Chapter 2: A Reaping Kiss
The cock's crow wakes me. The sound is grating and jarring, all the more so for how rarely I hear it. Ordinarily, I would be up before the sun rose, going off to hunt, as I have been doing since the start of summer.
For the previous two years, most mornings saw us in the Community Home rise just as early to begin our daily chores.
Today, however, for my own safety and out of an abundance of caution, I have to stay inside the fence. For today is Reaping Day. The day of my final Reaping.
Morosely, I change into my blue Reaping frock and stumble down the stairs of my little shack in the Seam. I recall being practically thrown out of the Community Home the morning of my eighteenth birthday, with only the clothes on my back and the trunk containing many of Mother's and... and Prim's old things. My inheritance. And now I was a district woman expected to make her own way in the world. Staggering under the weight of Mother's trunk, I had gone straight to the Justice Building and applied to the District Clerk for a housing assignment. Single unit. Naturally, I was given a shack on nearly the outskirts of the Seam, behind the Slag Heap and the Goat Man's place. Meekly, I had inquired about possibly returning back to the childhood home my sister and I were raised in, even though I knew it was hopeless. No luck. A young married Seam couple had been assigned my old house following a Toasting, as by that time the former Everdeen homestead had been seized by eminent domain of the district government.
That was two months ago. The fact that this abode has two stories (albeit falling down ones) for a young, unmarried woman is remarkable. It's not as though, I remind myself with a pang, I need the space. And maybe it's better that I'm not back in my old house. I could do without the memories. Yet a part of me still needs them desperately.
At least this place doesn't feel like home. At least it holds no connection to her. This is just a temporary solution.
The last bones of a squirrel I felled five days ago goes a long way towards making a breakfast stew. As I fiddle over the one-burner stove, my haunted grey eyes meet the yellow ones of Buttercup, perched down the far end of the counter. The damn cat somehow found me barely a week after I had been discharged from the Community Home and moved in here. Almost like he was waiting for me to be released from that hellhole the district calls an orphanage. No, not waiting for me. Waiting for... her...
I was wrong: there is one reminder in this household of all that I have lost. I chuck the ladle at him, and miss.
"Stare at me all you want. She's not here! She's GONE!"My voice rises in volume and pitch with each word I hurl invectively at the little beast.
I eat my breakfast at the wooden table in subdued silence. I chance a glance at the clock. The Reaping doesn't start until noon; right now, it's a quarter till eleven. In a little over an hour, I will be observing for the second time the moment that the last of my life was ripped away from me...
FLASHBACK
Mrs. Merwick's whistle is piercing, scattering us orphaned girls and boys out of our chores with one hour to go until the Reaping. I take Prim back to our private room, which by grace we still have, ignoring how the other girls give us hateful looks. These young ladies are still bound to the rules of communal living, all crammed together into one large space with the boys similarly sequestered across the hall. I watch Prim's hands shaking as I carefully dress her into her beige Reaping frock. "Better tuck in that tail, Little Duck," I coo, slipping her blouse into her skirt. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.
Slipping my blue frock over my skinny frame, we had waited together, holding each other and listening to the hollering and shouting from the other girls through the wall as they attempt to navigate around each other. Then another whistle is summoning us like dogs on command out into the hall and down the stairs, where we stand at attention along the wall.
Mrs. Merwick proceeds down the steps, inspecting her charges, making sure we look presentable. She turns up her nose with a sniff at how immaculate Prim is, not a hair out of place. The most she can say for me is tucking an errant chestnut curl behind my ear and muttering darkly about my pronounced hips. I have to wrestle back the scowl.
I sense the fingers of the boy standing next to me reaching for the toned flesh of my rear. "Nice ass, Everdeen." He doesn't even get to place his hands on me before I've squiggled away and punched him in the nose. Udo Donner, the boy who chases and takes the most skirt in this place. I know he wants me – the lust in his eyes whenever he sees me is obvious – but I've never allowed myself to be within fifty feet of him unless it is a compulsory inspection like this one. Prim and I are the only girls that rapist hasn't conquered, and I vow he never will from now until I come of age and get my walking papers.
We're divided into two clumps by gender and then marched like good little soldiers out of the Home and down to the Square, where we approach the registration desk. Once we're past the checkpoint, we Community Home orphans will peel off and stand with our age groups, blended in with the children of the district who still have parents. But we'll still be no less conspicuous. People know when you are a brat of the Home. It's as common as knowing someone who went into the Games.
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. Even knowing that Home brats having increased odds, Prim was still one tiny slip of paper in thousands!
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 killmy 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 out of the blue. 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 yourself. 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'm thrown out of the Justice Building, where Mrs. Merwick is waiting for me on the steps. I am left to be herded like chattle back to the Community Home in a fog, the path blurred by my tears as I sob.
END OF FLASHBACK
I check the icebox and procure the pair of squirrels I had made sure to bag beyond the fence yesterday. They'll make for a nice trade, but only if I hurry, and I step out of my house into the dusty street.
Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I know bitterly why Primrose was chosen. She might have been a twelve-year-old, but she was a pretty, orphaned twelve-year-old whom the district rationalized no one would miss.
