"...Santana Lopez"
No.
She must have heard wrong.
She strained her ears, rolling the name in her head and trying to conjure a different meaning from it, trying to hear something else, anything else.
There were over 5,000 names in that bowl and the words 'Santana Lopez' were only written on 20 of them. 20, she had thought, as the perfect number. Enough to get her family extra grain and oil on the tesserae, but not enough to make her at all likely to be chosen. She couldn't have been chosen.
To her left stood the the Zizes sisters and the eldest, Lauren, had her name on 65 slips of paper, a record in their district. It must have been her they picked.
Santana turned her head to stare down the line at the girl, half expecting her to be on her way to the front, only to find a thousand pairs of eyes staring directly back at her, unmoving, waiting for a reaction. The deafening silence of their gaze confirmed what her heart already knew and she felt her breathing quicken, the cold hand of panic sliding around her throat. This couldn't be right. This was her last year in the reaping, it wasn't supposed to happen like this, she was supposed to be free.
On the stage, Effie Trinket was leaning back into the microphone, the slip of paper still clutched between her fingers.
"Santana Lopez..where are you Santana?"
The crowd seemed to ripple towards her then, pushing her towards the stage before she had a chance to force her feet to move of their own accord. Grateful, relieved faces stared at her as their hands reached out, pressing firmly on any part of her body they could find, propelling her forward. It was sad for them to see someone they knew chosen, kind of, but at the same time they found themselves exhaling, thankful they had been spared for another year.
And Santana could handle herself their encouraging expressions seemed to say, she wasn't like the usual tribute picked from 12, she actually knew how to hunt, she probably had a better chance than most of them.
They eyed her as she made slow progress to the wooden steps, her mind working furiously behind the cold mask of shock on her face.
What was she going to do? Could she run? Of course not, they'd catch her in an instant. But what choice did she have? She couldn't win. She'd seen the games every year since she had been in school and she knew what happened to tributes like her from District 12. Untrained, inexperienced in battle, they were the first to be picked off, and usually brutally.
That's not what she wanted. There was no honour in that. Just a slow, painful death, played out for the world to watch.
"...Oh there she is! Our first tribute, Santana Lopez!"
When she finally reached to stage her feet stopped and she looked behind her, over the sea of teenagers and into the stalls of anxious parents. Her eyes searched frantically for a second before finally, on the left side, near the front she spotted them.
Her mother, tears glistening on her cheeks whilst she tried to hold both of Santana's brothers in her arms, 5 year old Tanto watching silently, still too young to fully grasp the situation, but 9 year old Santiago weeping uncontrollably, his face screwed up in anguish against his mother's neck.
A painful crushing sensation in her heart. How would they survive when she died?
She was the only one keeping them alive as it was, hunting illegally to make sure they had food, doing everything she could to make sure her brother's never had to sign themselves up for tesserae. Since their father had died before Tanto was born, she had taken his place, dropping out of school as soon as she was old enough, taking on all the responsibility.
It wasn't her mother's fault but she couldn't do that on her own, she'd fallen apart when her husband died. It had taken years for Santana to slowly piece her back together and now, with one slip of paper, all that good work would be undone.
Santana had to turn away, force herself up the steps and onto the stage before she broke down, her feet moving on autopilot as she took her place next to Effie Trinket who beamed down at her. Her face appeared on the screens around the square and looking out she saw herself staring back, mirrored 9 times, her frozen expression barely hinting at the terror gripping her body.
She could hardly believe she looked so calm, accepting even, her eyes blank as inside her mind was still racing.
Well at least she didn't look scared she thought with a wave of what almost felt like relief.
The other tributes would be looking out for that when they watched the recap later on their way to the Capitol and any weaknesses would be immediately noted, marking you out as an easy target. And even though she expected death, knew that it was probably the only way things would end, she didn't want to die first.
Not at the cornucopia, not at the bit she always hated most.
The bodies of the unprepared dropping so quickly, blood bathing the ground around the gold horn, just minutes into the game. So much death, ruthless and clumsy as killers were created, children killed. She couldn't let her brother's see that, she had to give them some hope. She had to find a way to survive, at least for a little while.
