We arrived in the square at a quarter to ten. Peacekeepers stood at the entrance finger-pricking the newcomers before they took their spots. Chris and I held out our fingers and waited as Dean shook where he stood. The Peacekeeper scowled and pushed him away once he was done with him. Chris ran up and caught him before he fell into the throng of people and helped him walk away from the entrance. Before he ran off with some other boys from school, Chris and I took turns giving him long hugs.
"Only two slips, Dean. Remember that." He nodded and I kissed him on the forehead, holding him close one last time. After hugging Chris, he ran off and found a chair next to the other thirteen-year-old boys from school.
I walk over to the girls' side with Chris and stand just outside of the seventeen-year-old section. He looks at me and smiles softly.
"You're almost out, Eb. You're so close to being done with this whole mess." He hugs me tight and I bury my face into his shoulder, trying hard not to cry. "We just need to get through the next half hour or so and we'll be done for a whole year. No more anxiety, no more being scared…" He whispers to me and rubs my back. I just nod into his shoulder and pull away when I hear the deafening screech of the microphone being turned on. Chris salutes and jogs to the non-eligible section while I take my seat in the seventeen-year-old girls section.
"Is this thing on? It's working? Ok." Our mayor taps the microphone and stands straight, tugging on his jacket. "Welcome, to the beginning of the seventy-first Hunger Games!" He says this enthusiastically, but on camera you can see his smile is forced and his voice shakes a little from the strain. "As usual, let us begin with the history of Panem, and how these historic Games came to be."
A video clip comes onto the large screens in the square explaining the reason for the Hunger Games, and what the country of the United States of America was before the Dark Days and the rebellion. Having been watching the video since I was born, I zone out quickly and don't begin listening again until the mayor taps the microphone once more. "Ahem. And now District three's very own escort, Courtney Spark, will once again pick the tributes for this years Hunger Games."
He steps down and Courtney walks slowly to the microphone and speaks loudly. "Welcome, welcome! I am so happy to be here once again, escorting one man and woman to my home, the Capitol, to participate in the seventy-first annual Hunger Games!" Courtney's ridiculous Capitol accent rang louder and squeakier than ever. It looked like this year she was going to attempt to be District three's own personal sun, with a bring yellow—almost white—wig, and spray-tanned skin. On the television, you could see her eyes were a bright orange, and her eyelashes seemed to me made out of orange and black butterfly wings. She was wearing a yellow sundress that was well above her knees. There appeared to be no sleeves, and it was cinched tightly at her small Capitol waist making the bottom poof out farther than need be. She wore a small white sweater, and her shoes were also white, the heel being at least ten inches tall, forcing her to tower over the majority of the district. Because of her added height and Capitol stupidity, she could not adjust the microphone and was forced to bend forward so we'd be able to hear her shrilly voice. Her entire appearance made her appear comical and clown-like.
"I can see you are all just as excited as I am to get these games started. Maybe this year we'll have a victor!" She is greeted with silence. Many of the younger kids are squirming impatiently, eager to go back inside and sleep the rest of this miserable day away.
Courtney frowns and clears her throat. "As tradition states, ladies first." She hobbles over to the glass bowl containing every female name in the District from ages 12 to 18 and swirls her clawed hand over the slips of paper. She reaches in and snatches a slip from deep in the bowl, and hobbles back towards the microphone. Dramatically, she eyes the crowd and opens the small slip.
"And our lucky female tribute is… Ebony Raine." Courtney claps loudly for the entire district while everyone turns and looks at me. I'm too shocked to move out of my seat. "Oh Ebony, where are you?" Courtney practically sings. A girl in my grade elbows me sharply in the side and looks at me with sorry eyes. I stand tall and walk towards the podium. I don't dare look towards the thirteen year old boys, where I'm sure to see Dean crying or mentally begging for me to run. I just keep walking, staring straight ahead at Courtney's clown-like face. I think I hear Chris screaming my name, but I don't dare turn around. "Here she is. Raine, Raine, I remember that last name. Did you have a family member in a previous Games?"
My voice catches in my throat. I stand there and nod slowly, battling the tears as the memories of my brother begin to surface for the second time today.
"If I'm remembering correctly, he was in the sixty-fourth games?" She looks at me for encouragement.
I swallow the tears and glare at her, saying, "the sixty-third Games. My brother Kurt."
Courtney ignores my venomous tone. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Ebony. Well let us hope that this year, the odds are in your favor." Her voice rings sugary sweet through the square. "Onto the male tribute, shall we?"
She puts on a small show once more, dramatically plucking a single slip from the males glass bowl.
"Ahem. Our male tribute is… Dean Raine! Oh, another family member, I believe? Well it looks like the odds are most certainly not in your favor." She laughs half-heartedly at her cruel joke and looks awkwardly away from me. I feel as if I'm on the verge of a breakdown.
There must be some mistake. This can't be happening, I cannot go against my baby brother.
I don't see him stand, but I spot him easily in the crowd, his black hair spiking at odd angles from drying in the sunlight, his eyes filling with tears. And suddenly he wipes his nose on his sleeve and stands.
"Come on up here, dear. Let us all see who you are." Dean walks over the legs of his friends and enters the middle aisle. He takes two steps forward, and before I knew what I'm doing, I'm screaming, "run, Dean, run! Get away from here, run!" Without a second of hesitation, he begins sprinting in the opposite direction towards Chris and the non-eligible.
"Please, you have to pick again. He cannot be in the Games, he can't!" I stand there begging Courtney and watching Dean struggle against Peacekeepers out of the corner of my eye. Three of them are holding back Chris, and my mother has collapsed on the ground, sobbing with my father and neighbors trying to support her. I can barely hear the words come out of my mouth as I scream at Courtney to pick another name, to pick someone other than my baby brother. Peacekeepers carry my struggling brother towards the stage, and the entire square is in chaos, yelling and screaming for something to be done. The district is in an uproar, and Peacekeepers are moving in on the eligible tributes as they stand and protest. But one voice rings out over everyone else's that forces the crowd to grow quiet.
Peacekeepers stop advancing and my brothers stop struggling. A single boy from the eighteen year olds section advances the stage.
"I said, I volunteer as the District three male tribute for the seventy-first Hunger Games."