Thanks for the reviews guys! Here's the first chapter, as promised! :)
Chapter One: The Volunteer
Oh, and everybody knows this is the part
of breaking down in anybody's arms.
I'm reaching down and hoping this one's ours
God, please let this stay.
Shayla Nettly had never been the same after her brother's death. She was not the cheerful young girl she had been. The Games had aged her as only death could. She no longer went about carefree, for now she held the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her mother had been strong throughout the entirety of the Games. Shayla knew now though, she was the one who had to be strong. Her mother couldn't do everything alone. Shayla left school to help her mother out in the shop, as her brother had. She was the one who normally dealt with customers now; her mother hadn't enjoyed the condolences and sad looks that people had sent her.
Shayla had made it perfectly clear; from the first day she began to help out with the customers, that anyone who so much as mentioned her brother would regret it. The people of District Twelve respected that, if only because they all respected her mother. She was sure that everyone preferred to haggle with Rooba, but Shayla couldn't have cared less. She was fair; she never asked too much, she never paid too little. Her mother had taught her that, and her father had reinforced it. She would never, ever, treat anyone poorly. The only person, Shayla swore to herself, that she would ever revoke that promise for was the boy who had killed her brother.
He had been the glue that had kept their little family together. Without him, Shayla and her mother had grown distant in their mourning. It was almost as if they thought it would help. Shayla was reminded of Aren every time her mother spoke. It was almost as if he was speaking through their mother, to tell her that he was still there. It was too painful, Shayla had told Rooba, to speak to her. It was too painful to be inside their house. Too painful, too painful, too painful. Rooba had told her that it would get better. Shayla knew she was lying. Rooba still mourned her sister, still clammed up at the thought of her. Shayla knew that this was how she would be, for the rest of her life.
The funeral had been a little thing, but everyone from District Twelve had attended. It was the same as every year. Aren had been sent back in a plain pine coffin, alongside Madeline Linghen, who had died just a few days later. He had been buried in the same cemetery as their father, as the tributes before him, as Madeline was. The family was left to mourn on their own for a little while, but it couldn't last. Rooba was needed, and now so was Shayla.
It was in the front of the butcher shop that Shayla was standing now, rubbing down the wooden counter after the last bloody carcass had passed over it. She sensed rather than heard as her mother appeared behind her, entering from the backroom where Rooba skinned and gutted the carcasses traded to her from the other citizens of the district, or sent to her from the Capitol. Shayla turned her head and glanced at her mother as she cleaned her hands.
"The Reaping is tomorrow," Rooba observed, not looking up from the soiled cloth she was using to clean her equally dirty hands. Shayla nodded and turned back to the counter, not wanting to have this conversation, not wanting to have to think about going back to the Reaping when it had been scarce a year since her brother had been chosen. Sent to his death, more like, she thought bitterly as she scrubbed at a spot of gore that stubbornly did not want to be lifted.
"You'll have to wear your best. They'll know you're Aren's sister. Every camera will be trained on you, waiting to see if the fates will be kind or not." Rooba continued on, speaking as though it were the weather she was talking about, and not imminent death.
"Yes, mother."
"I think you should wear the green dress," Rooba said brusquely, "it was Aren's favorite." Shayla halted in her scrubbing and abandoned the rag on the counter. She turned to her mother viciously; about to snarl a reply about how she would never touch that dress again, when there was a soft knocking on the backdoor. Shayla ground her teeth, but restrained herself from saying anything to her mother. Instead, she simply stalked into the backroom and made her way to the small door that only Katniss and Gale used.
Shayla yanked open the door, glaring at the two faces that appeared before her. "What?" She snarled, crossing her arms and observing the fowl that they held in their hands. They were fairly well-sized birds, round and fat. Shayla knew she'd need to trade something good, or otherwise open the family's very small purse.
"Here," Katniss held them up to her for examination. She had hit them all through the eye, as she usually did, and one even looked as though it had its leg broken. One of Gale's traps, Shayla observed as she gave them a cursory glance. She preferred to speak with Gale while trading, though it wasn't often that it happened. Katniss reminded her of the day Aren had been reaped, and both of them refused to speak of it. The two had grown distant, which seemed to be a trend in Shayla's life. She only spoke to one person on a regular basis, had only one person who she could call a friend.
"They're decent," Shayla agreed, though Katniss hadn't said anything. "I'll give you a steak for each of them." Katniss glared.
"Are you kidding me, Shayla?"
Shayla refused to meet her gaze; she instead concentrated on the birds and not the girl who had held her back from running to her brother so many months ago. "Five steaks for the lot, I guess."