She turned as she was addressed by the painted woman from the Capitol, ignoring the screaming panic in her head and trying to keep her face hard and calm.
"Gosh, you're very pretty aren't you?"
She reached forward to grip Santana's upper arm with her manicured hand, pinching the skin accidentally as her nails dug into tender flesh,
"Oooh, and strong too"
Around the sides some people were actually cheering, seemingly happy that Santana would be their tribute.
She was well known in the Seam, had been trading whatever game she caught in the woods for supplies for years, so most traders recognised her instantly and they knew she was strong, a good hunter, she was fast. That made her the best pick their district had for years, 12 might actually have someone to root for for once.
Of course no one really expected her to win, and the people who knew how much her family would suffer when she didn't come back watched the stage sadly, but for everyone else it was sort of exciting to have somebody they could get behind.
They were used to the inevitable death of their tributes, it had happened annually for 68 years, but they were not used to someone like this, a strong, attractive 18 year old girl, someone who might actually bring a little bit of pride to their district.
Even in death.
Effie Trinket grinned around the square, pleased to finally get some kind of excitement out of the crowd after 11 years of lacklustre tributes, and gestured again to the silent, beautiful girl beside her.
"Santana Lopez everyone!"
She paused, letting the applause ring out for a few seconds before returning back to the glass balls, this time turning to the one on the left and slowly reaching her hand through the hole at the top.
"And now for our boy tribute!"
She swirled her hand dramatically again, determined to milk the ceremony for all it was worth now that there was finally some enthusiasm, and withdrew her arm with flourish.
She returned to the microphone, flashing Santana a sunny smile that was met with a blank stare and turned to face the audience once again, opening the paper slip carefully.
"...Noah Puckerman"
Santana heard the name through the filter of her own frantic thoughts but it meant nothing to her, and even though she heard a ripple of unhappy surprise run through the crowd, it wasn't until he appeared on the stage beside her, pale and shaking that she recognised his face.
His terrified face, covered in a sickly sheen of sweat and wearing an expression that left no one in any uncertain terms of how long he would last in the games. The face that Santana had seen more than once as she walked her brothers to school, watched him scrabbling in the gutter for food, desperate for something to take back to his sick father, barely eating himself which was obvious now from his protruding cheekbones and stick like arms.
He was around a foot shorter than her which was a lot, considering her own smaller than average height and as he staggered onto the stage, a memory fought through the cloud of her own panic and she suddenly found herself remembering something long forgotten, the scene playing like an old movie inside her mind.
...
The sun shone brightly outside and Santana turned to her mother as she opened the wooden door of their tiny home.
"I'll be back soon, ok?"
From her place by the empty hearth the woman looked up, her expression empty, and nodded silently so as not to disturb the sleeping infant in her arms. Tanto. The second of Santana's younger brothers, born just a month after her father had been killed in a mining accident last spring.
Another mouth to feed.
In the back room, 5 year old Santiago played quietly, thoughtful and much too serious for a child so young, without any of the joy Santana remembered having at that age.
The death of their father had been hard on all of them, but it was her brother's she pitied the most.
They would never have the memories she had, of long summer days spent learning to swim, learning to hunt, learning to love the gentle peace of the woods. Her father's rich, deep voice singing sweet, haunting songs as they sat side by side next to a campfire, the dying embers lighting up his kind, handsome face.
Santiago would barely remember him, Tanto not at all, and although the memories lived, dancing in her head, she would never find the words to describe them, she could never paint the stories that existed so vividly in her mind, only to die on her lips.
Stop thinking about it.
Just stop, she told herself, shaking her head to focus again and stepping outside, pulling the door quietly shut behind her.
She didn't have time to dwell on such things, especially not today, not with the reaping.
She wanted to concentrate on hunting, to collect enough food so that if by some horrible chance she was chosen, her family would at least have enough supplies to last the week.
In her heart she knew she would never be chosen, but the threat still hung over them, especially considering the amount of times her name had now multiplied inside the glass ball, the need for more food making the tesserae an unfortunate necessity.
