Chapter 4
"The Seam usually produces one type of people, Lynnetta," my father says as we watch the mandatory broadcasting of the 42nd Hunger Games. I'm 8 years old. It's the second day in the games, and the boy from District Twelve has already been killed. We only have one tribute left. My father directs his attention to me as he continues.
"The people from the Seam are the type of people who just get by. They are ill-mannered, course, and often do not care about anyone outside of their own family. They only try hard enough to survive, because that's all they can ever fathom doing. The Seam is a terrible, disgusting place, that no one should have to endure, but in reality, that cannot be helped."
"Not everyone from the Seam is like that, papa! What about Grandfather and Grandmother?"
"You're right, angel. The roughness and cruelness of the Seam can also produce another type of person. It's not very often, but if the person works hard enough, if they don't give up, they can rise from the ashes. Those few people are the fighters. Just like my parents fought."
"How did they fight? Papa, how did they do it?"
"They always thought out their choices. They followed the rules and worked hard, and so they were able to pick up double shifts in the mines. They were able to save up some money, and by being good on their word, they became respected in society. Their smarts gave them the idea to start up a new textile shop in town, and they waited to have a child until they could easily care for it. With every action they took, your grandparents made sure that I would not have to grow up in the Seam. They put the odds in their favor, Lynnetta. In our favor."
"Why doesn't everyone in the Seam do what they did? It doesn't sound hard, papa."
My gaze locks into his grey eyes as they search to find an answer that I will understand.
"Sweetie, it is hard. It's very, terribly hard. And that's why people in the Seam stay in the Seam. Working two jobs is difficult. Waiting to start a family with the one you love is also tough. Like I said before, the Seam usually produces only one type of people. The fighters are few and far between. For the most part, the Seam is a hopeless place."
A cannon fires on the black and white television set in front of us. The last tribute from our district, an older girl who came from the Seam, has just fallen.
"That's what happens to people from the Seam, Lynnetta. If they're not fighters, they die all too quickly."
"Mom, this is my friend, Lynnetta."
A thin woman with long, curly, dark hair stands facing us from behind a large wash bin, trying to scrub the black soot from a threadbare, grey shirt. Upon hearing Markas's introduction, she looks up, sets the clothing to the side, and embraces me with her wiry arms. Not sure how to react, my hands lightly touch the small of her back. Immediately, I wish I hadn't. The woman is so underweight that her bones protrude from her skin, and I can feel them through her dress. When she releases me from the hug, my hands clasp behind my back, afraid of what else they might experience in such a dismal place.
A musky, moldy smell fills my nostrils as I look around. Markas's home is more accurately described as a shack than a house - one room, no larger than my kitchen and living room at home. The furniture inside is crammed against the walls, and leaves little room for walking around. The room holds two beds, a fireplace with a pot for cooking, a small dresser, a set of rickety dining furniture, and the three-foot-high basin that Mrs. Fenly was washing clothing in. I assume the basin is used for taking baths as well, and I can only guess at where they relieve their bodily functions. Everything has a thick layer of coal dust on it, and it's hard to imagine Markas living in such awful conditions.
"Lynnetta, it's so wonderful to meet you. Welcome to our home. Please, sit. Reya will be back any moment."
Markas and I each take a seat; the grimy chair wobbles under my weight. The door swings open to reveal a small girl who looks to be around 12 years old, her head covered with dark curly hair like her mother's.
"Reya, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Lynnetta. She came all the way over here just to meet you and mom."
"Good to meet you, Lynnetta," Markas's sister addresses me cautiously.
Still in shock from the eye-opening place I find myself in, a nod in her direction is the only response I give. Her eyes narrow and stay focused on me as she walks around the room, perching herself on one of the beds. I'm glad Markas hadn't introduced me as his girlfriend, because his little sister is already clearly trying to burn a hole through my head with her stare. Thankfully, Mrs. Fenly breaks the awkward silence by striking up casual discussion with Markas.
"So, how was school today, dear?"
"Boring and uneventful as always, mom."
"What did you learn about?"
"Coal, mom. What did you expect?"
I sit uncomfortably in the dirty, wooden chair through the rest of the afternoon, listening to Markas and his mother, and not uttering a single word. That is, until I notice the position of the sun.
"I should probably leave soon, to get home in time for supper," I say.
"You could stay, if you like," Mrs. Fenly offers.
The thought of staying in the cramped shack for much longer makes me dizzy, but I don't want Markas to know how awful I feel inside.
"My mother would be upset if I didn't come home to eat. It's our family time."
Markas offers to walk me part of the way home, and I gladly accept. The exhausted coal miners are filling the streets of the Seam with black, on their ways home from work, and it feels like I can't get away from the scene fast enough. I use the setting sun as an excuse to half-walk, half-jog. After Markas leaves me and turns around to go back home, my stride breaks into a run. I let my feet fly beneath me, only slowing down a few blocks away from home to slow my heavy breathing. Gasping for air, I close my eyes and try to unsee the world in which Markas belongs.
All night and morning, thoughts of the Seam drift through my mind. My mother's words had not fully prepared me for the anguish that could be found there. The dirt and filth beyond what I could ever have imagined. The hungry faces of the people. And especially the fiery glare of Markas's sister. The look on her face was more than dislike, it was hatred. But why? Why was she filled with such disdain? As Markas and I walk towards the Victor's Village the next day, curiosity gets the best of me.
"Markas, tell me the truth. Does Reya hate me?"
"What?"
He stops and turns to look at me, placing his hands in mine.
"Lynn, why in Panem would you think my sister hates you? She only just met you yesterday!"
"Yeah, but did you see the way she glared at me the whole time I was there?"
It's obvious that he did see it, because he takes a while before answering, and when he does answer, his eyes won't meet mine.
"It's just that… Reya and I are particularly close. We sort of tell each other everything, so she kind of already knew about how I felt about you…"
"So you're saying she hated me before she met me?"
"No! No, that's not it at all. She was just expecting you to be someone... different."
"Different how? I hardly said a word! Like you said, she only just met me!"
"Yeah, but, Lynn… you're blonde."
His words shift me off balance.
"What? You've got to be kidding me! She doesn't like me because of my hair color? Isn't that a little over the top?"
"Lynn, what do you want me to say? You're parents are merchants, and your looks don't disguise it. And you're right, you were so shy around her that you hardly said a word. Reya just doesn't know you yet, and so yes, she's probably making assumptions about you. But the more time you spend with her, with us, the more she'll grow to like you. Just like I learned to like you when we were put in the same remedial history class. Trust me, just give it time."
"Fine," I huff. "But I still think this is a bit ridiculous."
"I won't disagree with you. So why not give Reya a chance to get to know you? Let's hang out with her in the meadow tomorrow."
The meadow is a patch of grass between the Seam and the electric fence that surrounds District 12 to keep wild animals out. To get to the meadow, I would have to walk through the Seam. I can tell Markas is beginning to sense my uneasiness, so I quickly skim my brain for a response.
"Uhm... the meadow, Markas? Won't someone see?"
"No one that matters would see. And Reya always enjoys a trip to the meadow. We could have a contest to see who can build the best snowperson."
"But, isn't it supposed to be really, really cold tomorrow? We could get sick."
"Don't worry, we play in the snow all the time. We'll be fine."
"What if my mother won't let me?"
"She always lets you out of the house to study. Just don't fail any tests next week. That would be a much bigger problem than just one day, though."
Finally, out of excuses, I agree to Markas's plan, the pitting feeling in my stomach growing stronger by the second.