Reaping Day, District Twelve:
It is Matz's second year in the reaping, and my second-last. I cannot imagine the terror of next year, in the Quarter Quell, when I will be in the reaping, Matz will be in the reaping, and Kelton will be in the reaping. The thought of it paralyzes me.
My mother learned how to braid hair a long time ago, and although she's still not very good at it, I let her. She appreciates the distraction.
"Are you nervous?" I ask her.
"You'll be fine," she says instantly. "You'll be fine, Tara."
That's how Mother is. It's how she's always been. Her pain is irrelevant to yours, if she loves you. If she loves you, you are far more important. In that way, we are very alike.
"I know. I asked if you were nervous."
"No," she lies, finishing my braid. She takes a deep breath and studies the braid for a moment before saying, "No, it's not good, I have to fix—"
I let her pull the rubber band out of my hair. "Why don't I just wear it down?" I ask, taking the rubber band from her wrist. I smile a little. "I always look so skinny when my hair's up."
Mother swallows. She always is brave, but you can always see some of the fear slipping out. She is like this on every reaping day. "You'll be fine," she says again.
"I know I will." Brave, brave, Katniss Everdeen.
Father comes in, now. "Oh, Tara." He smiles, holds his arms up to hug me, and I willingly hug him back. "You look so grown up. Such a..." I know he wants to say "tribute" or "Career", and in District Twelve, they're synonymous with "corpse" or "murderer", so I'm about to think he's not going to finish his sentence when he says: "Such a woman. Such a grown up woman. I can hardly believe it."
I smile. "Thanks, Father."
"No matter what happens today," he says, looking into my eyes, "you... you are always my little girl."
I hug him again, and then give my mother a hug as well. She is not as open as Father is. She hugs me close to her, but she has no heartfelt words. You just feel her love. You don't need her to say it.
Matzo comes through the door, now. He's wearing a nice shirt with a tie and denim pants. He looks remarkably grown up as well, I notice. It's always so much more noticeable with the guys. Matzo is tall and stocky, now; Kelton is still skinny and short. "Ready?" he asks.
"Sure am." I ruffle his hair, and we make our way to the square, luckily not hounded by the cameras. We are given this moment of peace before the reaping.
While the rest of the District Twelve children are herded off into the square, Matz and I are taken aside to chat with the press.
"Any chance you two are going to volunteer today?"
I give them a well-practiced smile. "No, I think I'll just let the odds..." I cannot finish my sentence, for some reason.
Matz picks up where I left off. I see a small glimpse of confusion in his eyes, like—why did you stop, Tara? "We'll just let the odds be in our favor or not today. If we get reaped we'll be sure to make our family proud."
This is how we talk. Like Careers. At least, in front of the cameras.
Father interrupts after a few more questions. "Excuse us. We have to go get checked in."
The three of us walk in the direction of the line. I turn around to Father, who is watching me with a worried expression. "You'll be fine?" he asks, unlike Mother's reassuring "you'll be fine." I nod, and so does Matzo. "Good luck, you two. May the odds be ever in your favor." He says it dryly, like it's a joke, and the two of us smile. It relieves some of the tension. Very little, but it does.
Our escort, who replaced Effie Trinket of long ago, is wandering about the stage with the victors of District Twelve. He is chatting with Paolin, who is looking wonderfully clean and sober next to Haymitch. Ara and Halse are talking civilly with the Mayor Madge Undersee, who turns her attentions to my mother, when she comes up on stage. They have always been friends, as far as I know; Mayor Undersee is one of the few people Mother can do more than just tolerate.
I distract myself with them as I stand in the roped off section for seventeen year old girls. I will not know the results of the reaping until later, but throughout Panem, the reapings are beginning. I wonder how Rysnna is doing.
When I catch sight of a camera, I give them the obligatory smile. I have seen the videos of my mother, who refuses to let them win, to give them the satisfaction of her liking them. The way I've thought of it has always been similar with my father's mindset: just because we don't like them, doesn't mean they can't like us. Besides, that's how we get sponsors.