As she reached the electric fence, separating District 12 from the vast woods that spread in all directions around them, she paused to listen, making sure the wire wasn't charged with electricity and then, satisfied by the silence, ducking expertly through to the other side.
After a few hours hunting, armed only with her bow and arrow, she managed to fill her burlap sack until it weighed heavily over her shoulder, a few squirrels, some fruit, a couple of birds, enough to keep her family alive for a short time at least. The hot sun stuck her shirt to her back, the early afternoon heat acting as a reminder that she must get home in good time today. She couldn't miss the reaping. It wasn't an option.
So when her bag was finally full she made her back through the woods, climbing carefully under the fence and heading down the long dirt track that led into the heart of the Seam. The streets were fairly empty, today traditionally being a day to spend as much time with your families as possible and Santana walked towards her house slowly, trying to enjoy the last few hours of calm before the tense panic of the square that she dreaded so much..
She turned her face towards the sun, eyes closed, enjoying the warm tingle of heat and let out a deep breath, the sigh temporarily smoothing out the faint frown she wore permanently across her forehead, when suddenly she felt the bag full of food ripped from her fingers and her eyes jolted open in surprise.
In front of her, a few feet away now, sprinted a small child, roughly 6 or 7 by his size, clutching the burlap sack tightly in both hands, kicking up a cloud of dust as he ran away.
It took Santana a few seconds to adjust to what had happened but as soon as her mind co ordinated with her body, she was after him, her reflexes surprisingly quick.
"Hey!"
The boy's head whipped around for a second, his face scared but determined, and he continued to run even though it was clear she was gaining on him fast.
"Stop!"
She was an arms reach away now, having only taken her a few seconds to catch up and she reached out a hand to yank him back roughly, his small frame tumbling to the ground as she tugged on his shoulder. As he fell, the sack was thrown spinning into the air, landing with a thud just a few metres away and his eyes flicked after it in desperation, barely noticing the blood trickling from a cut on his knee.
Santana watched, unsure of what to do now she'd caught him.
She vaguely recognised him as Johan Puckerman's son, one of the other miner's who had been hurt in the accident that killed her father.
She knew he had lost one of his legs in the explosion so he couldn't go back to work, could no longer provide for his family.
A memory of her parents talking in the kitchen a few winter's ago reminded her that the mother had died some years before that. So it was just Johan and the boy, struggling to survive together.
She stared at the kid in front of her, looking up with frightened eyes, probably expecting her to hurt him, or at least report the incident to a peacekeeper. She could see how thin he was, tatty clothes that were too big bunched around his little body, and the way he looked when the bag had flown from his grasp made it clear how hungry he was.
"I'm sorry..please..I.."
He was trembling so badly he could barely get the words out, his voice surprisingly high, reminding Santana again just how young he was. How this could be one of her brother's in a few years, if something were to happen to her.
"I was hungry..I haven't eaten for days...and I.."
He tailed off as she smiled pityingly down at him and reached a hand to help him up.
"You're a Puckerman aren't you?"
He took the offered hand hesitantly, unsure of why she wasn't dragging him to be whipped right away, suspicious of her gentle tone.
"..Yes...I'm Noah"
She nodded, walking a few steps away and bending to pick up the bag that sat in the dust at her feet before turning back to him.
"I'm Santana...Lopez"
The name didn't seem to hold any significance to him but he mirrored her nod, his gaze flicking nervously around, ready to run at the slightest chance.
"Is there no food at your house Noah?"
He swallowed, pausing before shaking his head, brown eyes darting to the sack in her hands, a grimace twisting his mouth as he thought of returning home empty handed, again.
Santana had been expecting that answer from him and she had already started opening the drawstring on the bag, riffling through it to take stock of how much food she could spare.
"Well...I can't give you much, most of this is for my little brothers, but you can take a squirrel..."
She pulled the animal out of the bag and held it out towards him, shaking it a little for him to take when he stood motionless, his face a picture of confusion.
"Here..you can take it, honest"
When he still didn't move, she sighed, stepping forward and picking up one of his hands, ignoring the way he flinched and placing the dead squirrel into his grasp.
