Reaping Balls

The next few days passed slowly. I attained my class schedule and fell into a normal routine. Every morning, I would wake up before the sun had fully risen over the mountains that separated the Capitol from District 2. I would indulge myself with a nutritious breakfast, being sure to get all the essentials. I would devote at least an hour to my hair, make-up, and outfit. After all, appearance was dire.

My morning routine was met with positivity from my neighbors. Often, they would bring me news from the Capitol by means of a local paper. The windows were preset to open at sunlight, cascading my room with eternal beauty. My furniture would glow with a touch from the natural light. I left the penthouse in all its glory to attend my classes. Portia usually met me outside in the veranda. We would discuss classes and then split for the time, her classes being on a different side then mine.

I had four classes: Escorting Etiquette 101, Reaping the Benefits, Managing your Mentors, and Sponsors-What Good are They. Escorting Etiquette, more simply known as 101, met every day for an hour. The professor, a rather proper old woman, expected us to be professional and attend regularly. I walked in there the first day expecting a crowd. However, much to my discovery-and later pleasure-there were only eleven other students in my classes. The eleven other interns and myself would attend classes together, apart from the twelve escorts accepted into the program, or the group of students not accepted into either programs.

Reaping the Benefits dealt with everything we were to expect come time for the Reaping. We were to discuss protocol, the chance of volunteers, and the special circumstances that came along with the Reaping. Managing your Mentors was a class to become familiar with the past victors. We would discover their strengths, discuss ways to gain sponsorship, and how to individually train tributes. Our final class, Sponsors-What Good are They, was by far my least favorite. Even though it lasted only thirty minutes, we had it every day. We discussed ways to get sponsors and were required to model presentations with hopes to gain a mock sponsorship.

"Isn't this fantastic?" Portia found me one day during our lunch hour.

I was sitting in the tribute lunchroom, the very room the tributes ate in once they were picked for the Hunger Games. Portia regularly joined me, usually with a couple of her stylist intern friends in tow.

"More like sadistic," I replied in between bites, "I have a presentation due for Sponsors next week. Can you believe that? We have only been in class for a week."

"Time flies," Portia agreed, "The Hunger Games start in two months. I have barely had time to pick out my outfit for the pre-Games dance."

Right. The stupid annual pre-Games dance. Every year, one month before the Hunger Games, students at Games school attend a dance of sorts. Hundreds of people from the Capitol try to sneak in to view it. The budget alone is outrageous.

"I forgot all about the dance," I told Portia, "I have had a lot on my mind."

"Your brother?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. I had told Portia about my progress. Ever since that note though, I had been at a bit of a stalemate. I did not want to pursue anything that could get anyone close to me hurt. Again. Instead, I decided to wait longer, hoping the threats would subside. I told no one about the threats, as I still did not know their source.

"Do you have class this afternoon?" Portia changed the subject.

"I have Reaping in about one hour. Then, I am totally free," I told her.

"Lucky you. I have Styling 101 and Weave it or Leave it," Portia recited.

I laughed at her misfortune and then apologized. I knew classes were a bit of a drag for her. Her class size was nowhere as gracious as mine was. There were two Stylists for every district, so that made twenty-four in the master classes, twenty-four in the intern level classes, and an indescribable number in general classes. I could only imagine the amount in the Gamemaker track or the Prep Team track. I silently thanked myself for choosing the Escort track.

"Anyway, I have got to get going. Madame Trefoil or something wants us to get measured for faux costumes," Portia stood up.

"Bye, dear," I hugged her across the table and she left. I noticed a pair of olive eyes on me. They belonged to that boy I had met outside Seneca's office, Orion. I nodded to him in greeting, and he said something to his friend. He stood up from his table and approached mine.

"This seat taken?" he pointed to where Portia had just stood.

"Not at all," I gestured, "Please, have a seat."

He grinned, rubbed his hands, and sat down. I looked him over tiredly, expecting him to just sit there. Instead, he began to talk excitedly.

"Aren't classes great? I am in the Gamemaker track myself. I have to go through physical training. Can you believe that? What track are you in?" he threw at me.

"Umm," I was startled by his upfront attitude, "I am in the Escort track. I do not need physical training, thank goodness. How are you finding the program?"

"They are alright. I might fail out of one, Inside the Games, or something. You know, Seneca Crane teaches that one himself. I hear he is awfully tough," Orion sighed.

"I do not doubt it. He is a pretty tough guy himself," I laughed.

"Oh yeah? Do you know that for a fact?" Orion teased.

I decided to change the subject, "So what is your class size?"

"You don't want to know something like that," he laughed, "I hear yours is small. My roommate is an Escort. He wants to go to Four or something. Do you have a preference?"

"I never really thought about it," I answered.

We talked for a while, mostly stories about Upper School and our backgrounds. Whenever I had a hard time recalling a memory, I made something up. He seemed pretty interested in everything that I had to say, so I doubted he could tell truths from lies. Or perhaps, he simply did not want to. Either way, we talked for the better part of an hour.

At the end of the hour, I apologized and headed off for classes. Today, I had Reaping for the first time. I had heard reviews about it from other students in my track. One girl told a group of my fellow students that the class was near impossible to pass. Another boy chastised her and told her to stop trying to scare us.

I walked in and took a seat near a window. The view was pretty ordinary, the large gardens looming into sight. A couple walked passed, holding hands and strolling merrily. The room filled up slowly, a dull buzzing turning into a mild roar. Finally, the teacher appeared, and who else but Seneca Crane came strutting in.

