The Exam
Two hours later, Portia and I sat in her room, different books about hijacking spread out in front of us. She quickly scanned passages for anything about memory loss. I sat watching her, my hands pressed to my temples, trying desperately to remember any trivial detail. Her frantic fingers flipping through the pages set me on edge.
"Portia, just stop it," I snapped, "This situation is hopeless. The whole procedure is experimental, you know that as well as I."
"Well, we have to do something," she responded cautiously.
I made an annoyed noise and turned away from her. I did not want to mention how desperate I was for her to find something, anything that mentioned a cure. Failure was more than a simple disappointment in my case.
"Aha!" she cheered moments later, "Let me try this. Come face me."
Slowly, I turned toward her. She slid off her bed and sat across me on the floor, her legs crossed in typical Portia fashion. Her eyes scanned the book with rapid intensity.
"How old are you?" she began.
"I don't know!" I practically shouted at her.
"Think," she pleaded, looking up from the book.
"I was six during the second Quarter Quell. That is all I know," I responded.
"We're gearing up for the Seventy-First game. You are somewhere between twenty-five or twenty-six. That is perfectly normal," Portia explained.
Twenty-five or twenty-six? How long have I been gone for? I missed my early twenties. I missed the end of my teenage years. It's no wonder that Seneca looks at me as if he has seen a ghost. But, how can I work off multiple years of being under?
"Say something," Portia laughed.
"What?" I answered, coming out of my reverie.
"I said do you want me to throw you birthday parties for every year you've missed," she giggled.
"This is no laughing matter," I cautioned.
"Fine, I am sorry. Let's keep going, I think we are getting somewhere," she chided.
"Don't you need to be studying for your exam? It is tomorrow after all," I reminded her.
"This is more important," Portia answered, consulting the book again.
We talked for over an hour about trivial details that I could not recall. Eventually, I became so dismayed and apologized before leaving. I spent the rest of the night going over my notes for the Hunger Games exam. Again, failure was not acceptable. I ended up falling asleep nose deep in a textbook from the library.
The next day, I awoke so stiff that it took me five minutes just to get out of bed. A look at my clock told me that I was going to be late if I did not get a move on. I threw on a simple outfit, combining studious and sexy. Twenty minutes later, I took my seat, ready for the exam.
Seneca Crane entered the room, his hands placed delicately behind his back. I looked up once, saw him, and proceeded to stare at my desk for the rest of the morning. Seneca glided along the long rows of students at their desks. His simple steps echoed in the studious silence.
"Good morning, future Hunger Games workers. We are here to begin your examination. Your scores will directly reflect your placement for the rest of your time here. They will also dictate what program you pursue and how quickly your internship will begin. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."
A boy in front of me passed back a packet. I gave one to the girl behind me, and tried to find Portia in the room. Seneca Crane sat at the front, his eyes trained on the clock. Portia sat near the right-hand side of the room, sharpening a pencil. I opened the packet and removed the test.
The first page asked some questions about Hunger Games history. The second recalled protocol on Reapings. The third asked me to list positions in the franchise. I slowly etched in my answers, feeling confident due to my studying. I was almost through the whole thing, but then the essay section loomed into view.
Why are you interested in becoming a part of the Hunger Games?
I stopped scribbling in answers. My brain, the hijacked, convoluted, foreign thing that it was, shut down. I looked at each word individually, letting the black font enter my bloodstream and fill me up. My breathing slowed the initial reaction fading. I realized that I had begun to chew on my pencil.
Why are you interested in becoming a part of the Hunger Games?
Slowly, at a snail's pace, I began to write.
I am interested in becoming a part of the Games.
But, that was not good enough. I scratched that out, because the eraser was missing from the pencil.
I am interested in becoming a part of the Games.
"Five more minutes," the proctor yelled over the intercom.
Panic struck in. This was the last question of the examination, the only one that ever really mattered. I needed to answer this in order to become someone. I could not afford to fail. I thought for a moment, and then let the words flow.
The Hunger Games is the single most important event we have today. Why? Simply because it reminds of us struggle and sacrifice. We, in the Capitol, have become befouled and sinned by ourselves. The Hunger Games reminds Capitol citizens that they must be wary, or else we can expect to find ourselves living in our own arena. The districts that so difficultly offer up their tributes cannot expect us to seem strong, unless we prove our strength. As an addition to the Hunger Games franchise, I will display the strength needed to convince the districts to stay subservient under our eye. A spark-so to speak-is not necessarily a bad thing. However, that spark must be controlled. I will control it, and thus bring our glorious Capitol into a higher state of living. A state that raises Panem in the eyes of our opposition and causes us to become a force to be reckoned with. Power is our greatest asset.
"Time's up," the proctor announced.
I stared blankly at the words in my response box. They looked foreign, as if I had not written them. I felt nervous. The response was so coy-so unbelievably treasonous. If I had a sensible bone in my body, I would erase the whole thing now. Erase it, Effie. Do it!
The boy in front of me reached around and grabbed the packet off my desk before I could say anything. I felt physical pain strike me as the girl behind threw her packet my way.
"Come on, pass this up!" she hissed angrily.
I obeyed, giving the packet to the impatient boy. Everyone got up to leave as the packets were passed forward. I remained in my seat until everyone had exited the room. Then, I got up to leave, the ghost of a smile played across my lips.