"No deal, I won't take any less than six." Gale had remained quiet, observing the bantering. Shayla knew he would step in when he saw fit. He always let Katniss have a go, knowing that if she couldn't get Shayla to soften up, there wasn't a chance in hell that Shayla would. Shayla had only spoken to Gale on occasion, even though he had been in her brother's year in school and had spoken to Aren every once in a while.
The only time they had ever had a private conversation had been directly after her brother's death had aired. Shayla tried every single day to forget it, both the conversation and her brother's death. She had never seen Gale in the same light again, and they had never spoken of their run-in either. Not that she had wanted to.
"That's a little much for these," Shayla snapped, her mood souring by the minute. "Take it or leave it Katniss, I'm not in the mood right now."
"You think any of us are in the mood?" Gale growled back, coming to Katniss's defense as always. It didn't take much to piss him off, especially this close to Reaping day. "We know the Reaping is tomorrow, Shayla, don't think we've forgotten. I've got my name in there more times than you could imagine. Don't talk to me about being in a bad mood."
"What," Shayla snarled back, "you think I've only got my name in there a few times like the rest of those kids up there do?" She pointed up the hill to where the mayor's house was, where the wealthier members of district twelve lived. "You think Aren only had his name in there a few times? I might not have my name in there as often as you, Gale, but I have it in more than some, so before you open your big mouth, think about that next time." She had only had to sign up for the tessarae once; it had been her first time this year. Shayla had her name in the reaping six times now. She reached for the door. "You can forget about those stupid birds getting you anything now." Shayla slammed the door with as much force as she could muster and stormed off. She wound her way between the hanging carcasses and located the staircase that led up into the upper floor of the shop.
After Aren's funeral Rooba and Shayla had packed up their things and abandoned the house. They moved into the empty rooms above the butcher shop, simultaneously leaving behind memories of Aren and becoming closer to their shop. Shayla ran into her room and collapsed on the bed, burying her head into her pillow.
A few minutes later, the murmuring of voices outside had her raising her head and looking out the little window. She could see the back of the shop from here, where Katniss and Gale were still standing. She could hear them talking to someone behind the door. Rooba must be giving them something for the birds, Shayla thought in disgust. It was just like her mother, offering up pity to those who were about to be reaped. Shayla sighed and slid back down onto her bed, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach. She stayed in that position, curled up and clutching her pillow, as her mother came up from the shop that evening. She stayed there all night, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, her thoughts consumed with those of her brother.
When morning's light finally reached her through the window, Shayla stretched and got up. She went to the wash basin the corner of her room and bathed, taking extra care with her hair and her face. She washed the blood and gore from under her nails, lavishing in the clean feeling. She never had time to take this much care in her hygiene. When she felt as though she had been rubbed raw, she stepped from the water and dried herself off.
Shayla stood in front of the tiny wooden dresser that had come with her from the old house and contemplated what dress to wear. She pulled out the deep green one Rooba had mentioned and ran the material through her fingers. It had been a birthday gift from her father, many years ago. It had been too big for her until just recently. She slipped it on over her head, relishing in the feel of the soft fabric over her skin. Shayla stood in front of the small mirror that had been one of her mother's wedding gifts, which she had given Shayla on her thirteenth birthday, and twirled in the dress.
Aren would have grinned at her and told her she was beautiful, but Shayla didn't feel beautiful. She didn't see how the dress made the green flecks in her eyes stand out, she didn't see how well it fit to her slight form, she didn't see any of the beauty that her father and brother had seen. She only saw a lonely, silly girl, twirling in a dress on the day that she could be marked to die, the day that her brother had been chosen. Shayla blinked away the tears that stung her eyes and drew in a deep breath. It will be okay.
Shayla pulled her hair up into a bun and left her bedroom. She wandered out into the small kitchen where Rooba was sitting, as she did every night before the Reaping. She was nursing a cup of coffee, and in front of her sat a plate piled with dried meat, a loaf of bread, and one shining, red apple. Shayla furrowed her brow and hurried over to the table, to make sure she wasn't seeing things.
"An apple?"
Rooba looked up at her and smiled, "just for you, Shay." Shayla blinked at her mother, not quite understanding why she would have spent this much money on her. "I wanted to apologize for how I've been acting this year..." She drew in a breath, "I would hate myself if you were reaped and we never made up."
That stopped Shayla in her tracks. She locked eyes with her mother, noting the tear tracks that were fresh on her face. "Mom," she whispered as she rounded the table to enfold her in a hug. "I'm so sorry," she continued as she buried her face into her shoulder, just as she had done last year. "I'm so, so sorry."