"Good morning Escort interns," he nodded his head at each of us, "I am going to take a quick roll call to ensure you are all accounted for. Much like the actual Reaping."

When he got to my name, I muttered 'here' barely loud enough to reach the front of the room.

"I did not quite catch that," Seneca responded.

My face grew red, and my mind sent a mixture of infuriated and embarrassed sparks down my body. I repeated my name louder, and Seneca nodded.

"Now class, I am here to instruct you on the process of the Reaping. All the duties you will be expected to perform and a few circumstances that may arise during your time on the podium. Let's begin, shall we?" he instructed.

The boy in front of me took feverish notes. He jotted almost illegible descriptions of everything Seneca said. Seneca discussed the tessera process and the punishments to those who did not show at the Reaping. When he came to discuss the name drawing, he paused.

"I have here two actual Reaping balls," he showed them to the room, "I have filled one with the names of each of you. We will have a mock Reaping, so I may use that 'tribute' as an example."

I looked at him curiously, a bit frightened by the chance of having to go near him in front of everyone. He dipped his hand into the Reaping ball and pulled out a slip of paper. He looked it over quickly and smiled to himself.

"Effie Trinket," he called out, "Will you do me the honor of joining me?"

Oh no! Why me? The odds are not in my favor. I stood up to join him at the front of the room. The female Escorts in the room shot me looks of jealousy. I walked carefully over to him, my heels clicking on the tile.

"Miss Trinket here is sporting an appropriate Reaping outfit. She looks elegant, yet classy," Seneca told the class.

The girls rolled their eyes. A few boys looked me over more carefully.

"Come here," he instructed me, "I want you to help me demonstrate the process."

I neared him, his scent driving me absolutely mad. That flirtatious, inappropriate creature that had leered out at his office had replaced my embarrassment.

"First, we will demonstrate the proper way to draw the names. This must be done with the upmost caution. This is the initial viewing that the Capitol citizens will have of anything related to the Hunger Games. A real Escort uses their talent to build the suspense. One does not simply reach into the ball and grab the first slip they see," he instructed, "Come around to the ball, Effie."

I stood in front of him, the glass Reaping ball waiting. There were more slips of paper, taped neatly and precisely. I felt Seneca behind me, moving closer. He reached around to my front, gently taking my hand in his. I let out a noticeable gasp. A boy in the first row laughed.

"A firm, steady grip is all it takes. You angle your wrist at a ninety degree angle," he forced my wrist into a new position, "And then, you come at the slips, not overlooking a single one."

He tried to force my wrist down, but my hand refused to lower. Seneca breathed in my ear gently, pushing a bit harder. Still, I did not grant him access.

"Come on, Effie," he urged silently, "Touch my ball."

My eyes slammed open and my wrist was forced into the Reaping ball, knocking its contents over onto the ground. I stepped back, Seneca released my hand, and I moved my hands to my mouth. Everyone in the class laughed, Seneca included.

"I think that is enough for today," he chuckled, "Next week, we will discuss the dynamics of the districts."

The other Escorts made way to leave as I returned to the back of the room. I heard a few girls complimenting Seneca on his lesson. One girl giggled absurdly during his acceptance of their praise. I was halfway down the steps and out the door when he urged me back in. We were the only two left in the room.

"Interesting lesson, don't you think?" he asked, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Umm, quite," I responded, shifting my feet uncomfortably.

"Effie, I don't understand this," he lowered his voice and came closer, "One day, you are practically begging for me, the next I receive the cold shoulder. Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, Seneca. I just…we are in public. You just tried to seduce me in public. Do you have any idea of what you may have just done?" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I am sorry if I have ruined your spotless reputation," he snapped.

"Oh, have some class," I rebuked, "You are an administrator. Do you really want to be seen cavorting with a student?"

"Please. You are older than every single one of these interns. The only reason that I didn't accept you into the master's class was because you are out of touch," he moved closer and whispered again, "Besides, I think they enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what? Your idea of mild sexual perversion? How mature," I responded heatedly.

"Sexual perversion? Effie, we have not even kissed yet. At least….." he began.

"What are you saying?" I slapped his arm.

He caught my arm in that delicate vice grip. I felt my knees go weak and that primitive animal take over. He pulled me closer and in an instant, our lips were on each other. My hands sought out every piece of skin on his face, holding him to the spot. He reached around me with his other hand and held me to him.

"You never left me," he whispered in my ear, "I knew you were always here. Always mine."

I closed my eyes as our lips met again. His strong jaw line, his confident grasp, his taste-I missed it all. I needed it so much. We kissed once more, and then he broke away.

"What was all that about being unprofessional?" he chastised me.

"Seneca," I began.

"No matter, I have to go teach a masters course. My office, tomorrow evening?" he winked at me.

"I….I don't know," I started.

Everything was happening too fast.

"Just say yes, alright? I have to go now," he gathered his suitcase and kissed me on the cheek, "Oh, check out that Reaping ball. I think you are in need of some practice."

He left without another word. I felt infuriation, desire, embarrassment, everything flow through me. I crossed over to the Reaping ball, eager to find what he was on about. Everything seemed relatively normal. I examined the contents carefully, going over the dish with our names in it. One caught my eye, a half opened slip with my name on it. I picked it up, looking it over.

He must have drawn this slip. I put it back and grabbed another. Opening it carefully, I received a shock. This slip, too, had my name on it. I went through every slip in the dish, finding my name on every one. I was always going to be his volunteer. He had purposely picked me. He had planned the whole thing out. Now the only question was, what else did he have planned?