I stop myself. I have to remind myself that I haven't been reaped yet.
Petronius, our escort, and Mayor Undersee goes through the usual. They read the Treaty of Treason, read the list of past victors, only one of them being dead. I am still out of it, gripped with a very strange sort of fear. I have a very bad feeling about this year. I look at Matzo, who is relatively relaxed—as relaxed as you can be, during the reaping.
"We'll start with the boys first, to change things up," says Petronius cheerfully. He asks if there are any volunteers—and there are none, of course—before reaching into the reaping ball and pulling a name of out of it.
"Matzo Mellark!"
There is an instant recognition in my brain. No moment of shock. The grip of fear releases me, and an urgency takes its place: do something. I watch my brother as he stands tall and proud, walking up the stairs. He is in no danger of crying. He is a Career. Behind him, my parents look like they've been slapped in the face.
There is no applause, of course; that, at least, is a tradition in District Twelve since the year my mother was reaped. Only touching the three middle fingers of your left hand, and extending. I do the same, but I know what I am going to do.
When Petronius asks for any volunteers among the ladies, I raise my hand.
He doesn't need to ask for my name.
"Tara Mellark!" he says, ecstatic. "Can't let your brother have all the glory, eh?"
It sounds so much like something I've heard before... and dimly, I remember my mother's reaping day, and Primrose Everdeen. My mother was silenced when the same question had been directed at her. When I get on stage, I reply, "On the contrary, Petronius. I have every intention of bringing him home."
Petronius' smile fades a little. "Well, District Twelve, here are your tributes!"
It is right there, as I shake my little brother's hand, that I acknowledge that I am going to die. I have prepared myself for this moment. Through the birth of all three of my siblings, I have known that if there is ever a day when they are sentenced to death and a chance that I may prevent that sentence, I will take that chance. Matz looks at me, takes a deep breath and shakes his head very subtly.
I do not get a chance to say goodbye to my parents, since they will be going with me to the Capitol anyway. I say goodbye to all my friends, and yes, I cry. It is amazing because if Matzo were not in the Games, I know that I could survive. I am just as much a Career as all the others in those districts. I am capable. But because I am capable of winning, I am capable of saving Matz. This is the thing that drives me forward.
The rest of it is a blur. On the train, it is Matzo who speaks to me first.
"You shouldn't have done that, Tara," he says. "You know I can survive just as much as you can. You didn't need to give yourself up."
"I promised myself that if ever this happened I would do everything in my power to prevent you from doing anything but winning," I reply sharply. "I promised myself this a long time ago, before you were born, Matzo Mellark."
"I can take you in any form of combat!" he says tiredly. "This wasn't necessary."
"But there are going to be boys bigger than you in that arena. They will be capable of snapping your neck with their bare hands. I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen, and I don't care what you say," I say. "That is final."
My mother comes in just then, followed by my father. For a moment, I think she is going to break down. All she says is, "I don't know how I'm going to train my own children to kill each other."
"We know which one is going to go home, Mother!" I say. I can't help but be annoyed.
Mother doesn't say anything. Instead, she disappears into the next cabin, followed by Father. Matzo sits down, head in his hands. I look between him and the door that my parents just closed behind them. I sit in front of the door and listen.
I have never heard her cry. If she does—which I'm sure she does—she does it behind closed doors. I can imagine Father hanging onto her as she cries, him crying as well. This is probably what is happening, behind that door... a part of me almost feels guilty, but then, I imagine Matz's dead body, and the feeling disappears.
…
The remains of the day and the day after it are quiet. I don't speak much with my parents, who are still getting over the shock. I can't help but feel like they're a bit mad at me. Haymitch is my companion on the train. My stylist does not say much, but she takes after Cinna's design from all those years ago. We are not on fire, but we do glow, like the actual coal in the fire; I have stopped being impressed with it, as have most of Panem. We have seen it enough times. At least it's no longer just year after year of coal miner costumes.
