I can't help but fidget with Katniss' hand-me-down clothes. The lousy fit is frustrating, even for a pretty blouse and skirt, very much unlike my normal clothes. Mom is helping Katniss braid her dark brown hair into a sleek bun. My sister just stares into the mirror, her features chiseled into a dark confidence.
The name, Katniss, comes from a water plant. I'm named after flowers, Primrose. She's always very serious. I don't remember when she stopped being a big sister and started becoming a grown-up. Her face has been toning into the smooth edges of a woman and her olive skin had lost the childish splotches of pink that blush in my own cheeks.
"You look beautiful," I whisper, hushed by her image.
"And nothing like myself," Katniss replies as she turns to hug me. Here and now my dread melts away in her arms. I know that everything will be ok, in the way that my sister's strength nourishes me. In four years, when I'm sixteen, I'll be beautiful too, though differently. I have my mother's fairer skin and blonde hair, except I have the same elegant face that our father gave Katniss too. Sometimes I think he gave me his laugh. Katniss doesn't laugh very much.
My sister unwraps her arms from me. That serene feeling wells up, lingering inside my belly. Something flashes through her eyes. She's worried about me, but it's gone in an instant, hidden behind her mask of will. "Tuck your tail in, little duck." She reaches past my shoulders and tugs on the oversized blouse that she once wore.
I can't resist being silly as I laugh, "Quack."
She chuckles back and replies "Quack yourself. Come on, let's eat." She kisses my hair and we walk out of the tiny bedroom into the only other room in the Everdeen home where the kitchen and dining table are crowded around a fireplace and a couch. Everything is crammed together in this tiny house. Cozy, my father used to say.
Mom already has the table set: a few chunks of mushy bread and some milk from my goat, Lady. Even though the milk is good, I don't manage to eat much of the bread. The reaping has kept me petrified in terror these past two weeks. Already the calming affect of my sister's confidence has waned. My dread for the unthinkable rushes back howling. I nearly spill a glass of milk. No one ever spills in District 12.
I didn't take out any tesserae this year. Katniss wouldn't let me. She had already used plenty of tesserae each year. So, there was only one little slip of paper with my name on it, in a globe full of thousands of little slips of paper with kid's names. I'm twelve and my name will be entered an additional time each year until I turn nineteen. Since Katniss took out tesserae each year, her name is entered more times in exchange for grain and other supplies.
The Hunger Games are just something you grow up with and District 12 is no different. Almost eighty years ago, the districts tried to overthrow the Capitol and in response, the Capitol devastated the rebellion, even wiping out District 13 entirely. The Capitol drew up the Treaty of Treason which set in stone the annual Hunger Games and the rules that dictate how they are to be run.
Every year, from each of the Districts, a boy and a girl between he ages of twelve and eighteen are selected at random, in the reaping, and sent to the Capitol. After a few days of training and hype over the whole event, the twenty-four kids are put into a massive outdoor arena where they have to fight to the death. The last child standing is returned home, made rich.
The Capitol thinks of victors as heroes. We just think of them as lucky survivors. Worst of all, the whole thing is broadcast as a sport, and we're required to pretend we enjoy it, are happy to participate in the reapings, even; like we see it as a chance for greatness.
Mom and I work in an apothecary shop. I have seen what it looks like up close when people are really hurt. Most of the people in District 12 live in the Seam, which is a slum, mostly of coal miners. They come to my mother when they are injured because they can't afford to pay the doctor who works on the business class.
In the stress of the moment, their wounds don't faze me because I have to stay alert to help wherever I can. Sometimes though, a nightmare will scare me and I have to crawl into Mom's bed. Katniss understands, at least she doesn't say anything about it. Maybe she would still want to be near Mom too if Mom hadn't been so bitten by despair after Dad died from an explosion in the mine, five years ago.
Katniss has been very independent since then. My sister became a hunter, remembering what Dad had taught her in the forests. She even tried to teach me once, but I didn't handle it really well. The fence is supposed to be electrified for a reason! People aren't supposed to go out because there are wild animals out there that can attack.
I really didn't like it when Katniss shot the animals too, and it was clear I could never do that. My sister doesn't care for animals except for the food they can provide. I had to beg her to keep her from drowning my cat, Buttercup and she didn't even have to worry about feeding him. Cats can feed themselves, mostly. I adore Katniss for her will and her strength; even though they sometimes overtake her heart.
