It's the moment everybody's been waiting for. Everyone in the square is fully alert, ready to see it all unfold.
"Volunteers?" Effie calls, stepping up to the podium. "Where are my volunteers?"
A fifteen-year old girl raises her hand bravely and the crowd parts for her. I get a better look at her and my heart sinks. She's one of the girls from the group home. Her parents died years ago and she has no one. She looks weak and underfed and doesn't have any chance of living through this, but I can tell from her hard expression that she knows this too.
She reaches the stage and Effie guides her to the microphone. "Say your name, dear, for all of Panem!"
"I'm Lucy," she says. "I don't have a last name."
"Let's have some applause for our new tribute here," Effie says brightly.
There's a smattering of applause across the square, but it stops quickly. All of District Twelve wants to know who the male tribute will be.
"And who will be our other volunteer?" Effie says. "Which young man is ready to claim glory for District Twelve?"
The square is silent. No one moves, no one says anything.
"No volunteers?" Effie calls out again. "I'm going to give it another minute, but if no one comes up, I'm going to have to start pulling slips from the bowl."
Still, no one moves.
Effie moves deliberately toward the bowl of names and thrusts her hand inside, ruffling the slips as she makes her selection.
Now the assembled crowd is uneasy. District Twelve is about to have a third tribute.
"Still no volunteers?" Effie asks once more before pulling out her slip. She returns to the podium quickly to read out the name.
"Rose Flint," Effie reads.
I can immediately identify the eighteen-year-old girl because of the way her rosy cheeks drain of color. I see why she was named Rose. She walks to the stage slowly, on wooden legs. Somehow, she makes her way to the spot on the stage next to Lucy.
"Do we have any volunteers now?" Effie asks, one hand reaching toward the bowl of names again.
"I volunteer!"
The speaker is an eighteen-year-old boy who has the look of the Seam about him. As everyone turns to him, I see Rose bury her face in her hands. Do they know each other?
His name is Ash Waller and as soon as I see him take his place next to Rose, I can tell that they do.
"Looks like Haymitch is coming with us to the Capitol after all," Peeta whispers.
While the tributes are saying their goodbyes to their families, Haymitch, Peeta, and I are gathered in another part of the Justice Building, discussing strategy.
"My reward for keeping you both alive was supposed to be getting a year off from this spectacle," Haymitch complains as he takes a swig of liquor.
"No drinking, Haymitch, those tributes are counting on you," Peeta says, grabbing the bottle from him.
"They don't stand a chance and you know it," Haymitch retaliates, snatching at the bottle again. Peeta is quicker.
Sullen, Haymitch folds his arms across his chest. "Fine," he says. "I'll stay sober until one of them dies, but then all bets are off."
"That's all we ask," Peeta says. "Now, do either of you have a preference on who to coach?" he asks.
"Convenient that there are three tributes and three of us, don't you think sweetheart?" Haymitch says, nudging me.
"Haymitch! Focus!" Peeta says.
It's almost cute how seriously Peeta's taking this whole thing. From what little interaction I had with them on stage, I already know our tributes are goners. Lucy has already accepted her defeat. Rose is angry at Ash, because she blames him for her getting reaped in the first place. And Ash's primary concern is getting Rose to forgive him, not winning the Games. Rose and Ash were dating prior to the reaping. It'll be interesting to see how their relationship handles the situation.
"I want Lucy," I say, speaking up for the first time.
"Interesting choice, sweetheart," Haymitch comments. "I guessed you would want the one who reminds you most of yourself. But I thought you'd identify with one half of this year's star-crossed lovers over the orphan."
"Haymitch, stop analyzing my choice and make your own," I say, suddenly irritated.
"I'll take the other girl," Haymitch says. "I think she'll die before either of the others."
"Haymitch!" This time, both Peeta and I speak up in outrage.
He shrugs, and Peeta sighs, giving up on this strategy session.
"I guess that means I've got Ash," he says.
