soon to be five…. I hope) just fine without letting some boy stick his tongue down my throat, though to be fair, I have no evidence to suggest kissing as a good luck charm doesn't work.
Next to me, Gale grunts something about "Voodoo garbage." Madge hears him and seems to debate whether to scoff. He shrugs when he catches me glancing to him. "It is, Catnip! Besides, Primmy has one slip. What's she need a Reaping Kiss for anyway when the odds…"
"All right, and how many slips do you have in the bowl, Gale?"
For some reason, heat creeps up the back of Gale's neck, which he's now rubbing. "42. Guess the odds aren't exactly in my favor."
"Well, then…. I suppose you wouldn't mind if I lowered those odds a little for you." With that, Madge suddenly yanks Gale flush against her just as we arrive only steps away from the registration desk. Tugging his face down to hers, she abruptly kisses him with a passion that takes me quite aback.
I don't know whether to glance away or keep watching as Madge deepens the kiss with my stunned hunting partner, and I finally decide to turn away pointedly, out of respect. I feel awkward, watching two people locked in such a close, intimate embrace. It's certainly never something that I would want. To have a boy kiss me, or worse, for me to kiss him back. Not that I would, I brush off. I will never fall in love, marry or have children. I saw what all three did to my mother's emotional health; she's never recovered.
My gaze, cast to the cobblestoned street, fixates on it. A dandelion, pushing up through the stones, like it was planted right there for me to see. Lifting my head, my eyes follow a path above the dandelion, where my eyes quite suddenly lock on those of a Merchant boy, with homespun golden hair and cobalt blue eyes…. eyes as blue as a summer sky.
My cheeks flush for some reason and I glance quickly away from the Merchant classmate I barely know casually. One of the son's of the Town Baker. I only really know his name: Peeta Mellark. He's in my year in school, though we've never spoken at all.
Behind me, I hear a noisy squelch as Madge and Gale finally break apart. That went on longer than I would have expected. Turning back, I almost smirk at how flabbergasted Gale appears. Madge is biting her lip almost shyly. I have to admire her bravery, unsure where she got it from.
"There," she murmurs. "You're all but free now, Gale." The Mayor's daughter turns to me mildly as we continue to shuffle towards the head of the line. "Have you stolen a Reaping Kiss yet, Katniss?"
I feel my cheeks flush. "Oh, I… I don't believe in that stuff. Prim, neither. Superstitious crap."
A whimper from my baby sister distracts me and I draw into her as she nears the front of the line, next in the queue. "Prim…. It's just a prick of blood – No, it…. it doesn't hurt much. Just a little."
I keep my hands on her shoulders as she trudges to the front. "Give me your hand," the Peacekeeper on duty prompts, even as she takes it, gripping the index finger long enough to let a scanner zap a cut into the skin. The buzz of electric shock makes Prim jump. The officer presses her bloodied finger into a logbook, making a print. The scanner identifies my sister by her DNA as Primrose Cyan Everdeen.
"Go ahead."
I'm next, and I don't even blink at the jolt of pain anymore. I am identified and registered as Katniss Magenta Everdeen. My face scrunches up in distaste at the reminder of my full name. I've never liked it. It makes me feel too…. pretty. Too feminine. But it is tradition for Seam fathers to name their daughters after the flowers of the field and the colors of the wind, dating back to our Covey ancestors.
The sea of teenagers moves like a wave, a living thing, propelling me into my section with the other sixteen-year-old girls. A center aisle separates everyone by gender. Four blocks ahead of me, at the front of the Square near the stage, Prim will be gathered with the other pre-pubescents.
As the clock above the Justice Building strikes high noon, Madge's father, the Mayor, comes out with Effie Trinket, our district escort for the Hunger Games. Every year, the twelve districts of Panem send in one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to compete in an outdoor arena. A fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins and becomes the Victor.
I've missed the Mayor's speech reciting the Treaty of Treason that established the Games as punishment for a long-ago rebellion against the Capitol. Now he's moving on to reading the names of the past District 12 Victors. In almost 74 years, we have had exactly two. Only one – the second and most recent – is still alive.