She loves me and tolerates our mother. I manage to get more affection out of her than anyone, except maybe Gale. Gale is her hunting partner and whenever she's in the woods, he's probably there too. He's two years older than Katniss and doesn't have his dad anymore either, a victim of the same mine explosion, five years ago. I don't really know whether Gale and Katniss are affectionate. They seem comfortable with each other. If they have a deeper relationship, they keep it private, outside of the fence.
Lunch ends. I can't tell whether the lead weight in my stomach is anxiety or if it's because I didn't eat much. The walk to the wealthier business section of District 12 is short because our house is on the edge of the Seam. As we make our way through the maze of streets, I take in the decorated sights, trying to smother my concerns in the splendor of this fancied-up side of town.
Each shop front is decorated with all sorts of banners and bunting. Some of the freshly pruned trees that line the streets have ribbons tied to a few branches. Our destination is the town square, right out in front of the towering columns of the Justice Building. Several tables and chairs have been placed on a makeshift stage where lights blaze illuminating the scene for cameras which will transmit the whole event to the rest of Panem.
One of the tables glistens in the light. Two glass bowls full of tiny slivers of paper rest on the table spread; one globe for boys and one for girls. Somewhere in the mix, my name is scrawled, a single, tiny entry among thousands. My chest shivers with anxiety.
Katniss moves forward to where sixteen-year-olds stand. Mom gives me a little hug and whispers, "Be brave, sweetie. It'll be ok." She directs me to the back of roped off section, where the twelve-year-olds are huddled, like frightened lambs.
I know some of them from school, even see a few friends in the throng, but none of us talk. The whole square is timidly absent of voices. Here and there rise hushed whispers; the only other sound is that of arriving feet, rumbling through the pavement. It's all we reaping newcomers can do to remain standing. I tell my knees to calm down and quit shaking if only to ensure that I won't faint from terror. They don't listen.
Mayor Undersee takes the stage with Effie Trinket and the pair sits down. Effie is from the Capitol, their representative to help the selected tributes from District 12 arrive at all the proper events before the Games commence. Her hair is a pinkly freakish mop that has to be a wig. I sense a nervous laugh rising in my belly. Effie just looks so ridiculous, especially next to Mayor Undersee who is a tall man with almost no hair, like he grew right up through his scalp.
Two chimes ring out from a massive clock mounted inside a statue across the square. Immediately, the hush dies to silence as all eyes turn to stage. The Mayor steps to the podium and clears his throat. He starts in on a short history lesson of the fall of the old world, rife with disasters and cataclysms both natural and man-caused. He lists off event after event of the distant past. The same old stuff we get every year in Panem History.
Some of the other kids are dressed up in their nice clothes, of course some are lucky to have the stress-worn rags they are wearing. Some of the older ones almost look bored, not many though. Gale's tall frame at the front of the pack stands out. He doesn't look scared, more irate.
Mayor Undersee finishes and I realize my fingers are fidgeting again. I force my hands to my waist, smoothing the blouse until my palms and wrists fossilize rigidly at my sides. It's silly of me, to be suddenly preoccupied with my appearance. No one is paying attention to me, anyway.
Effie Trinket hops up to the podium and chitters, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" It's either Effie's Capitol accent or her eccentricity which always pushes her to heavily emphasize the word 'ever'. It occurs to me that, one way or another, at least one of us kids is going to die within a few weeks. There's no escaping that fact. How can that possibly be in anyone's favor? Effie is talking up the District and the Games so much; I can't help thinking that this dread in my stomach isn't only fear. It's disgust too.
Effie moves over to the clear globes, their polished glass surfaces luminous in the afternoon sun and television lights. Without any hesitation, her hand dives into the tangle of folded papers and draws one out, her eyes never leaving the camera, broad grin molded over her cheeks. In a second she's back at the microphone and unfolding the paper. I mean to take a breath and make a wish one more time but ever chipper, Effie eagerly reads out the name. "Primrose Everdeen!"
All the breath saps out from my lungs, suffocating me! I try to inhale but my chalky throat tightens, incapacitated. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears and I feel my knees begin to buckle. At the last second, I brace my composure and force air down into my chest. I've been selected. I'm supposed to go to the stage now, so the Capitol can see who was picked as the girl tribute from District 12.
Once I'm past the rope, my first few steps are shaky, though I manage to tighten the muscles in my legs, force them to take another off-balance step. One after another my jerky gait carries me past the other kids, almost to the stage now.
"Prim!" My sister's panicked voice cries out behind me. I whimper inside with each step, while I resist stopping. I have been selected. I'm going to the Hunger Games. I'm going to die… Red edges pierce at my vision and compress like I'm looking through tiny holes in the winter blanket back home. "Prim!" Katniss cries out again. I'm already at the steps.