Fools. They should have known I would miss her. But when you live in the poorest district in all of Panem, you have to learn that your life is insignificant. No one cares about you.
To his credit, Gale had made a valiant effort to at least get my sister home to me. He had managed to rescue her from the Cornucopia and they had allied together. Between Gale's handsome features and good hunting skills (he'd managed an 11 in training) and Prim's angelic disposition, the Capitol had been enchanted by them. Our tributes even made the Final Eight.
But the Careers that year, led by the eventual Victor, Cato, had rightly recognized Gale as a threat to their power. Not long after the elite survivors had been set, the ruthless boy from District 2 had led his troops into a cornering of my hunting partner and my sister. Gale's arrows were only enough to bring down the doltish boy from 1, Marvel, but the other three overpowered him. The girl from 2, Clove, slashed my sister's throat before I even had a chance to scream.
After that, I'm not sure why I didn't immediately give up. Let Udo sodding Donner pin me to the bed I now shared with no one and force himself on me. In every other respect, I now simply floated through my miserable life, emotionless, doing my chores in the Home, speaking to no one. That no boy raped me was partially due to the fact that I knew Prim would have been furious with me had I let my guard down. But while keeping this will was just enough to get me through the next two intolerable years, it hasn't been enough. I no longer counted down the days until my eighteenth birthday, when I would be liberated. I had nothing to look forward to without Primrose.
The following year, the summer after I turned seventeen, had been a Quarter Quell year – a special edition of the Hunger Games and only the third in our history. My late mother hadn't been much younger than me the last time a Quell rolled around, and that had been the year District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown. I remember crowding with the other Home children into the side sitting room, the group boisterous even under Mrs. Merwick's evil stink eye as President Snow had done the Reading of the Card:
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even those who serve the Capitol are not under suspicion of disloyalty, the male and female tributes Reaped shall be the descendants of those in power in each district."
The obvious choice for the female tribute had been poor Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. I'd been anguished for her, yet admired how she had mounted the stage even before Effie Trinket had finished calling her name, looking serene. My despair had been offset slightly upon Udo Donner being selected as the boy tribute, and the revelation that he was the illegitimate son of Cray, our Head Peacekeeper. Technically an orphan only by virtue of the fact that his one surviving parent had not even bothered to claim him. Both Madge and Udo died in the Bloodbath, and thus my biggest harasser in the Home was gone forever.
Now July 4th has come around again, and I will stand in the Square for the final time. Should I survive today, I will be free from the Hunger Games forever.
Free to live the rest of my life alone, with only a mangy cat for company, and die an old spinster.
But that's no future. It's a fate worse than death. Fortunately, I have something else in mind.
While my two years in the Community Home with no access to the outside world or my woods had left me rusty in my skills with a bow, I've built myself back up roughly to where I was in the two months I've been out. My survival knowledge and skills in tracking should serve me well enough to make a decent run of it. Provide a show before someone else finds me and does me in. Then... then perhaps she will be awaiting me, in whatever is after this life. Religion is expressly forbidden in Panem, but that hasn't stopped some people from clinging to the old ways, in the privacy behind closed doors. Now I have to believe in it too, for it's all that I have. There's nothing else for me here, as I turn into the back alley and stride up the rear loading dock of the Bakery in Town. There's no one who will miss me, and no one whom I will miss.
Then again, there is one thing, one person, I will miss as the door to the loading dock opens, revealing the admittedly handsome, boyish face of the Baker's youngest son.
I feel my breath catch in my throat as we stare at each other for a too prolonged moment. I no longer harbor any resentment towards Peeta for being caught in the drama of the Reaping from two years ago. He had simply been an innocent bystander. He and I were classmates in school up until graduation a few weeks ago, though we've hardly spoken at all until I was released from the Home and resumed my trades again.
I can't help but get lost in his eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky... Those eyes that are now probing me, as if they somehow know me as well as I know myself. His golden blonde hair is falling into those orbs now, and when he brushes it back, I feel my pulse oddly quicken.
I swallow through my dry throat and lamely hold up the pair of squirrels. "They're... not fresh," I feel the bizarre need to qualify, and I suddenly want to kick myself.
Peeta smiles, the perfect set to his teeth causing a pronounced ache in my nipples, so that they strain under the bodice of my blue dress. "That's OK. Day-old will do."He takes the squirrels from me and makes of show of inspecting them, holding them up by the tail. I fail to bite back a smile. As much as even conducting a business transaction with Peeta can make me... feel things, disquieting things, I have to concede this is one thing about my life I will miss.
I feel trapped in Peeta's winning grin again, and I mortifyingly blush, in spite of myself. "Right in the eye, every time!"His praise only makes me flush more. I didn't think he ever noticed a thing like that. "I can give you one loaf for this. Any particular kind?"
I gulp, replying to his question even though I have the strangest feeling he already knows my usual barter. "Raisin and nuts."
Peeta nods and briefly ducks back into the Bakery. I wait lamely, conspicuously, my blue skirts swishing at my ankles as my feet barely refrain from pacing. My stomach is a bundle of knots, and not just because that's the way it usually gets whenever I'm standing on this back loading dock. In less than an hour, I will be... But can I really go through with it?
