Okay, chapter 3, here we go! I know these have gone up really rapid-fire, but as a reader I would prefer it this way. I always hate when I read a chapter and then there isn't a more! I mean, there's the excitement of more probably coming, but still...anyway, I've probably only got one more chapter worth of pre-written material. After this the updates will get much slower, so hopefully these will give people something to munch on in the mean time.
Officially edited! Huzzah. You know-not much. Again, just some basics, and a reference to Tobi's family again. In case you're wondering by now, there's a reason her parents haven't really been touched upon; their story is one to be told in another story, entirely. However, if you're really dying to know, just shoot me a line about it!
Anyway, here ya go. Enjoy!
I dig my feet into the sand, let it slip into my sandals and between my toes as we walk toward the Sandbar. Grandma leads the way, dressed in her customary teal, toga-style dress and sandals, shoulders square. Brook practically prances after her, and I shuffle in the rear until we reach the long line leading up off the beach and onto the long, brick-paved portion of the dock the rises out of the district like a sandbar—hence the name. A temporary stage has been raised on the far end, with a great screen stretched behind it, and the Sandbar is ringed with little tables where all the kids between 12 and 18 have to check in. Every time we do this I feel like a marlin...or a minnow. Just swimming right along with the school, straight toward a waiting shark...
"I'll meet you two at the docks afterward," Grandma says placing a hand on each of our shoulders and squeezing. For an instant, I watch a glimmer of hesitation pass across Brook's face, then his confident smile is back. He turns, bends and places a kiss on Grandma's cheek.
"Bye Grandma," he murmurs. Her old face seems to deflate, and we share a desperate glance before she sighs and strides away to join the adults. I wait until she's out of earshot before turning to stare up at Brook as we join the line to the little check-in tables.
"…Are you gonna volunteer?" I ask, bluntly. He doesn't look at me, merely nods.
"Yeah." I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. "I'm almost fifteen, Tobi. I've been training to do this for two and a half years. I'm ready." I sigh softly; it wouldn't do any good to challenge him. He's clearly made up his mind... I reach delicately into one of the pockets in the skirt of my dress, wrap my fingers around the little figurine I've kept there, and follow Brook forward to the table. They prick our fingers, dab the blood on little sample cards, and shuffle us up onto the Sandbar, where we're organized in groups based on age. Thankfully, I'm able to stand right next to Brook; he's in the boys, 14 category, right next to the girls, 15. We manage to each maneuver to the edges of our groups, and I note nervously that he's staring rather gleefully toward the stage.
The crowd falls into an electrified hush as our district's eccentric escort, Blye Cobalt, wobbles onto the stage. I quirk an eyebrow at her ridiculous appearance, hear a muffled snicker from Brook. The woman is dressed in an extremely puffed out, saffron silk dress, with the sleeves trailing over her hands and the skirt twisted around her knees. Her hair—or is it a wig?—seems to spiral up off her head and has been dyed a vibrant orange with black spirals through it. Her face, typical of the capitol, is unnaturally white, eyes lined with the same deep orange as her hair and eyelashes spiking out from her face like thorns. Her lips are the same shade as her dress and they sparkle unnervingly when she speaks.
"Welcome, everyone!" her voice blasts through the mic. She offers a wide grin, orange mouth stretching oddly across her face. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I feel the crowd settle in to its usual apathy as Blye begins her speech—the same one she gives every year without fail. She cheerfully introduces the film that plays every year, and we all watch with a careful numbness as we are told via voiceover how inevitable our eternal subjugation is, thanks to the implementation of these heroic games.
When it finally ends, my stomach churns. I can almost feel the eager energy rising off of Brook in waves, and I grit my teeth. Maybe I'm imagining it—maybe he'll come to his senses.
"Wasn't that just wonderful?" Blye asks into the mic. "It should make each of you proud to be safeguarding our future! We depend on you," she says far too sweetly before getting down to business. "Now, the time has come to select two courageous young people for the honor of representing district 4 in this year's—the 74th annual hunger games!" her excitement is meant with a nervous shuffle, and a rather thick silence. My eyes are glued to Brook's face. "Shall we start with the gentlemen?" I'm only slightly surprised—usually she says "ladies first!" Oh well…let's get it over with!
