Chapter Two
The next morning is all a blur. The mayor makes announcements to the district about the reaping and the entire population is forced to wear their nicest clothing. Noah doesn't emerge from his room all morning, and I start to get worried. But since he's Noah, my capable, brooding brother, I choose not to bother him. In silence I eat breakfast and scour my closet for something acceptable to wear. No matter how much I paw through the racks of clothing, my eyes rest on one dress. It is pure white and lies just above my knees. The material is soft and worn in but the bright white of it still shines like the sun. It is the last dress that my mother ever made, and it was radiant.
Carefully, I put it on, so as not to stretch the delicate fabric. But it doesn't matter. This dress will never rip. With restored confidence, I trot over to the cracked mirror in the corner of the room. My sallow skin from working in the factories so long seems bright and golden and my dull blonde hair even seems to have some shine in it. Smiling inwardly I murmur Thanks mom.
After a few hours of tidying up the house, it is time for the reaping to begin. I don't want to disturb Noah, but the consequences for missing the reaping are too large. Slowly I turn the doorknob. The room is dark and silent and there is a pile of clothes on the floor below the bed. He must have been picking something to wear. "Noah," I call, "It's time for the reaping." He doesn't answer me. I creep to the middle of the room and my bare foot falls on something cold and squishy. I jump back, looking to see what it is.
It is Noah, slumped lifelessly on the floor.
I stifle a gasp and try to control my breathing. But there is no breath to control. I'm in complete and utter shock. When I can get my muscles to move, I crouch down beside him, shaking him. "Noah, Noah, wake up!" He doesn't reply. And then I remember something mother taught me, to see if a dress was too tight for somebody at a fitting. You felt their pulse. Agonizingly slowly, my hand creeps up to his neck. It was cold and clammy and nothing moved. My brother, my only person that was there for me, was dead.
Before the tears can flow, I draw my eyes to the clock next to his bed. I am ten minutes late for the reaping. I wince and give Noah's lifeless body a quick hug before racing out the door. I tear down the streets until I realize I am still not wearing any shoes. Ignoring the obvious pain in my feet, I double over when I reach town square. There are children lined up before a stage, in what looks like age order. Finally I notice my friend Ella, standing between two boys from school. I've always been pretty tall, so it's hard for me to anonymously make my way through the crowd. I end up getting a few angry yells and some nasty comments. When I reach Ella I ask what I missed.
"Well," she says, "The mayor went off in this whole speech about how Panem has to compete in the Hunger Games because of the Dark Days, and just gave some rules and stuff. Where were you?"
I swallow. "Noah killed himself."
She stares at me with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry! Why'd he do it?"
"I think because of the Hunger Games. But Michael from school stopped by to ask if we wanted to run away from the district…I should have told him…" My voice cracks at the end of the sentence.
Before Ella can reply we are "shh"ed by a girl a year older than us. The mayor is picking the girl and the boy tribute.
Our representative from the capitol, Maxwell Kingsley, solemnly shoves his hand in the box where all the female names are kept. He moves his hand around and reaches out of the box with a slip of paper. "Noah Hastings," read out Maxwell. A few people turn to look at me. I turn away, red-faced. Nobody walks up to the stage. How could they? Their tribute is already dead. "Noah Hastings," repeats Maxwell again. Still nobody.
"Uh," I manage in a small voice, "Noah is…dead."
"What?" Asks the mayor through his microphone.
The boy next to me shouts out "Noah Hastings is dead!"
"Well," says the mayor, flustered, "I suppose we'll have to pick another name then…"
"No," I say, "Wait." Finally he can hear me. All heads turn to me. "Noah was my brother. I'll go to the Hunger Games."
The shock of what I just said hits as soon as the mayor asks for my name. "Lucille Hastings," I swallow. I just volunteered to be hurt and killed and leave my home forever. But then again, I have nobody to come back to, anyway.
"Very well, Lucille Hastings, please come to the stage." As if my legs were made of jelly, I glide to the stage. Suddenly my pretty dress seems to be made of rocks. I can barely stand. I turn away from everybody, closing my eyes as I stand for all my district to se.
Next Maxwell chooses the male tribute. He reads out the name "Alexander Hart." Slowly, I inch my eyes open. Strutting confidently to the stage is a broad shouldered seventeen year old boy with a mess of black hair falling in his eyes. He stands next to me, and I nearly cower under his powerful stance.
Maxwell addresses the crowd of muttering people and shrugs. In a monotonous voice, he says "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." And then he is gone and Alexander and I are left standing on the stage.