They stayed in that position for a few minutes, saying nothing, just hugging each other. The Reaping was known to bring people together as nothing else did. It was an emotional time, for everyone. It wasn't until Rooba pulled away and held her daughter at arm's length that the silence was broken. "You look stunning," she said, a smile gracing her hard features. "I love that dress. We all did."
Shayla nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She pulled out of her mother's embrace and took up her spot on the opposite site of the table. She plucked the apple from the dish and, using the knife left on the table, she cut it in half and offered one side to her mother. Rooba took the slice and bit into it with relish. Shayla lifted the delicate flesh to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes and enjoying the smell. She bit into the crunchy apple and delighted at the taste. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had an apple, or anything that tasted as sweet.
Once they had polished off the apple and eaten their fill of dried beef and bread, Rooba went off to her own bedroom to get dressed for the Reaping. Shayla walked to the stairwell that led down into the butcher shop and pondered which shoes to wear. Every pair of shoes owned by both her and Rooba was arranged in a line beside the doorway. There were four pairs, one each for every-day wear and one each for the Reaping. Shayla's every-day shoes were moccasins made from comfortable, but worn, light leather. Her Reaping shoes were black velvet flats that had been a gift for her fourteenth birthday, when her previous Reaping shoes had gotten too small. Shayla knew that her every-day shoes wouldn't match her dress, nor were they nice enough to wear to the Reaping, so she regretfully slipped her feet into her flats.
Rooba appeared, wearing a dressy black shirt and a black skirt. They were her mourning clothes, not her Reaping clothes. Shayla didn't comment though, she knew that her mother was doing this as her own small form of protest. She waited for Rooba to put on her own shoes, and then they headed down to the lower level together, Rooba preceding her daughter. Shayla was silently counting how many times her name had been entered into the Reaping bowl when they stepped out into the sunshine of District Twelve.
"Shay," a voice called out from her left. Shayla turned and glimpsed Peeta Mellark, the only friend she could count on, walking over. His blond hair had been slicked back and he was wearing his finest pants and shirt. Shayla and Rooba paused and waited as Peeta caught up, abandoning his own family. Shayla smiled at him, one of the only people she would grace with a smile, and they continued down to the square together.
Peeta, though a year younger, had always been a friend of Shayla's. When they were little, Shayla and Peeta would play together outside of his parent's bakery. When her brother died, Peeta had been the only one that she would open up to about her pain. He had listened, really listened, and offered advice. He had consoled her, he had made her smile. Peeta had a gift in that way, he always knew how to cheer people up. He always knew exactly what to say.
Though Peeta had left school to help his parents out in the bakery long before Shayla had left, they had kept in contact. It wasn't easy, of course, but it had worked. When Shayla had left school to help her mother out, she had been afraid that they would never have time for each other again. She needn't have worried though, for Peeta's parents sent him to the shop to trade and buy meat.
"How are you holding up?" He asked as they fell into step behind Rooba. "It's your first reaping since..." He fell silent, but only for a moment. "It'll be fine." He nodded, not waiting for Shayla's answer. "What do you think Effie's going to look like this year, Shay?" He grinned at her. "I bet she's yellow, and I bet Haymitch will throw up all over her like he did a few years ago, remember?"
Peeta wouldn't ever have to worry about the Reaping like everyone else would. His father had one of the best jobs in the District, better than her mother's for sure. Not everyone could afford luxuries like meat; most of them would brave the Hob or do without before coming to her mother's shop. It was the bakery that people went to when they could spare the money, not the butcher shop.
Shayla smiled at Peeta, "I bet she'll be purple, it seemed to be a favorite of hers." Shayla didn't bother mentioning how she was doing. He would be able to tell. "Who do you think will be the unlucky ones this year?"
Peeta's smile slid from his face. "I don't even want to think about it." Peeta's older brother would also be eligible for Reaping, though this was his last year. It was also Katniss's sister's first year for the Reaping. Shayla only knew this because Primrose was well-loved throughout the District. Everyone would be praying she didn't get called up; everyone who wasn't praying for themselves or their own children, that is.
When they arrived at the square, Peeta and Shayla separated and drifted off toward their own segregated sections. The girls were always in front, nearest to the stage, the boys behind. Shayla stood by herself, watching as Prim hovered by a group of nervous girls all her own age. Katniss stood just a few feet away from Shayla, watching her younger sister. Shayla surveyed the group of young people, wondering which of them would be next. She spied Peeta and gave him a small, encouraging smile. She also spotted Gale, who was watching Katniss. She had always suspected something was going on between them. They spent a lot of time alone together. Shayla turned her head and instead surveyed the stage, waiting.