"The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games: Lucy Gray Baird!" All heads bow in reverence. I don't really know much about this woman, beyond the lectures I've heard in Hunger Games History class at school. They say Lucy Gray Baird disappeared into the woods beyond the fence not long after returning home from the arena. Many Seam families (and some Merchants) invoke her name as a kind of old ghost story to discipline young, wayward children. A statue of her and our other Victor stand in the school courtyard. Our train station is named after her. That really is the extent of our knowledge of our district's first champion.
"The Victor of the 50th Hunger Game, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!" Scattered laughter erupts at our…. living relic. Haymitch Abernathy is a paunchy drunk of a man. Middle-aged, a peer of my mother. Twelve's largest mine, the mine my daddy and Gale's daddy died in, is named for him even though the man never had to work down its shafts a day in his life. He's an embarrassment, and makes himself one again now, as he staggers up to give Effie Trinket his best attempt at a hug. She shakes him off and scampers over to the bowls holding all the names of every eligible teenager in Twelve.
"Welcome, welcome! The time has come to select one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games! Ladies first!"
I don't have time to squeeze my eyes shut and pray that it's not me, that it's not Madge, that it's not –
"Primrose Everdeen!"
….. Fuck.
I can't hear anything. I haven't a mirror, but I know I am gawping. I probably look exactly the same as Gale did when Madge kissed him out of the blue. I can't believe it. Prim was one tiny slip of paper in thousands!
Now I'm actually wishing she had gotten a Reaping Kiss.
I watch as my sister mounts the stage, floating somewhere beyond myself, like this is an out-of-body experience. I pick out Gale's face in the crowd; he looks as shell-shocked as me.
"…. Volunteers?" Effie's voice cuts through the haze, and I realize: I could save Prim from this fate! I could….
But Gale is shaking his head infinitesimally. The moment passes, and I want to cry, scream at him. Why?!
"…Peeta Mellark!" Effie suddenly shouts out.
Wait…. did she just choose the boy? Peeta Mellark!
Oh no, I think weakly, and I suddenly feel dizzy. I think I sway into the girl next to me, for I feel hands roughly shove me off. Not him. But it is. I watch at the boy has always stared at me in class, and at whom I've always found myself staring back, begin his own death march to the stage. This boy is going to be fighting against my sister. He might even kill my sister! And yet my heart can't bear his selection any more than I could bear Prim's.
Peeta Mellark is barely on the stage when Effie is asking again for volunteers. That's when things truly go off the rails.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Gasps go up, and I whimper as I watch Gale step out of the crowd and stride forward.
"Splendid!" Effie trills, beckoning. She rather rudely shoos away Peeta Mellark, who can only stumble off the stage in a daze. "And what's your name, dear?"
"Gale Hawthorne."
Effie gestures to my baby sister and now my hunting partner and… and best friend. "Your tributes from District 12!"
Absolutely no one applauds. Peacekeepers take everything I love into custody.
The oak doors of the Justice Building have barely closed before I am running for them.
I stumble and stammer my way through visitor registration, realizing too late while reading the placard directives that I've allowed myself to be steered towards Gale's holding room first.
My brain is a spinning, anguished mess. Why would Gale volunteer for a boy from Town? A boy he doesn't know, and yet surely hates due to his background?
I suddenly hear voices floating somewhere off to my right and behind, and I turn my head to see the Baker talking rapidly with his youngest son:
"…. Do you know why Gale Hawthorne might volunteer for you? Think hard!"
"Dad," Peeta states, voice soft and baffled. "I have a feeling Hawthorne would have volunteered no matter who he replaced!"
I wonder how he came to that conclusion. It makes me seethe all the more and I shoot Peeta Mellark a truly hateful look. As if it's somehow his fault that Gale, and not he, is now a prisoner of the Capitol. My anger builds all the more when the Baker's son doesn't appear to notice.
