Chapter 6

In District Twelve, we have a special gesture to show respect to those we love. It is most used to honor the dead. If you extend only the three middle fingers of your left hand, press them to your lips, and then hold them out towards the sky, then you've just done it. Mr. Lawson died three days ago of consumption, the day that I went with Markas to visit him. Before I left, Markas kept bringing out bloody rags from the bedroom. Mr. Lawson wasn't just coughing. He was coughing up blood. I'm not sure how Markas's stomach could handle it. I threw up twice on the way home that night from simply thinking about it. Mrs. Lawson said her husband had been sick for over a month, and the healer said there was nothing we could do. The only medicine strong enough is in the Capitol, and the Lawson's would never have been able to afford it.

Sitting in my room, tracing the grain of the gray planks in my floor, I feel awful that I did not go to the funeral today. But if I had went, my parents would have wanted to know exactly how I knew who Mr. Lawson was. Instead, I pay my respects by pressing my fingers to my lips and extending them towards my window, sending them to where Mrs. Lawson, Markas, his mother, and Reya, are all mourning the loss of a man I never actually met.

Most of the day passes by lazily. It's a Saturday, so there is no school. Panlee is back to being healthy, I guess, because my father did not ask for me to help in the shop this morning. Last night was the big celebration for Haymitch in the Capitol, so tonight will be a feast in District Twelve. Since my family does not own a food shop, we are not expected to provide anything for the Victory Banquet that will be held at the mayor's house. But, because my father is friends with Mayor Overton, I will have to dress up and listen to long boring speeches and small talk all night, while the rest of District Twelve actually has fun celebrating together in the town square. Some people from the Capitol will be at the banquet, so my mother insists I must look my best.

My best dress is light blue, with ten blue buttons down the back. It falls to my knees, and the sleeves barely cover my shoulders. As I dress myself, all I can think about is how cold it will be, walking over to the Overton's without winter attire.

"Lynnetta, get yourself moving, or we will be late. Slip on your shoes, no, not those, the white ones. And don't you dare get those dirty on the way there, young lady! Here is your jacket. Put it on. Come on, out the door..."

Sometimes I think my mother's pestering will be the death of me.

Mayor Overton's house is two-stories high with white plank siding all the way around. Besides the homes in the Victor's Village, it's easily the most luxurious dwelling in the District. My parents and I arrive just a few minutes before seven. We squeeze in through the front door frame and out of the cold, to be immediately met by the mayor, a large, jolly, bald man, who then pulls my father and I into a cramped hug.

"Flaxbourne! Good to see you made it. Good, good. And brought the girls, I see. Always a lovely sight, those two. Everyone is gathering in the parlor, come on, this way."

The parlor is a green-colored room directly to our left, filled with 2 sofas, 4 chairs, and a small table that barely reaches my knee. People are crowded into the room, most holding glasses of alcohol, in various colors and amounts. Many merchant families have already arrived, along with Haymitch and his crazy crew from the Capitol. One of the female adults I don't recognize has hair as green as spring grass, and her ears end in a point at the top. Another has spots tattooed all over her back, which is showcased by a violet dress that really looks more like a long skirt sewn to the front half of a shirt and fastened around her neck to keep it from falling off. I wonder who told those two that they looked presentable enough to go out in public like that. People in the Capitol are crazy.

The cocktail hour in the parlor goes on for another 20 minutes before anyone else arrives. But in a flurry, everyone who prefers to be 'fashionably late' shows up at the same time, coming in one after another. The door hardly closes at all, with body after body moving inside. Pretty soon the entire parlor room is so full that its almost impossible to move without bumping into everyone around you. My parents left me at some point, they are now deeply engaged in conversation to some of the other shop owners on the other side of the room. I'm stuck in a corner with nothing to do and no one to talk to. The nearest people to me are the butcher and his wife, and they're happily engaged in a mushy flirt session. It kind of makes me want to get sick all over them. I'm not so sure how well that would go over in such a tight area.

I suddenly remember that some others from my school are likely to be here with their families as well, so my eyes begin to scope the room. Iris Undersee, a pretty girl in the year above me, and her older brother are among the crowd, but I've never really spoken to either of them. Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure who I'm looking for, since I've never really spoken to much of anyone besides Genever and Markas since the day I turned twelve. I guess you could say I'm kind of a loner. But still, I would love to find just one person to casually converse with for the next few hours, to both relieve my boredom and save my sanity.

No one else catches my attention until after Mayor Overton calls everyone to the buffet set up in the dining room. Tables have been placed in the sitting room as well, since there are so many of us at the banquet. We file into the dining room and load our plates up with an extravagant meal that no one in District Twelve would ever be able to afford: leafy salad, roasted pheasant, rolls with cheese baked on top, garlicky mashed potatoes, and some sort of bean I have never seen before. They must have been brought in from another district. As I slide into a chair in the sitting room, licking my lips and admiring the plump bird on my plate, I hear a familiar voice say my name.

"Lynnetta?"

I look up to see a boy with ashy blonde hair.

"We thought that was you. How are you liking the party?"

It's Calen Mellark.

AN: As always, reviews are happily welcome! And thank you to my followers for Pride so far: A Kitten With A Pen, SmoochiePooh, Kittens in the Closet, earthling44, and foxgirl98. I love my readers! :)