"Great, well now that we've got that decided, I'll take that back," Haymitch says, plucking his liquor bottle out of Peeta's hands. "I'll see you two on the train." He saunters out of the room whistling cheerfully.
"How's Prim and your mom doing?" Peeta asks.
He's just being polite. I look at him, sitting across the table, looking at me earnestly. Why is he doing this?
"I've told you, Peeta, let's not pretend when there's no one else around," I say, not prepared for the flicker of hurt that appears for only a split second.
I wait for him to tell me off, to say that we slept in the same bed during the Victory Tour so how is this different, to shout, to react in some way. But he just runs his hand through his hair as he stands up. Again, I anticipate indignation, anger, pain.
Peeta's face remains an impassive mask, and without saying anything further, he walks out, just like Haymitch.
An hour later, we are on the platform, waving to District Twelve as we set off on our journey to the Capitol. The tributes have already been loaded onto the train. As I watch, Haymitch staggers across the platform and disappears into the closest carriage. It's my turn now.
I'm about to step forward, where the cameras can see me. On cue, like always, Peeta appears as if from nowhere and slips his hand into mine. We paint bright smiles on our faces as we wave to the cameras and squint into the lights. I look out at the crowd shouting their goodbyes, searching, until I see Gale with Prim propped on his shoulders. They get a special smile from me, and then Peeta and I are inside the train, and we let go of each other immediately.
The train is familiar, the same one that Peeta and I have traveled on before.
I'm shown to my room by an Avox, one of the Capitol's tongue-less servants. The space is different from the one I've occupied before, though I suppose that makes sense – my former room belongs to either Lucy or Rose now. I immediately hurry into the bathroom to wash all the makeup off my face before returning to the carriage with the TV, where I know the others will be assembled.
"Glad you finally made it, sweetheart," Haymitch slurs. "I was beginning to have my doubts."
He's got more liquor now. This one's dark and served in a tumbler with some kind of citrus peel shaved into it.
I ignore him and take the only other available seat, next to Peeta, and prepare to watch the recap of the day's reapings.
The other reapings are largely uneventful. Districts One through Seven have volunteers who have all clearly prepared for the Games. They're large and well-fed and volunteer promptly. District Eight's tributes are more hesitant. The District sponsor has to call several times before volunteers come forward, but no one is reaped from the bowl. Districts Nine and Ten need some more prodding, each with three tributes like District Twelve. District Eleven is interesting. The children seem to have made a pact to not volunteer. Name after name is called from the reaping bowl, but the rest of the children stand there silent and tall. I've lost count of how many tributes there are, but the small stage isn't able to hold them and Peacekeepers start ushering some of them off to the side to make room for more.
"How will they accommodate so many?" Ash asks, eyes wide.
"No idea," Haymitch says, chuckling to himself. "Whatever the Capitol planned for, it certainly wasn't this."
"How many are there?" I ask.
"Thirteen," Peeta says.
Names continue to be called and then suddenly the broadcast goes dark.
"Is it a faulty connection?" Ash asks, as Rose rolls her eyes.
"Do you really think a Capitol train would have bad wiring?" Rose asks. "Ash, seriously, you need to start using your brain if you're to have any hope of winning this thing."
"I wonder what they don't want us to see," Peeta says, resting his chin in his hands and tilting his head.
Before he has the opportunity to wonder for too long, the television flickers to life again.
"And we finally have our two volunteers!" the District Eleven sponsor proclaims, and the screen quickly shifts to an image of District Twelve before we can determine how many tributes District Eleven will be sending to the Capitol.
We watch the District Twelve reaping, which seems uneventful in comparison, and then Haymitch suggests everyone get some rest. As everyone moves towards the sleeping quarters, I see him inch toward the dining car, probably to refill his glass. I shrug as I return to my room. I don't like Rose that much anyway.
A/N: I wrote this chapter before The Battle of Songbirds and Snakes came out, and I chose the name Lucy for the first tribute before I knew about Lucy Gray. My character has no relation to Lucy Gray and the name is purely a coincidence.