Just as I'm picking up my leg to take the first stair, I'm grabbed from behind. Katniss shoves me behind her, yelling savagely, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" She squeezes my upper arm in her hand as she closes the other behind herself as if to hide me. The shock thickens the spots in my eyesight. I still can't believe I've been selected, but I've been volunteered for, now. That almost never happens in District 12. It hasn't happened since I can remember.
Effie Trinket replies, still maddeningly grinning. "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then… we..." At long last Effie is reduced to mumbling, questioning whether she recalls District 12's selection procedures. Mayor Undersee waves her off and asks Katniss to come onto the stage. My big sister lets go of me, starts up the stairs.
She can't leave! I can't lose her! "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" My tiny voice screeches as I grab her arm again.
"Prim, let go!" she growls back. I'm already hugging her around her waist, my screaming shrivels to tears. "Let go!" She untangles my arms from her front as strong hands pull me backward. I twist my balance, trying to break the solid grip, pain springing along my left elbow. I catch a glimpse of Gale trying to reel me in.
His strength easily wins out. Gale lifts me off the ground, deftly tucking my small frame against his chest, even though I'm still struggling and bawling. Gale tilts his head toward the stairs, "Up you go, Catnip." His voice quivers and in my melee, I don't know if it's because I'm flailing against his stomach or because he's as distraught as I am.
Gale turns and carries me back up the aisle. My face streaks with tears, blonde hair sticking to my whimpering cheeks. Katniss is taking my place in the reaping! I quit protesting while Gale sets me down beside my mother. Her own eyes glitter wetly. We hug and cry, begging this day is a dream, a nightmare making more miserable the day of the reaping, but the horror continues when I look up, through Mom's fingers dragging strands of my hair away from my eyes, Effie Trinket tells Katniss to introduce herself.
"Katniss Everdeen." Her eyebrows scrunch together, lips angled slightly with displeasure.
Effie continues, "I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round applause to our newest tribute!" She waves her hands excitedly. Suddenly, she's not merely eccentric. I loathe Effie Trinket!
How can she possibly celebrate this? My family, barely able to recover from my father's accidental death is now being torn apart! Effie Trinket thinks this is honorable? I nearly vomit the little milk and bits of bread of lunch an hour earlier.
Everyone must be thinking the same thing. No one in the square makes a sound, so appalled by this spectacle that annually afflicts us. Instead, everyone salutes Katniss with District 12's aged tradition of raising three fingers to the mouth and then offering them forward. My arms are wrapped around Mom's waist but I yank my right hand free to join in the sentiment which has always meant as a farewell to a dear person. No one is dearer to me than Katniss.
Haymitch Abernathy cuts off the soul of the moment, stumbling onto the stage in a drunken stupor, warbling something about Katniss, words all blended together. He turns toward the cameras ranting a few more slurred, half-shouted lines before stumbling off the edge of the stage.
My stomach squirms more than ever, reacting to Katniss' beautifully distressed form, calmly awaiting the Hunger Games. She crosses her arms behind her back and tilts her head up, looking over the crowd and even the buildings. Her eyebrows slide back a bit, fading the grimace nearly into a vague smile. She's beautiful again, glowing in the lights like I've never seen before.
Once some men cart away a passed-out Haymitch, Effie Trinket continues the events, her hands constantly touching the pink wig that's out of place on her head. She bursts out more statements, but I'm not listening anymore, keeping my focus on Katniss. My right hand wraps back around Mom's midriff and she squeezes my shoulder.
Then the boy tribute is walking onto stage and I recognize him too. It's the baker's youngest son who is the same age as Katniss. Peeta Mellark has pale blonde hair cut a few inches down his forehead and a fit, robust chest.
Effie puts out an offer for volunteers and as expected, no one accepts. The tributes for District 12 in this year's Hunger Games are selected and there's no turning back for either of them.
Mayor Undersee retakes the podium and begins reading the Treaty of Treason, word for word. I never paid that much attention to the Treaty in the past and now it seems really important that I should listen to what it says. Yet, even straining my ears to listen, I'm not catching any of the reading, at all. It's all jumbled up. My mind simply refuses to acknowledge what's being said. I can hear words but they're muddy and confused.
