Surprise

No one spoke for the better part of two minutes. I turned bright red at Seneca's words. It was true. I talked it over with Seneca amongst our outings to which he convinced me pursuing Games school would prove beneficial. However, I had not planned to tell anyone, let alone my family.

"Oh? Well, that is news to us," commented father.

Alfie shot me a look of confusion with undertones of disgust. I knew from watching the Games with him that he was not a fan. Mother too looked uncomfortable. Father gave no hint of pleasure or shame.

"I was planning on telling you," I shot a nasty look at Seneca, "Seneca and I have discussed attending together."

"You know Games school is quite expensive," began father finally meeting my eyes, "How do you expect us to pay for all this?"

"If I may," interjected Seneca, "I would be willing to put in a good word for her. With my influence, I am sure that the tuition would lower significantly."

Father seemed to register Seneca's words with an air of awe. Now, he paid eager attention to everything my boyfriend had to say. Mother and Alfie shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mother seemed to be discussing her qualms in her head, and ultimately, her pride wore out.

"That is fantastic, Effie," she said, "I am sure you will become a fantastic stylist."

"Oh, I am not going to be a stylist," I commented, "I am interested in becoming an escort. Seneca says they make more money and receive more credit."

"An escort? What business do you have in becoming an escort?" chuckled father.

"I have always enjoyed the Games. I wish to pursue a more active role," I explained, "Of course; I would work side by side with the mentors. They are previous victors, you know."

"Of course, I know," snapped father, "So you would have an insight on the inner workings of the Games."

"I suppose," I said, "Seneca would know more. He is going to be a Gamemaker, after all."

Father finally seemed to register the weight of our words. He made the connection between Seneca and Gamemaker. Together, they equaled wealth, fame, and fortune. He took a better look at Seneca, forcing himself to seem pleased.

"You said that you would use influence to lower the price?" he asked Seneca.

"That is correct. I love your daughter and I am interested in seeing her succeed," Seneca answered.

His grip on my leg seemed to tighten. For a moment, I was so impressed with Seneca's qualities that I considered leaning across the table to kiss him. Mother would not be pleased with this though, after all manners mattered. At this point both mother and father were impressed with Seneca. Only Alfie seemed displeased with my idea of furthering my education with a focus on the Hunger Games. After a moment, he excused himself from the table.

Pointless political banter spewed out of both father and Seneca's lips, drowning me in slogans and jargon. I gave no interest in this part of their conversation, choosing instead to focus on the contour of Seneca's body as he spoke. I also thought about my decision to attend Games school. I would need to be accepted first, a small problem when your boyfriend was the most popular student at the school. Secondly, I thought about how great it would be to attend class with Seneca. Of course, he would be in different classes. However, we would be able to see each other between classes. The whole situation was ideal. Father brought me out of my reverie.

"Well Seneca, it seems you have quite a stable head on your shoulders. I am pleased that you are my daughter's partner. I invite you to view the Reaping with us tomorrow evening."

"Thank you very much sir," Seneca bowed, "I would like that."

Dinner concluded with a firm handshake between the men. I escorted Seneca over to our front door. He embraced me in a courteous fashion. I felt disappointed, wanting more from him but knowing with my parents in eyesight by hopes were dashed.

"Goodnight," he ushered and departed.

"Night," I whispered to nothing.

My parents relayed their pleasure with Seneca for a few moments, and then dismissed me to my room. I climbed the steps, but avoided my bedroom. Instead, I traveled the hallway to Alfie's room. I knocked on his door twice. Nothing. I knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Growing worried, I pushed open the door.

"What?" spat Alfie.

He sat on his bed, his stereo playing music. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, then walked in and shut the door.

"I just want-…" I began.

"What, Effie?" he raised his voice, "Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" I shot back, "Why did you leave?"

"Why do you care?" he turned over.

"This is not twenty questions," I started, "I think it was very rude of you just to leave. Why mother almost suffered a heart attack at your lack of manners."

I tried to make him laugh. It did not work.

"Effie, this is not funny. Please leave."

Instead of leaving, I sat down on his bed. I tried to reach out to him, but he shied away.

"What's wrong with you?" I whispered.

"You!" he shouted spinning around, "I do not want you to go to Games school."

"Why not?" I asked defensively.

"Oh, come on. You know how I feel about the Games. I do not understand how you people can find such pleasure in watching children die. And you? You want to be a part of it. You want to escort children, stealing them from their homes and families, and bring them to their death. A death, mind you, that your perfect boyfriend is creating for them. You make me sick."

You people. Stealing. Sick. His words hit me like a bullet. I felt as though I had suffered a physical assault. Words could not express my horror. Horror at Alfie for condemning me. Horror at myself for my decisions. I tried without success to speak. Three times, I opened my mouth to no avail. Finally, I left the room.

Walking to my room, a myriad of feelings attacked me. Anger. Disappointment. Shame. I felt sick. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Shock. Now that was a good one. Shocked by the course of the evening. I went to bed that night shocked.

The next morning, I did not speak to Alfie. We made indirect eye contact throughout breakfast. Mother decorated the house with Hunger Games paraphernalia, conversing with her Capitol friends on the phone. Excited tones escaped her. Father strutted about the house, enthusing Alfie and me about the ceremony.

"Where is Seneca?" he asked excitedly.

"He should be here shortly," I answered.

I wondered how he had felt about last night. He seemed anxious to leave the more I thought about it. I thought about him more and more as the day progressed.

"And you?" father asked Alfie, "Is your girlfriend coming over for the Games?"

"No. You did not invite her," answered Alfie bitterly, "And I will not be participating in the viewing either."

"What?" spat father, "What do you mean 'not participating'?"

"I mean that I am leaving," he stood up, "Have a great Reaping. May the odds be ever in your favor."

With that, he promptly left the house. Mother and I shared an anxious glance. Father seemed distressed, debating whether to pursue him. He decided against it, and borrowed the phone when mother was done. I sat in silence, guilt rising in my chest. Finally, I decided that I would walk over to Seneca's and spend some time with him before the Reaping. We could both use some stress-free activity.

I searched the City Circle for Alfie. After a few moments, I gave up and headed toward Seneca's home. I decided that I would surprise him. Surprises are the greatest gift. I laughed as I imagined his reaction to seeing me. As I neared his house, I noticed a car in the driveway.

Seneca did not own a car. He definitely did not own this particular vehicle, a pink hovercraft on wheels. Seneca would never own such a feminine car. Feminine. Female. But, it did not make sense. Why would Seneca have a girl's car in his driveway? I stopped in my tracks. He has a girl over.

Anxiety hit. Followed by panic. Denial. Anger. Curiosity. Depression. What to do. What to do. I stood still, confused. His window! I could see his large parlor window. And there he was! And there she was! And they were embracing! What? Who? How?

I did the only thing that seemed to make sense. I went up to his door and threw it open. I dashed into the parlor and saw the sight in full.

"Seneca!"