I start a little when Peeta returns, carrying the loaf in his arms. He passes it to me, and I accept it wordlessly, a little unnerved when he doesn't immediately go back inside, instead stuffing his hands in the pocket of his apron.
"So: ... our last Reaping. You nervous?"
I nod Yes, though I shouldn't be raising any suspicions, least of all his. For some reason, I can't bear to wonder what Peeta would think of me, if he knew my intentions.
Peeta studies me with gentlemanly concern. "You don't have too many slips in the Bowl, do you? From taking out tesserae?"
I jerk sharply, caught off guard. "How do you know that?"I almost demand.
"I didn't for sure, till just now."
I want to scowl, but can't bring myself too. Not with this boy. I scuff at the concrete with my boot, keeping my eyes downcast to the ground. "Not too many," I mumble.
I hear Peeta let out a huff of air in what might be relief. "Got... got a fella who will propose to you after?"
I shake my head. It's customary for eighteen year olds who've just survived their last Reaping to get down on one knee in front of their sweethearts, if they have one. There are usually a lot of Toastings in summer, both during the Games and after the Games are over. "I'm never getting married," I murmur.
"Stolen a Reaping Kiss yet?"
I snap my head up to gawp at him. The Reaping Kiss is one of the oldest superstitions in District 12. No one knows who started it or why, but it is said that if two young people who are Reaping eligible share a kiss on Reaping morning, both are guaranteed not to be picked. Gale always called it voodoo garbage, and I've sailed through my previous six Reapings just fine without one. Though I have yet to see any evidence that the Reaping Kiss doesn't work.
I turn scarlet at Peeta's inquiry, and an actual, strained giggle escapes from me. "Oh, no, I... I don't believe in that stuff. Superstitious crap."
Something in Peeta's face dims, but then it is gone again and he shrugs. "If you say so. I just thought..."
"I won't need one. It won't help anyway."
Peeta sends me a bemused look, studying me. "You sound so sure."
I must give something away on my face, for a bit of extra scrutiny makes Peeta's eyes widen, and I want to cry. He's guessed at the truth. He knows. What I plan to do.
"Katty, no. You – you can't! You can't volunteer!"
I send him my best glower, though I'm not really angry at him. If anything, my grey eyes are sad and resigned. Defeated. Still, I warn him, "Don't try and stop me."
I turn to flounce out of the alley, only to whirl around when Peeta catches my elbow.
"Let me go!" I growl, gasp out. Tears threaten to choke me off, interfering with my resoluteness.
"No! Please, no... I won't let you!"
My eyes flash. "I don't need you to save me, Peeta!"And in that moment, I can see both of us have the same memory playing back in our mind's eye, like film on the old projector our Hunger Games History teacher used in school. A sheet of water like a gulf between us, coming down in a deluge. A boy with blonde hair tossing two burnt loaves of bread in my direction. Through the haze, grey and blue eyes meet.
Peeta looks despairing, desperate. "Katniss... please..."
But I shake my head, actual tears spilling now. "... Goodbye," I choke.
I've barely started to turn away before my skull is cradled in his hands and his lips are on mine.
It is my first Reaping Kiss, and only my second kiss overall.
"Erm..." I let out a choked squeak in the back of my throat, whimpering in confusion as Peeta's free arm, burly and strong from working in the ovens, steals about my slim waist. His lips are moving in a hot, messy rhythm against my own, and when the tip of his tongue darts out to touch the seam of them, I let out a gasp that parts my mouth almost pliantly under his, granting his tongue entrance.
A firm hand, calloused fingers have now dipped lower to cup the accentuated flesh of my buttocks through my blue Reaping dress. When it shifts further south to grip my thigh, I almost unconsciously hoist my leg to his waist, hooking it around his torso that my hips open and press against his.
For just a moment, two, I actually feel myself kiss him back. A new noise bubbles up in my throat, one of pleasure. "Hmm... Mmmm..."
Then I remember myself, and, the spell broken, I angrily push him away.
The force of our separating from this rather intimate embrace causes me to stumble backward and land in the dirt. Wiping the back of my hand across my flushed, pink, very-kissed lips, I scramble to my feet and huff out of the alley, steaming in rage but also stunned into speechless shock. The Baker's son just kissed me!
A Merchant just kissed me...
I enter the Square in a daze. I don't hear the Mayor reading the Treaty of Treason, or Effie pulling out the girl's name from the Reaping Bowl. I possess just enough hearing to comprehend it isn't mine.
"... No volunteers? All right, wonderful! And now for the boys!"
My mouth, my mouth that a handsome boy just kissed, is still hanging open in amazement. By the time I clue in, it is too late. A faceless Seam girl whose name I don't know is bound for the arena, along with a Community Home boy I knew vaguely; he can't be any older than fourteen. Our tributes are presented and taken into custody, and I can only stagger home in bewilderment, leaving boys proposing to their sweethearts in my wake.
Peeta Mellark's Reaping Kiss saved my life, even when I didn't want it to. Even though I didn't want, didn't deserve, to be saved. Now my one chance for something better is gone.
