Everything stops. No sound, no movement, no nothing. And then she's moving. Katniss is moving and then she's running and then she's screaming. "Prim! Prim!" my heart sinks into my chest. God, no please, please don't let this be happening. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" and my heart stops beating. No. No please no. Prim is in hysterics but I don't really hear any of it. The blood drains from my head and I feel like I might just fall through the earth. Everything is numb, my head is spinning and the only thought that I can make sense of is that no matter what happens, no matter what name Effie calls, I'll volunteer in the male tributes place.
Effie appears almost as shocked as Katniss does. There's a rule in all the districts; when one tribute is chosen, another male or female may take the place of the male or female tribute by volunteering. In districts 1 and 2 volunteering is commonplace, considering every child wants the glory of attempting to win the Games. They even have a name for the tributes in 1 and 2; they call them the Careers. They spend their lives training for the Games. In other districts, in 12 particularly, volunteering practically guarantees a death sentence. I can't breathe.
"Lovely!" Effie exclaims unsurely. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." and she just lets her voice trail off and stands there stupidly.
"What does it matter?" intones the mayor, sorrow coating his words. "What does it matter? Let her come forward." And so she tries to move up the steps, but now Prim is wrapping her tiny arms around her waist and shrieking her head off.
"No, Katniss! No, you can't go!" and I want to kill someone. I want so badly to ascend those stairs and strangle Effie, to attack the peacekeepers, I want so, so badly to end this. Hatred blinds me for a moment, hatred so red I didn't know I was capable of feeling this much. But all I can do is just stand here, just wait with my fists clenched, jaw set, eyes blazing. Tears spill over them but I don't care, not at all. I'll volunteer, I'll make them see the pain I'm feeling. Let them think I'm weak. I've never been this strong in my entire life.
"Prim let go. Let go!" and Katniss is shoving her sister away from her and I can see it's killing her. She doesn't cry. No, she wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. And here comes the boy that I sometimes see with Katniss near the markets, the tall boy with the big family; I think his name is Gale. And he's come to take Prim away, kicking and screaming and crying and he's a rock and doesn't feel it.
"Well bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" Effie clucks, eyes twinkling madly. "What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," she says, her voice strong, no ounce of emotion in it. It drives a stake through my heart.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Effie laughs and I want to be sick. "Come on everybody! Let's give a round of applause to our newest tribute!"
No one claps. There's no sound. Nothing. I need to do something, so I do the only thing I can think of. I raise my left arm and three fingers to my lips, and then hold it out to her. And one by one, every member of the crowd does the same. I've seen the gesture before, when I've attended funerals. In our district, it means saying goodbye to a loved one. But I'm not saying goodbye to her. It means respect. It means admiration. It means thanks. It means peace. It means the acknowledgement of something special, something living. It means everything she deserves.
Haymitch crashes through the silence and takes the microphone from Effie, then addresses Katniss, wrapping an arm around her. "Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lot's of...spunk!" And then he does something that makes me nauseous. He addresses the cameras. "More than you! More than you!" and I know he's trying to talk directly to Snow. And in his own quiet, drunken way he's rebelling and my palms are sweating. After all, our entire district just did the same thing, giving Katniss our thanks and goodbyes in our own way. When I rose my left arm it was to acknowledge Katniss's braveness, her humanity, yet that's not what Snow will see. He'll see something much more than that; he'll see a threat directed at him. And I almost regret doing it. Almost.
And then, almost as if realising what he's done, Haymitch plummets from the stage into a drunken heap on the ground. But I don't look at him, I look at Katniss, who for the first time since she volunteered lets her feelings enter her face. The anger twists in me again and I stop myself from charging up the stage that instant.
I barely see Effie's hand dive into the male tributes bowl before her sharp voice rings clear through the square a second time. "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose the boy tribute!" and I hold my breath and I clench my fists and I –
"Peeta Mellark."
Relief. Shock. That's all I feel as I push my way through the orderly rows of equally relieved children, because they're safe. A collective sigh reverberates, echoes among the families of the kids who weren't selected, almost too soft to be heard. It's gone as soon as it starts, almost as if everyone standing here watching me take the stage feels guilty. They know they shouldn't, it's not their fault, but if I weren't chosen one of their children would be in my place instead of me.
And then, as I'm making my way through the crowd, I take a second to marvel at how unlikely it was that both mine and Prims names were chosen. Katniss said it herself, Prim's name was only entered once; it's her first year and she's only 12. My name was only entered 5 times, the best odds I could ask for at my age. I can't help but wonder if maybe...was this planned? Are all the names handpicked before we even get to the Reaping by the gamemakers? But no, if they wanted to do that, the gamemakers surely would have picked a boy tribute in his last year for added effect.
Effie asks for volunteers as I'm making my way to the stage, but no one answers her. I didn't expect anyone to.
I walk slowly towards the wooden stairs and catch Katniss's eye, seeing in her something I didn't expect: recognition. Bewilderment. I've never really spoken to her before, but I know her. I remember it like I'm standing there now. I was 11, so was she, and she was walking home past our bakery in the rain and she stopped outside the bakery. She looked close to starving, the sodden clothes hanging loosely off her frame. She was looking through our trashcans when my mother left the house and started yelling at her as if she were an animal, and I just stood at the door behind her, simmering quietly as she walked away. I saw her go to sit beneath a tall tree near the pig sty, the hope, the light fading from her eyes. I knew what I had to do. I went straight to the bakery and I shoved two loaves of bread into the oven and waited. After a time my mother entered the bakery, probably roused by the smell of burning and when she saw the loaves blackening in the fire, she didn't hesitate before beating me with a rolling pin and yelling profanities at me.
"Feed it to the pigs, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burnt bread!" And she watched me as I tore off chunks into the trough meant for the pigs. The bell ringed inside and she left to attend to a customer, and I waited until I was sure she couldn't see me, and then I tossed a loaf towards Katniss, who had been watching me. I tossed her the other one and then left quickly. I watched from inside as she stared at the loaves incredulously, took the bread and left.
I climb purposefully, steadily up the wooden stairs, trying to catch her eyes again but now she's staring fixedly at the crowd, at her mother and her little sister. There's anger in her stare, as sure as there's anger in mine. No sadness, no mourning, no fear. Pure, scathing anger. I make a promise to myself, in this very moment, that I will do whatever it takes to bring her back. District 12 will have a victor this year. And it sure as hell won't be me.