Chapter Two: The Reaping
A/N: I didn't really have much to do yesterday because I'm still on spring break, so I figured I might as well work on Chapter Two. I ended up finishing it, so here it is! Feedback is much appreciated!
When I crack my eyes open on the morning of the Reaping, there's a bird sitting on my window ledge.
"Why hello there," I yawn. Its feathers are sleek and jet black. I know it couldn't have heard me through the glass, yet somehow it turns its head and meets my gaze. For a moment we stare at each other, neither one of us moving or breaking eye contact. Then with a flap of those dark wings it disappears, flying away into the early morning.
"Talking to yourself again?"
I roll my eyes at the mocking tone in his voice. Sure, I think, because I'm the crazy one.
"Just get it together before the Reaping, would you? Wouldn't want anyone thinking the new apprentice has lost her mind."
I refuse to take the bait, staring resolutely at the wall until Dash gets bored and leaves the room. Arguing pointlessly with my older brother always puts me in a horrible mood, and I figure avoiding that at all costs is vital, today more than ever. The Reaping is already going to make me a nervous mess.
Don't think about that. Remember how fun yesterday was?
Yesterday was the happiest I've been in a while. To celebrate the good news we received the day before, my parents surprised me with a piece of red berry cake for breakfast.
"Oh, Mom!" I exclaimed, "You shouldn't have gotten me anything special!" I meant it: red berry cake is not cheap, and my parents must have spent more than was sensible on the sugary treat.
"Oh, we couldn't help it," my father chuckled, winking at me, "You're a special girl!"
I shared my breakfast with Coyle, who pronounced it delicious with crumbs all over his little face.
"Coyle!" My mother scolded, "Food should be eaten, not worn. Look at how messy your shirt is!"
My little brother simply shrugged unapologetically, annoying her further by brushing the little red bits onto the floor.
"Honestly! Widget, could you do me a favor and clean him up? If only I could remember where I put the broom..."
"Sure, Mom," I replied, whisking the little boy away to wash up. As I wiped his crumby face, he looked up at me and grinned. "Widget, I want cake every day!"
I snorted at this, causing me to accidentally get water in his eye. "Sorry, sorry!" I apologized, still laughing to myself.
After breakfast was over I got to spend the whole afternoon with Grace. Grace is my best friend. She was in all of my classes up until our tenth year at PATT, but after that was assigned to study biotech. Even though I went on to do programming, we still managed to find time to see each other.
Grace never goes home on the weekends. She's a rarity among the kids at Technical Training: both of her parents are factory workers. She doesn't like going back home, so she spends all of her free time in the MSA. I don't know much else about her family, except that she has a little sister, Brin, who also works in the outskirts.
Brin chased down Grace outside of the PATT once to ask for something, but I haven't seen the young girl since. Grace wasn't too happy to see her sister, and I suspect there were some strong words exchanged after I bade them farewell.
Sometimes I pity Grace. She isn't very close with her family, and I can't imagine a world where I don't talk to my parents. But then again, she's lucky that she even managed to get out of the outskirts. Life is better in the MSA; I know for a fact that her sister has to register for tesserae every year.
Grace and I sat in the square, watching the Peacekeepers march to and fro in front of the railway station. We talked for hours; I told her about my meeting with the headmaster the day before. She, like my parents, was happy for me. "Just don't go become a fancy-pants inventor and forget about me," she said jokingly. "Promise you'll come visit me once in a while."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I responded. "And besides, It's not like I'm leaving anywhere any time soon. I probably won't get to go anywhere outside the borders for years. And that's only if I manage to pass the apprenticeship in the first place."
She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Puh-leez," Grace answered, "As if you won't get in. You're top of the class."
She walked me back to my house in the evening, where Dash stood outside on the front doorstep absently throwing pebbles at the wall. He didn't even look up at us as I said goodbye and walked inside.
Yes, yesterday was a good day. And after the stupid Reaping is over with, today will be, too.
I sigh and reluctantly untangle myself from my blanket, shivering as I do so. It's unusually chilly this morning, and my thin nightdress doesn't offer me much warmth. Feet bare, I pad across the room to the small wooden closet containing all of my and Dash's clothes. My Reaping dress is a pale purple color, and I have to reach all the way to the back to grasp it.
I groan inwardly as I eye the thing for the first time in a year. It's too small for me of late, but buying a new dress every year just isn't an option for us. I only wear it for about two hours anyway; when I get home I shove it right back in the corner, where it belongs.
I finish squeezing into the dress just as Dash barges into the room. "You could have knocked," I grumble. He grunts in response, brushing past me to grab his Reaping clothes from the closet.
Clutching his dress shirt, he looks at me pointedly and gestures for me to leave. "Fine," I huff, leaving the room and shutting the door with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
I can't wait until the Reaping is over. Everyone's in a grumpy mood today.
