The train starts to slow down, and I pull myself away from the windows. For the past 20 minutes as we sped through District 11 my eyes have been searching my home hungrily; my gaze roaming over every contour in the land. The fields bring back memories of tough days; working in the blazing sun all day and my back aching as I wrench more crops from the ground. No, I wouldn't say that these are pleasant memories, but they are memories other than the ones from the arena. My arena memories are all I could see the past few days, whenever I was alone they would play out in front of my eyes. Now that I am home, I have something else to think. And I desperately need these other thoughts to distract me from dwelling on the Games.
I push myself warily behind a corner as the train glides smoothly to a stop, because I know that the train station will be filled with people and I don't want them all scrutinizing me just yet. I watch the crowd through the glass and try and spot the people I recognise. I can see my old teacher from years ago. I had used to tell him lots of lies, desperate to get him to believe one of them and so prove that I was smarter than my teacher. "Did you know, if you eat carrots then your vision will improve?" He would always just pat me on the head and flash me patronising smile that let me know I wasn't fooling him. I never managed to beat him once. My eyes continue flicking over the crowd and I spot people I recognise vaguely from school and shopkeepers who have served me in the past. Then I spot my fellow district tribute, Marko's family right at the front of the swarming mass of people. He had only been 13; a tiny little scrap of a boy. He had died in the bloodbath, and I gaze at his family, all of whom are wearing black armbands to show their loss. They're wearing sorrowful expressions too, every single one of them, and pale faces. I'm almost glad when Spark yells at me in frustration and practically starts to drag me off the train, because it means I don't have to look at their desolate faces anymore. I wonder what they'll say to me, because I certainly made no effort to keep their son alive. I feel a twinge of guilt at this thought, but I don't think that I would have been much use anyway.
Spark keeps prodding me in the back, trying to get me to move along the train faster. But my feet don't seem to be cooperating with me, and they don't want to move. The result is that I'm shuffling very slowly down the carriages, and Spark is growing more and more impatient with me. After he pushes me so hard that I nearly fall face first onto the floor I tell myself to stop being stupid. Why is it scarier to go out there and face the people I know, and who will have been supporting me for the past month than it was to be launched into the arena? It's because, and I know this sounds strange, at least in the arena I knew what I was expecting. People were going to try their best to kill me, but here... I just don't know.
We arrive at the door, and I can hear the huge buzz of noise coming from the platform. It's amazing how much confidence one deep breath can give you and I make myself stand up straight to face the crowd. As the door slides open I'm almost blinded by the instantaneous flashing of hundreds of cameras and I have to resist the urge to screw up my eyes because the photographers will be annoyed if I ruin their pictures by pulling a stupid expression. And that will just lead to more photos having to be taken. So I try to smile, because the quicker they are satisfied with their pictures, the faster they will leave me alone. I twist my head, trying to see my family. After all, they should be near the front, in the privileged place reserved for the winning tribute's family. Then I see them – my mum, my dad and Seth, my six year old, puppy-faced brother. My mum is looking around, slightly bemused at the cheering and chanting that's echoing through the station while my dad's eyes meet mine and his faces breaks into a grin. He points in my direction so that Seth can see me, and he waves at me with a chubby little hand. This draws the first real smile from me since the day of the reaping.
Spark gives me another nudge, and I have to tell my feet not to run to greet my brother, because I'm uselessly clumsy, and I don't want to trip over my own feet in front of all these cameras. As soon as I reach them I hold my arms out to take Seth and dad slides him into my grasp with a smile. I clutch him tightly, and he exclaims, "Ryla! I saw you on the TV." I shoot my parents an annoyed glance, they let him watch the Hunger Games? "Don't worry," my dad reassures me, "just the interviews."
I nod, this makes me feel slightly better, and my mum pulls me into her arms, crushing Seth between us. I squirm to get free; I've never really been a touchy-feely person and I can feel her tears dripping onto me. I don't need this right now. "I thought I'd never see you again," she chokes out, water now streaming down her cheeks. I glance at her, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Well," I say brightly, "here I am..."