Her hand hovers over a large bowl on her left for a moment before it swoops down, snatches a slip of paper and draws it out. She unrolls it, reads a name. "Oscar Tigerfish!" The screen flips over to the petrified face of a young 13 year old boy. My heart sinks—he's scrawny, with a head of coppery curls and a smattering of freckles over his tanned skin. His green eyes are wide, and he moves like a zombie. All of it makes what I'm about to do harder—after all, Brook would stand a better chance than this kid in the games. I harden my heart. Not enough of a better chance.
The world moves in slow motion for an instant as Brook's hand drifts up, his mouth opening. Before he can make any sound, I pinch his arm hard enough that he yelps. He casts me a glare, but I yank him into a stoop as smoothly as I am able, pull him around in front of me and clamp my hand over his mouth. Some of the kids around throw us odd stares, but no more. For a moment, Brook is too startled to struggle. By the time he starts, it's too late; Blye has moved on to the girls, and Brook has lost his chance until both tributes have been picked. I release him, and he straightens instantly, stares toward the stage with a sort of disbelief. Finally he turns to me, a glare on his face.
"What are you doing?" he hisses.
"Saving your life." I offer him the most sincere expression I can, trying to convey to him why I stopped him—what it would do to me, to Grandma, if he volunteered. I watch his frown loosen into a sort of understanding. Hopefully he sees the determination in my face. If he tries this stupidity again, I will stop him.
And then faceless hands are suddenly grabbing me, pushing me toward the stage. What? I lock eyes with Brook; his face is ashen. I am pushed out into the aisle, where I stand, frozen. Across the way, I watch Mag push her way through the crowd of 17 year olds, nearly falling into the aisle herself. There are tears on her cheeks, her fists are knotted into the fabric of her salmon dress. I meet her gaze, and the last few minutes rush back into my mind, perfectly, horribly recorded by my subconscious.
"Kuria Silverside." Blye's voice still echoes, however silently, through the Sandbar, my name on her lips. Kuria Silverside…by full name. No one calls me Kuria—not even Grandma. The last person to call me that was Mom…what a sickening comparison.
"Kuria Silverside?" Blye's voice comes again, prompting me out of my frozen state. I turn slowly, face the stage, and begin walking; one foot after another.
"Tobi!" I hear Mag scream behind me.
"Tobi!" Brook's voice is a bellow, the scream of an orca. An empty smirk dawns on my face. I saved him…I kept him volunteering, and now I'm climbing these steps in his place. The world is full of ironies…but things are better this way. I just hope Grandma can keep him from volunteering next year, because I won't be there. I won't be there…I trip, the lip of my sandals catching one of the stairs. I land on my knees, hands on the stage. No land legs. I giggle once, have to fight hard not to begin cackling with the hysteria that bubbles in the back of my throat.
"Oh my!" Blye greets when I finally reach her, expression caught between amusement and contempt. "Are you alright, dear?" I nod, stare out over the crowd. Captain Morrigan; Hiram; Catfish Joe; Clam; Flannery; Mag; Brook; Grandma. I find each of their faces, latch on, one at a time. They are all wearing the exact same expression. "Well, let's hope you don't pull any of that in the arena!" she chuckles. I turn to her slowly, almost astounded by the tasteless joke. Almost, but not quite. She's from the Capitol, after all—to them, this is a grand festival. A holiday. Fun.
"Well, miss Silverside," she pats me on the shoulder. "Congratulations on being selected for this year's hunger games!" Her words are met by silence, but she continues on, unaffected, as I face Oscar, shake his hand. It's clammy…but mine probably is, too. "Now, we have both our tributes: Oscar Tigerfish, and Kuria Silverside. Happy Hunger Games!"
In a blur, we are escorted to the Lighthouse. It stands in the center of the district, right behind the Sandbar. It's sort of the center of official business…really just a building in the district taken over by people from the capitol. Oscar and I are walked up the stairs to the top floor. There are two rooms, opposite one another with a light on the middle. The Lighthouse is one of the oldest buildings in the district—still standing from the days before the districts, before the capitol. I wonder if the light still works.