A few minutes later, when the noise had died down and the square was shrouded in silence, Effie Trinket waltzed out of the Justice Building. Her hair was a garish pink that matched her make-up, and she was smiling that dazzling, yet fake, smile of hers. She waved at the cameras and took a seat beside the mayor and his wife. The mayor took his cue and stood up, delivering his yearly speech to the District. Yada, yada, yada... Shayla thought as she looked up at the sky, blocking out the words that the mayor was saying. It's the same every year; you'd think they'd be done with it.
Once the speech had concluded, Effie took over. She welcomed everyone to the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, and watched as Haymitch tottered onto the stage and then fell off. Shayla smirked at this, knowing that everyone from the Capitol would be laughing at his antics. He was an embarrassment, but he was the best the District had. Then it was on with the ceremony, and Effie was calling out "may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Shayla clenched her fists as Effie dipped her hand into the dish that held all of the girl's slips, some with her name on them, many with Katniss's, and one with Primrose's. Effie plucked one off the top of the pile and strutted back to the microphone. She unfolded the piece of paper with deliberate slowness, and read off a name that nobody was expecting. "Primrose Everdeen,"
Shayla gaped, her arms swinging uselessly at her sides. This young girl had a goat, a goat named Lady. She had once helped her mother heal Rooba when she had sliced her hand open while gutting the carcass of a deer. She had been one of the first people to approach her after her brother died. She had offered her a small block of cheese, all that she could spare. Why is it always the good ones who die young? Shayla thought sadly as Prim began to walk up to the podium, just as Aren had done a year before. Shayla started trembling. This isn't right, she thought, her hands curling into fists, the Capitol needs to be punished for this.
She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but all of a sudden she was moving, moving toward Prim. She was too late though. Katniss was already out in the lane cleared for the Tributes. "Prim?" She called, her voice filled with pain. "Prim, no!" She screeched. The peacekeepers were advancing on her, but then she hollered "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute."
The whole area stilled. There had never been a volunteer, not in the history of District Twelve. Shayla froze, watching the events unfold. Prim was hollering, Katniss was being escorted to the podium, Effie was beckoning, a huge smile on her face. Shayla looked to Peeta, his face horrorstruck. She knew his feelings for Katniss. She knew that he was wishing he could take her place. She knew he would do something stupid if the scene wasn't contained. Then, all of a sudden, Gale was shouldering past her and scooping up a still-screaming Prim. His face was grim, but he couldn't do anything to help. He had accepted that already. Someone would have to stay behind and look after their families.
"What's your name, dear?" Effie was asking as Katniss finally arrived at the microphone. Shayla tore her gaze from Prim and watched as Katniss related her name to the District and cameras. "I bet that was your little sister, wasn't it?" Effie appeared delighted at the prospect.
"Yes," was Katniss's weak response. She was looking out on the crowd as if she didn't quite know how she had gotten up there. Shayla ground her teeth, telling herself to just stay silent. There was nothing she could do now, anyway.
"Well, let's have a round of applause for District Twelve's first volunteer!" Effie began clapping, but there was dead silence throughout the District. Nobody was going to clap for her. They respected her more than that. Instead, Shayla watched as everyone lifted two fingers to their lips and raised them to Katniss. Shayla hurried to mirror what everyone else was doing, a soft smile gracing her face as she raised her own two fingers in tribute to Katniss. She stands a chance, Shayla thought, she knows how to hunt.
Effie managed to regain control by announcing that it was time for the boys. Shay had nearly forgotten. She desperately looked to Peeta; trying to convey her desperation in one look; don't do anything stupid. Shay waited as Effie dug to the bottom of the bowl and pulled a slip forth. She opened it much quicker than she had with the girl's slip and barked out the name, "Peeta Mellark."
Shayla let out a quiet exclamation, "no!" She looked to Peeta, who had the appearance of a person whose nightmares had all come true. They have, Shayla thought as he made his way through the crowd to the podium. Everything he never wanted to happen has happened.
Effie was speaking again, but Shayla couldn't hear her over the ringing in her ears. She couldn't get over the injustices of it. First Aren, then Prim and Katniss, and now her only friend, Peeta. It was almost as bad as when her brother had been reaped. I vow I will have my vengeance, Shayla promised as she glared up at Effie, who was now ushering the two tributes into the Justice Building. The Capitol won't get away with this!
What did you think? Don't worry, there's plenty of Gale in the next chapter ;) Please drop me a review!