I can't think of anything except Katniss: the panic of her voice when she volunteered, scorn on her face when she announced her name, even faint recognition of Peeta as he approached the stage. I sell some of Lady's goat milk to the baker and I know that Katniss and Gale do some trading with him when they can. I've never seen either of them talking to Peeta before. Maybe she was just glad Gale wasn't selected. Only one person can leave the arena as a victor and I know Katniss and Gale could never harm each other.
I'm lost in thought and the warmth of my mother's presence when the mayor finishes reading the Treaty. Peeta and Katniss shake hands and face the crowd again while the national anthem of Panem rolls its disquieting notes over the speakers.
After the ceremony wraps up and the crowd is dispersing, several Peacekeepers whisk Peeta and Katniss off the stage and into the Justice Building. Mom, Gale, and I linger, working our way against the current of the crowd, toward the main entrance. Peacekeepers are milling about, discussing with each other the odds against this year's District 12's tributes. Haymitch is the only living Hunger Games victor from our coal mining district and there was only one other, before him.
At Gale's questioning, a Peacekeeper jerks a thumb toward the huge double doors. Gale shoulders one open and leads us inside a huge entryway lined with brass that could use serious polishing. The floor is a pattern of waxed tile and the walls look like granite. I've been in here before, I sense, even though I can't remember when or why. There's no sign of Katniss. Here and there other Peacekeepers and District officials huddle about speaking in hushed tones. Some syllables echo off the high stone ceiling.
Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter sees us and stands up from a bench she's sitting on. She walks over to us, white dress fluttering gracefully. She nearly whispers, "They'll let you see her in a minute." Looking over the room for a moment, she then leans close to me and Mom, "I'm really sorry." Madge is in the same class as Katniss at school and sometimes comes to our house in the Seam. She's very quiet and shy but also very nice. Her compassion is a kind gesture, although that's all it could ever be. The weight in my stomach settles more heavily as reality coagulates in my thoughts.
"Thank you, dear." Mom whispers back in quivering voice. She gives my shoulder another squeeze as we follow Madge into a hallway which intersects across the back of the lobby. Off to the right, I can see Mr. Mellark, the baker, and his family talking to Mayor Undersee. Madge leads us in the other direction.
Gale leans so he can speak privately to me. He's very tall. "How are you doing, kiddo?"
I almost say fine, right away, out of habit. He's asking for a real answer, not just the things we grow up saying, never really giving it much thought. "I... I'm scared, Gale. And sad." We come to a stop outside a door with two Peacekeeper guards. "Mostly sad."
Gale nods, "Me too." He pauses before adding. "Your sister is very brave." Genuine pain shows through his usually unreadable exterior.
Mom asks that we be permitted in. The guards deny her request and tell us to wait. She's about to protest when a voice calls out behind us. "Mrs. Everdeen?" It's the mayor, forehead shining under the hallway lights. He shakes all of our hands, even mine, before continuing. "I know this isn't what you would like to be doing with this time, but I wanted to catch you as soon as I could. It's a tradition in District 12 that the tribute's families have dinner with the mayor and I would be greatly honored if you would care to join my family tomorrow."
Mom hesitates at first before accepting. Mayor Undersee turns to Gale. "And Mr..."
"Hawthorne," Gale provides his name dryly.
"Yes, I'm sorry. Mr. Hawthorne, I understand you are very good friends with Katniss. You are more then welcome to attend, as well."
Gale shrugs in reply. "I might be busy, but we'll see."
The mayor nods, a smile bending across his jaws. He must be used to snide comments from Seam-dwellers because he isn't put off one bit. "Marvelous. Well, I do wish you good hope and the best of luck to Katniss." Undersee turns to the guards. "Let them go in, now." Then he wheels about and walks back up the hallway. Madge stares distantly after her father. I couldn't tell whether the mayor cares about Katniss or not. Maybe it would be hard to choose which stranger to like, the boy or girl tribute, knowing that only one will return, if one at all.
A Peacekeeper grips the brass door handle in a gloved hand. "You want to go in all at once?"
Madge shakes her head and Gale also steps back. "I want to go in, just myself, if it's alright with you."
Mom nods and the guards let her and me go into the room. Katniss is sitting on a crimson velvet couch brushing her fingers over the expensive, luxurious fabric. Before I can restrain myself, I climb into her lap and hug her neck. She holds me, the way I hold Buttercup. Mom hugs around the pair of us and I lay my head against Katniss' shoulder, wanting to never let her warmth leave my embrace.
Too soon Katniss starts listing things we have to do, since she won't be around. The idea of not having a sister is alien to me and her instructions seem like plans in case the worst happens, the sort of plans you make knowing it could never really be that bad. Except, it is...