I pace for a while before coming to rest with my hands against the windowsill. I'm staring out at the ocean, lost in thought, when I hear the door open. Brook stands in the doorway, my Grandma right behind him. In a flash of motion, he's across the room, sweeping me into the tightest bear hug I've ever experienced. I wonder fleetingly if my ribs will crack before he sets me down. When, at last, my feet touch the ground, he holds me at arm's length, bends down to stare into my face.
"Tobi," he begins, all seriousness, his bitterness over volunteering apparently gone. "How many years have you worked on the King Fisher?" he asks. I frown—my mind isn't keeping up. Where is he going with this?
"Two and a half." I answer quietly. He nods—he knew that.
"Listen, Tobi—that's hard labor out there. You know how to handle fishhooks, nets, knots…you know how to handle a boat, and I've seen you gut a fish faster than Clam." I smile—it's a high compliment. Clam's dexterity is legendary—how else could he carve like he does? He's long been known as the fastest with a knife.
"That stuff's all great for the King Fisher," I say softly, smile watery. "But these are the games, Brook. These are other people…Careers, people who know how to kill. Like you," I punch him lightly in the shoulder. "I don't stand a chance…"
"But you do!" He shakes me a bit by the shoulders. "You do, silverfish. Trust me—you're better at this stuff than you think. Just…promise you won't give up." I nod slowly. I don't know where his groundless confidence comes from, but I can't deny it. For once, I'm glad he's acting like the older one. Suddenly an old, withered hand pats Brook's shoulder, and Grandmas voice floats out from behind him.
"Alright, step aside boy," she commands. Brook kisses me once on the forehead before stepping back so that Grandma can reach me. For a moment, she simply stares at me. Then she steps forward, pulls me into a hug. It's not crushing like Brook's, but soft a warm. I bury my face in her shoulder, tears at last breaking through the numbness.
"Grandma…I love you," I mumble. A pang of regret nearly chokes me as I remember how few times I have ever said that. To either of them. I'm not very vocal about my feelings—I show I care in other ways, generally speaking. But suddenly I wish I could reverse time, go back and say it every day. "I love you."
"I know." Her voice is as soft as mine, but infinitely stronger. I remember in passing that she's outlived both of her children and their husbands, even my other cousins...She pushes me back like Brook did, steers me to a rather luxurious couch in the far corner. "Tobiou," she says, conjuring again that full nickname. "Kuria Silverside…do you know why we named you that? The family name…we're the fastest of dartfish, Tobi. So fast we have streaks of silver over our scales. And Kuria…Tobiou…you're our mysterious clearwinged flying fish." She leans forward, whispering into my face. "You're faster than the rest...you can take off." I shake my head.
"Running fast isn't the same as flying, grandma…"
"Ssshhh!" she lightly taps my cheek. "You're wings are clear, Tobi. They're invisible," she says. "But when you need them, they'll let you soar." I nod, pull the little figurine out of my pocket. My hand has been clenched around it this entire time. I hold it out, and grandma takes it delicately, smiling.
"Clam made it," I explain. She holds it up to the light from the window and to my surprise, light actually filters through the delicate wings. I knew they were thin, but not that thin! Suddenly I'm impressed they haven't broken.
"It's perfect for you." Brook says. And then the peacekeepers storm in, and in a flurry of final goodbyes, Brook and Grandma are gone.
Perhaps five minutes later, the door bursts open again. Mag rushes in, followed by Hiram and the captain. Mag sobs, the captain remains sorrowfully silent. Hiram offers a pep talk much like the one Brook gave me, and the remainder of our three minutes is spent with the captain recounting the story of my first day aboard. He says he thought I must have been born on a boat.
"You always did have your sea legs," Hiram says at last, holds the end of my white-blond braid between his fingers and bows comically. "Just find your land legs before you hit the arena, fish bait."
Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our tributes! On to the capitol! The fare for taking the bullet train is one review per passenger...stay tuned for more depressing changes in Tobi's life...and one that turns out better than she thought. (but that won't happen for a while...) And again, if you have any questions, suggestions, critiques or you just want to say how much you love me (right?) just drop in a review.