"Just take it"
Satisfied that she had done at least a little to help him she started to walk away, re tying the string around the bag and slinging it over her arm. She slowed when she heard his voice behind her.
"..Thank you"
She turned, her long black hair swinging over her shoulder and smiled back at him.
"That's ok"
He turned the squirrel over in his hands, hardly believing it was his to keep. There was a pause before he spoke again.
"It's my birthday today" he said uncertainly, not really sure why he was telling her, his eyes squinting against the afternoon sun.
Santana faltered, the smile falling off her lips. It was his birthday.
On Reaping day.
What a hideous time to have a birthday. She wished she could give him the rest of the food in the sack, wished she could do something to give him a better day but she knew it wasn't an option, she didn't even know the child, she had to save the food for her family.
"How old are you?" she asked sadly,
He screwed up his nose, considering the answer before lifting the fingers on one hand and mouthing numbers wordlessly as he counted it out.
"...8?...I think"
8 years old.
4 years until the reaping. 4 years until his birthay no longer meant anything but a day of terror for him and his family.
Santana envied him that time.
Judging by his appearance now he might not even make it that long. Plenty of Seam people died in the winter, especially children; those who couldnt feed themselves in the summer were even more likely to starve in the colder months. Poor kid. She didn't know which was worse.
She reached back into her bag and grabbed the shiny green apple she had been saving specially, her favourite fruit.
With a graceful movement she threw it towards him, smiling as it slid neatly into his open hand.
"Happy Birthday Noah..."
She added the next words with a bitter smile, the confused tilt of his head making her heart clench painfully when she thought of what those words would soon come to mean for him, what they meant for everyone in every district, the whole of Panem.
"...And may the odds be ever in your favour"
...
It came flooding back to her as she saw him stumble onto the stage, a wave of pity temporarily washing away the fear she felt for herself as he stood trembling at the top of the stairs.
As Effie Trinket pulled him further forward, the crowd watched unhappily, the reaction always subdued when someone so young was chosen, yet no one stepped forward, no one cared enough to take his place.
Dragging him to centre stage, she reached across to grasp one of Santana's hands in her own, her ridiculous face a picture of happiness at such exciting tributes as she lifted both their arms into the air in a gesture of success.
"District 12..your tributes, Santana Lopez and Noah Puckerman!"
As the applause broke out, Santana let her gaze slide to the little boy next to her, his knees shaking so badly that it was a wonder he hadn't already collapsed. He didn't look much older than he had 4 years ago, still a little short, drastically underweight, dishevelled brown hair hanging messily around his angular face. He met her gaze but didn't seem to recognise her, the terror transforming his face into a mask of desperation.
12 years old. His first reaping.
With an almost overwhelming sense of how unfair this seemed, she realised that this was probably the only birthday present he had received this year.
The last present he would ever receive.
A present straight from the hands of those who didn't even know his name, didn't care how he had struggled, didn't care if he was old enough, if he was ready. A punishment for something he was too young to even understand, for something he had never been a part of.
Gift wrapped in the seal of the Capitol, it had come unexpectedly, against all the odds, delivered neatly on a slip of white paper into the hands of a woman who would probably never think twice about how just, or how right it was, to send a little boy into certain death.
Yes, for the first time in years, Noah Puckerman had recieved a present on his birthday.
A promise that his short life would soon would be snatched away, ripped apart in a few terrifying seconds whilst others were slain around him, torn without sympathy whilst he whimpered softly, begging for mercy that would never come, bled out in a cold, unfriendly arena far from home with no one to make it stop, no one to save him.
A promise that he would die.
And a promise that the world would be there to see it.
...
The review from fey95 is the sole reason I carried on writing this, so if you enjoy it, then you should really thank her. There are obviously a lot of similarities with the book, Santana is basically Katniss but I have changed a few things. It will deviate more once they are in the arena.
But anyway, I'm really enjoying writing it and hopefully it will give me inspiration for FHLAH which I know people are waiting for. It's coming soon, I promise.
In the meantime, I hope you like this.
Brittany will be introduced in the next next chapter.
All mistakes are mine, I'm sure there are lots.
Thanks for reading.