"That's right," my dad tells me excitedly, "you really showed them!" He tries to pump my hand but I flinch away from him awkwardly. All I can think is that his behaviour is so inappropriate. I don't want to be happy or excited about my victory, because it's so wrong. My mum is still crying almost hysterically and I dump Seth into her arms, vaguely hoping that maybe he can cheer her up and then I scan the crowd for my friends. Instead I spot Chaff and Seeder, previous victors who were unfortunately not selected to mentor this year. So I had been stuck with Spark. Ok, so maybe Chaff wouldn't have been much better, but Seeder seems fairly normally, as far as victors go. She shoots me a small smile as she sees me watching them and Chaff blows a kiss in my direction. I roll my eyes and keep looking for my friends.
My eyes land on them and I shove my way through the crowd to greet them. But then I notice that someone's missing. "Where's Tal?" I demand as I reach them. This wasn't exactly the first thing I had planned on saying to them when I returned, but I can't help it. Tallulah has been my best friend ever since she pushed me into the mud on our first day of school. I had chucked a glob of it back into her face and the friendship had just stuck. Both Betsy and Marla glance at me slightly uncomfortably. I feel a twinge of annoyance about the fact that they don't even seem pleased to see me. "Is she with her family?" I ask in confusion, wheeling my head around to look for her. "She's not here," Marla says bluntly.
"Why?"
"Come on, you know why Ryla," Betsy says, without a trace of sympathy in her voice.
Of course I know why. Tallulah despises the Games. She absolutely hates death, and she always says that the victors are disgusting because they were prepared to play the Games, and kill others to ensure their own survival. But I hadn't considered that she would feel the same way about me when I returned. I had been avoiding thinking about my homecoming precisely for this reason.
"So, what?" I ask them dully, "She's not coming to the meal tonight either?"
They just shake their heads. From the glance they share with one another I highly doubt that I'll be seeing them there either. I shrug and mumble, "I should be getting back to my family."
Some homecoming, I think bitterly as I tug a dress down over my head in preparation for dinner at the mayor's house. It's a horrible green silky thing that makes me feel like I'm wearing nothing at all. I pull at the bottom, trying to make it longer than it actually is. Cleo always seems to have such a problem with the length of skirts. Maybe she runs out of material so is unable to make them long enough...
I hadn't said a single word to my parents as we walked back to the house. Partly because my mum had still been crying, and I still had no idea what I was supposed to say to her. But partly because I had still been fuming about Tal. I had spotted her family in amongst the crowd and her mum had thrown me what I think was supposed to be a sympathetic look. I'm beyond caring at this point; I only have to make it through a few more hours and then I can crash out and go to sleep. Tiredness is beginning to catch up with me again and I look ruefully in the mirror at the bags under my eyes. "RYLA!" I grin as Seth yells up the stairs to me.
"Coming!" I shout back just as loudly. I know I'm being lazy because I haven't bothered doing anything to my hair, and I just swept the tiniest bit of make-up across my face, but I'm eating with family and friends who have seen me looking my worst plenty of times before. Not least of all while I was in the arena.
I grin as I arrive downstairs and take in Seth's neatly combed hair and his furious scowl. I swoop down and pick him up, and he wriggles in my arms. "I don't like it," he tells me grumpily. I ignore him and just plant a kiss on his forehead, making him squirm even more. "Eew, gross," he tells me.
"Sorry Sethy," I say lightly and I set him down, taking his hand and dragging him out of the door following our parents.
I can't quite take in the fact that I'm really home, and my eyes flicker over my surroundings, taking in the vast maze of streets that wind through the District. At the moment we live right on the edge of the houses, as far away as it's possible to live from the central square. Of course, this will change once I am given a new house because then it will only be around a ten minute walk.
The dinner table at the Mayor's house is packed full of people. I am given the position of head of the table, while the Mayor sits opposite me, right down at the other end. I am surrounded by family, not just my parents and Seth, but also aunties, uncles and cousins. Spark, Chaff, Seeder, and Marko's mentor Jale sit near the middle of the table along with a gaggle of people. Some who I vaguely recognise from school or just from around the District, but none who I know very well at all. I guess after my friends had refused to come they had to fill the table with someone, or it would just have seemed tragic.
After a few minutes of small talk I choose to take myself out of the conversation, and instead amuse myself by examining the wallpaper. I decide that maybe if I sit there with a vacant expression on my face they will all leave me alone because I'm so tired and so I have no energy to reply to any questions they might have. Nor do I really want to answer their questions because I can imagine what they will be about. The Games; everyone's favourite topic of discussion with me. Even though I do try to block out their words I hear 'arena' and 'Kloe' mentioned several times. This just strengthens my decision to spend the whole meal in complete silence.
Silence is much easier.
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