My mother's face is a mask of calm as she hands me a square of bread. "Get some food in you before we leave," she orders. "Is Dash dressed yet? I told him to put some clothes on almost a half hour ago."
I swallow my mouthful of bread before answering, "He's getting ready in our room."
"Good. I need to go find Coyle. COYLE!" With that she hurries away, presumably to wrestle my little brother into something semi-presentable. He hates crowds, and will no doubt throw a tantrum about attending the Reaping.
If he hates it now, what will he think when his name is actually entered? I shudder at the thought of an older Coyle standing among the eligible children of the District. By the time he's twelve, Dash will already be long aged out of the system. If, heaven forbid, Coyle was ever reaped, there would be no one willing to take his place.
Well, not that there would be now, anyway.
"Morning, Widget," says my father as he enters the kitchen. He tries his best to look like nothing is bothering him, but I note the undercurrent of tension in his voice. I don't blame him. Reapings are always stressful, even if the odds of your own children being chosen are far from high.
"Morning, Dad." I finish the remaining bread in my hands and watch him make a morning cup of tea. His hands are stiff as he lights the gas stove to boil the water. It's unsettling, seeing him like this. It's a stark contrast from the cheerful man I saw yesterday.
"Knock on the front door when you leave, okay? For luck."
I nod at his words. It's an old superstition, but I understand that he's nervous for me. I am fifteen now, after all. I'll take all the luck I can get.
Fifteen is a dangerous age, the most dangerous in all of the games. Anyone who can do math knows that the Reapings aren't as fair as the Capitol makes them out to be. Statistically, the odds of being chosen for the games should increase arithmetically with age. Only 3.6% of reaped tributes should be twelve years old, all the way up to 25% of tributes being eighteen. The chance of a fifteen year old being chosen should only be 14.3%.
Usually, data like this doesn't lie. Most Reapings should generally follow this pattern, with one in four tributes in the games being an eighteen year old. Yet somehow every year fifteen year olds are reaped more often than any other age category: just last year eight out of the nineteen tributes who did not volunteer were fifteen. That means that one-third of all tributes that year were my age; 19% more fifteen year olds than one would expect.
This trend has been evident in Reapings for years. Everyone suspects the Capitol does this on purpose for entertainment. Maybe their citizens enjoy watching the younger tributes die more than the older ones. It certainly gives the Career districts an advantage- almost all of their tributes are older.
Relax, Widget. Even if the draw is rigged, you aren't a factory kid. You don't request any tesserae. Your odds of being chosen are far lower than most girls your age.
To clear my head I decide to take a walk. We don't have to show up at the central stage for another forty minutes, so I figure I should take the opportunity to relax a little before the major nerves kick in.
The clouds are dark in the sky, which probably means it will rain soon. I enjoy the rain. There's a certain peace that comes with it; everything is more relaxed on rainy days. The world just seems to slow down a bit. I always welcome the calmer pace; it's a temporary escape from the usual business of everyday life.
The streets are more crowded today. On Reaping Day, everyone from the outskirts pours into the MSA. This always creates a lot of commotion and displeasure among the Settlement folks. I watch as one woman dressed in what appear to be sewn together rags hopelessly tries to pry her three young children away from a shop window. The kids either don't notice or flat-out ignore her fruitless attempts, instead gazing longingly at the toys I know are behind the glass.
You're better off without them, kids, I think to myself. Even we can't afford those, and my family's ten times better off than yours.
The mother succeeds eventually, and the children protest as she drags them down the street.
I decide to head back home. I know I still have a bit of time left before my mother really gets frustrated, but I've done enough people-watching today.
—
Inside my roped-off section I feel like an animal. I watch as a small drop of blood slowly gathers on my skin where the Peacekeeper pricked my finger. It stings a little, but the pinprick of pain gives me something else to focus on.
Around me are the other fifteen year old girls of District Three. Grace is just to my left, and together we wait for our district's escort to come onstage. Most of the other girls around me are all bulbs, people I know from Technical Training. The duds are mostly crowded at the back of the group, aside from a few who shuffle uncomfortably here and there.
I'm not very tall, and as a result can't really see over the heads in front of me. This is why I don't notice when Aeliana Lovett prances on stage, long turquoise hair swishing from side to side with her every step. It takes an elbow to the ribs from Grace for me to finally pay attention.
Aeliana taps the microphone a few times experimentally before greeting us all in her obnoxiously high voice.
"Greetings, District Three! What a fine day it is today!" She declares, letting out a girlish giggle. My eyes meet Grace's dark brown ones, and she shakes her head. It's always the same line with Aeliana, even when the weather is anything but 'fine.'
As if protesting the escort's words, the ray of sunlight surrounding the Capitolian suddenly disappears.