I hold onto that rage and let in fester as I am administered back into Gale's holding room, the first one in line. He's barely turned from his place at the window before I've slapped him hard across the face.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, shaking with betrayal.
"Getting Prim home to you," he states simply.
I gawk at him. "You do realize I could have done that much more easily by volunteering for her?"
"And watch you fight to the death? How is that any better?"
I fold my arms, glowering. "It would be better because both you and Prim would be alive!" Or, perhaps, Gale could have gone in with me instead; together, we might have had a fighting chance fending off the other tributes. Which brings me to my other point of contention:
"Why did you volunteer for him? Mellark. How can you volunteer and I can't?"
"I volunteered to protect Prim," he states again. "Does it matter who I had to crawl over to get into that position?"
Actually, I'm starting to suspect that it matters a great deal, because just from looking at his face, I can tell….
"You're lying." At the very least, I know there's something he's not telling me. And that it has to do with Peeta Mellark.
Gale actually looks pained.
"Why did you volunteer for a boy we don't know, Gale?" I ask again evenly.
Gale starts to open his mouth, stops, and narrows his eyes. He seems to be searching for another plausible excuse, and when he can't find one, he lets out a frustrated growl. Suddenly pulling me close, he tilts my head back and crashes his lips to mine, kissing me.
I am completely unprepared. I would have thought that after knowing Gale for years, I would have had cause to at any point wonder about the taste of his lips. Or how his hands, which can set the most intricate of snares, can now so easily entrap me as they steal about my slim waist. I go rigid in his embrace, and I make some sort of disconcerted noise in the back of my throat.
"Erm…."
Gale and I break the kiss roughly. I can only stare, thunderstruck, up at him. At the way his grey orbs now tinge with sadness. Even… defeat. "I had to do that. At least once," he mumbles.
I have no time to even think of a possible reply to my best friend kissing me as out of the blue as Madge Undersee kissed him. And once the Peacekeeper on duty escorts me out, all I am left to do is wonder how I felt about the kiss, my very first, whether I liked it or resented it.
I'm heartened to see how long the line is to say goodbye to my sister, and yet at the same time embarrassed that I am not at the head of it, as should be my right. As I shuffle forward in the queue, I am shocked to see Peeta Mellark of all people just now coming out from the holding cell containing my Prim. Our eyes meet and I sneer at him with resentment. Why would my sister's would-be district partner visit her? Peeta meekly looks askance of my loathing. An odd lurch of guilt only shoots through me after he is gone.
At long last, I am admitted to see my beloved sister. Funny how I've seen no sign of Mother since before the Reaping. I can only hope that she at least came to see her youngest daughter off first when I couldn't do it.
The moment the door clicks behind me, Prim flies into my arms. I hold her close, not bothering to hold the sobs in. When we draw back, I impulsively open her hand and take the mockingjay pin I gave her, clipping the fastener through the bodice of her dress, directly over her breast. Directly over her heart.
"I want you to run and hide until there are no players left," I order her.
Prim looks stricken. "But, Katty…. What about….?"
"Even Gale," I make clear, though I feel pained about it. But that was Gale's choice. If he can't even be honest with me about why he can sacrifice his life for a boy who is nothing to him while not letting me sacrifice my own, then I can't trust him to keep my sister safe and alive. Even though he claims his rationale for entering his name into this game is to do exactly that. I search Prim's unsure face, my voice lifting into a near shout: "Primmy, do you hear me?"
She bobs her head meekly. "Yes," she whispers. Lacing her fingers through mine, she squeezes them. "Just take care of Mother. And… and try to be happy, without me. Maybe… maybe with someone." She smiles shyly, and I fight the urge to smirk through my tears. Primrose has been trying to match me off with a man since she was old enough to know about romance and boys and such things.
I brush her plaited curls back from her face. "I'm never falling in love, Little Duck. I'm never getting married." I hold her tightly to me. "And I could never be happy without you."
We are parted forcibly all too soon, and I am left to stumble home to the Seam in a fog, the path blurred by my tears as I sob.