It's all the stuff we already do. 'Prim, sell your milk and cheese.' and 'Mother, keep the apothecary shop going.' She says Gale will continue giving us some of the food he gathers and that we should give him some of the supplies we can get ourselves in return.
Then she turns to Mom, voice rising in tension. She scolds our mother that she can't shut down again. I don't like to think about it because I love how close I am to our mother, but Katniss is extremely wary of her.
After our father died, Mom was so distraught that she couldn't function at all and Katniss, at only eleven, a year younger than I am now, had to start foraging for berries and fruit in the woods. Dad had taught her to make bows and traps when he used to take her outside of the fence and if it weren't for Katniss, we would have starved to death for sure. Eventually Mom recovered from her grief, but Katniss hasn't trusted her since and remained the primary provider for us.
She's yelling at mom now, "You can't clock out and leave Prim on her own. There's no me to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!"
Mom stands up off the couch, angry that Katniss still doesn't trust her, "I was ill. I could have treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."
"Then take it! And take care of her!" Katniss snaps back.
I lean back in my sister's lap to look her in the eyes. I want to show her that things will be ok so she doesn't have to worry about us so she can focus on surviving the Games. "I'll be all right, Katniss." My hands cup against her beautifully tanned cheeks, working up my sincerest tone. "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave! Maybe you can win!"
It's not that I believe she can win. I haven't even seen what other tributes she will face. I know she's already good at surviving outdoors. The truth is I have to believe it. I can tell Katniss that I'll be alright even with her gone, but deep down I know that's not true. A fresher, sharper sort of terror is stewing inside, dwarfing the anxiety I felt before the reaping. I don't want Katniss to go at all. If she has to go, then I insist, she has to come back.
"Maybe," she replies, trying to calm her frustration. "Then we'd be as rich as Haymitch."
"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home." My voice breaks with the pleading. "You will try, won't you? Really, really try?"
Katniss brushes a light strand of hair behind my ear and gazes into my eyes. "Really, really try. I swear it."
The door creaks open and the Peacekeeper is waving for us to leave the room. Katniss squeezes one last hug into me before I stand back up. "I love you both." She calls as we're leaving.
My voice refuses to cooperate and when I say it back, my words are choked with more tears. Too soon, Mom and I are back in the hallway, door closed, awaiting the next visitor. Gale and Madge are no longer there. Mom and I don't know what to do so we stand around, wishing, hoping the Hunger Games will be cancelled this year. They have never been delayed for a day. What else is there?
Then Peeta Mellark's father quietly heads into the room. Maybe he and Katniss and Gale know each other better than I realized. I'll ask Gale about it sometime. He comes back out in a few minutes and nods to me. I wave my hand back, feeling hypnotically detached from the gesture. The baker and I are on good terms. He's like an uncle to me, sort of, although his wife I can do without. He buys cheese and milk as much as the rest of my sales combined. The bakery makes good use out of it.
Madge Undersee walks back up the hallway, coming from deeper inside the Justice Building. She shakes her head for a moment as if to clear it and then glances quizzically between the door and us. Mom says, "Go on in, Madge. It's your turn."
She's only in the room for a minute, maybe two. Gale paces down the hallway toward us. "Where did you go?" I ask.
"Just had to take a walk." He stares at the door as Madge exits and walks past us. "I guess this is my time, then." Gale sighs and brushes his hands over his button down shirt, nervously. I've never seen him this animated before. He takes a deep breath and sighs again, stepping up to the door.
After he's been inside for a few minutes when Mom turns to me, "You ok, sweetie?"
I look at the marble floor dejectedly. Mom knows I'm not ok and she's not ok either. She's asking if we should stay longer, whether it matters to be in this foreign building. I shake my head, no. If we stay, will they let us go with the tributes in the car to the train station? I doubt it.
The Peacekeepers go into the room to retrieve Gale, who wants to stay for a few more minutes. Soon they're pulling him out as he struggles to tell Katniss something. "You know I won't! Katniss, remember I-" The Peacekeepers slam the door shut. "love you!" They shove Gale away from the door. Furious, he is a hair's breadth away from attacking these armed guards. Gale's smarter than that and thinks better of that rash option.
The three of us walk down the hallway slowly and soon finding ourselves back out in the empty square, under the intense afternoon sun. The stage is already halfway disassembled, split into pieces that won't be brought out again till next year's Hunger Games, where I'll have another chance to be selected and will have no sister to volunteer for me.