Rysnna, thank goodness, was not drawn. At least in that area, the odds were somewhat in our favor. The only disappointing thing is that I won't be able to speak to her ever again. That is crushing. Nor with Finn or Felix... I suppose it is a good thing that the districts are so separate from each other. If you're reaped, you don't have to be disappointed of the no-final-last-words with your friends from the other districts. For me, though, it's painful. Child of victors though I may be, I don't get special treatment.
After the tribute parade—which is wholly uneventful—I linger in the lobby while the rest of my family goes upstairs to the penthouse, where we will be staying. My parents are very familiar with it. I get my mother's old room, in fact, and my brother gets my father's. It's all a bit weird and almost like a trip to a vacation house, but... not.
There are other tributes in the lobby as well. I don't remember any of their names. Oh, well; it'll probably make it easier for when they die, especially if I kill them. The pair from District Two fascinate me; they are best friends, and they both volunteered. I can't imagine volunteering with Felix or Finn, but I guess in District Two, their perspective is about as close to the Capitol's as it can get. The girl from District Four is a heavy one, with frighteningly large arms and a masculine look to her. She is not one I'd want to cross. There is nobody else I consider a contender, but none of these tributes probably consider Matz to be a contender, either. Nor me. I remind myself not to underestimate any of them.
After awhile, I make my way to the elevator. I am followed by the boy from District Two, who is grinning at me.
A bit thrown by his look, I turn away awkwardly. We both step into the elevator together. He presses the number two, and I press the number twelve. Thankfully, he won't be in the elevator for long.
"Miss Mellark," he says. "I'm Riegan Hawthorne."
Is it a custom for Careers to introduce themselves? I suppose he might be asking for an alliance... but this is not what he does, and either way, I don't want to ally myself with anyone. If there is anything more wrong than volunteering, it is forming alliances. It's like expecting to be hugged and then stabbed in the back instead.
Actually, it's not like that—it is that.
I don't say "it's nice to meet you", because that would be a lie. I look at him, raising my eyebrows contemptuously before turning away again.
"Have you seen the grounds outside? It's beautiful. I wonder why they don't let us wander," he says. "If they're setting us up for slaughter, you'd think they'd let us have a bit of fun, hm?"
This is not Career talk. Careers don't talk about how the Games are slaughter. They don't talk about how things are beautiful or about having fun. At least, this is not what I thought Careers say. I try not to look at him.
"Come, now, Miss Mellark," says the boy imploringly. I see him grinning out of the corner of his eye.
When I look at him, his eyes are twinkling mischievously. I feel a blush coming on. "Tara," I correct, with a heavy sigh. "You can call me Tara."
"Wonderful. You can call me Riegan," he says. He grins and holds out his hand to shake.
When I give him mine (albeit very hesitantly), he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of my hand softly. I yank it back, alarmed. He winks. The elevator dings as it arrives on his floor. "That's me," he says, still grinning. "I'll see you around."
I watch the elevator door close behind him, still thoroughly flustered.
When I arrive upstairs, my mother is sitting at the couch. She looks up at me, and there is a break in her miserable expression, transforming into some curiosity, when she sees my face. "Is something wrong, Tara?"
"I was just in the elevator with another tribute," I say slowly. "The boy from District Two? Riegan Hawthorne?"
My mom pales. I think it is because he is a Career and she's worried I'm hurt, so I add:
"He didn't hurt me. Actually, he... he was... flirting... with me."
Mother looks a bit confused. "What makes you say that?"
"He kissed my hand," I say, feeling as confused as she looks. "I guess he was just trying to... to psych me out."
She nods slowly. Dazedly, she murmurs, "Yes... psych you out."
I walk past her, musing about the strange boy from District Two. It's a shame, too, because he's kind of cute.