"Oh!" Aeliana looks up at the sky and scowls. Maybe she thinks her expression can change the weather.
"Well, anyway, I have a very special film to show you today! A message straight from the Capitol!" She gestures flamboyantly to the wide screen behind her, where the usual propaganda clip begins to roll. I zone out for most of it; the video is the same every single year. I occasionally register violent images of the Dark Days, wails of despair and the announcer retelling the history of the Games.
Someone needs to invent a better way to display the video, I think to myself, noting the uneven lighting and faint scratches adorning the thin projection material. Maybe I'll suggest something when I'm an inventor.
The video comes to an end, and my attention is once again recaptured when Aeliana gestures to the two giant glass bowls sitting off to the side. "And now I say we proceed to the most important part! The part of this ceremony we've all been waiting for: time to select District Three's tributes for the 73rd annual Hunger Games!"
The clacking of the escort's high heels echoes loudly through the the silent crowd. Somewhere behind me a baby cries. All that matters, however, is the glittering hand floating teasingly above the bowl of names.
"Ladies first? Or would the gentlemen like to start us off for a change, hmm?"
Her question receives no answer.
"I don't know about you, District Three, but I say we go for a change of pace this year! Boys first!" With that her hand reaches into the bowl, mixing the names for a few moments before pulling a slip of paper out.
Please not Dash, is all I have time to think before she reads the name out in a loud voice.
"Clink Jeremy!"
I sigh in relief. Thank goodness it's not Dash.
Everyone's eyes scan the boys, searching for the one unlucky enough to have to go onstage. And die, a smaller voice in my head adds.
Eventually a skinny kid is singled out from the crowd, and the Peacekeepers converge on him immediately. As he stumbles onstage, a wave of pity washes over me. He's young. Too young.
He's obviously a dud, because no bulb in the district dresses like he does. The boy's shirt and pants appear to be stitched together from many different pieces of cloth, torn in some places.
"Here he is!" Aeliana exclaims as she shoves a microphone in the poor kid's face. He looks like he's about to be sick. "And how old are you, young man?"
"Th-thirteen," the boy stutters. A collective sigh sweeps through the crowd. Far too young.
"Wonderful! Let's give him a hand, everyone!"
She means for us to applaud, I think, but no one here is cruel enough to applaud a child's death.
"Very well, then," Aeliana continues, undeterred, "We will now proceed with the girls!" She reaches into the other glass bowl now, touching paper after paper until finally settling on one.
A fleeting thought enters my head. I realize that I forgot to knock on the front door when I left the house.
There goes the extra luck.
The odds are in your favor. Calm down.
"Widget Irving!"
Grace's eyes snap to mine, her jaw dropping. It takes me a moment to process those actions, and by the time I do a small circle has formed around where I stand. The girls around me look at me with fear in their eyes, as if merely being close to me is dangerous.
Oh. That's my name. She called my name.
I'm a tribute.
This wasn't supposed to happen to me! I'm not even poor or anything!
The Peacekeepers have spotted me now. Their heavy boots leave footprints in the dirt as they dutifully march towards my section. No! Go away! Leave me alone!
I need to go onstage. I need to get up there before they can force me to.
My steps are shaky at first, but I manage to right myself. The Peacekeepers surround me now, but still I keep walking. One grabs my arm. I flinch, but make no attempt to yank it away. Everything is in slow motion; I can make out the expressions on the individual faces in the crowd. Most of them are surprised, I think. A bulb hasn't been reaped in five years.
As I pass the boys section, my eyes attempt to seek out Dash. I can't find him. It feels like hours before I reach the edge of the stage, and once there I ascend the small steps and walk to the center of the raised platform. Aeliana grins and drapes a sparkly arm around my shoulders.
"Isn't she precious? How old are you, dear?"
My answer, surprisingly, comes out even. "Fifteen."
"Wonderful! I present to you this year's tributes from District Three: Clink Jeremy and Widget Irving!"
When neither one of us does anything, Aeliana bends down, turquoise eyelash extensions brushing my cheek as she whispers: "Shake hands!"
Reluctantly, I extend my hand to the boy in front of me. He jumps a little, startled by the movement, but returns the gesture. His grip is stronger than I anticipated.
This time the crowd applauds half-heartedly. The sounds of people dispersing soon fill the background. I wish more than anything that I could be one of the people in the crowd, that I could go home and just forget about today.
A hand on my shoulder directs me toward the back of the stage, where I walk through a small doorway. After that we take a path that leads to the district's Justice Building.
The building is, like many buildings in the district, made of concrete. It's two stories tall with barred windows and a tall, metal door. Despite passing the structure almost every day, I've never actually seen the interior.
A Peacekeeper opens the door and turns to me. "In," he barks, holding it open, leaving me to hesitantly make my way inside.
I am led to a small room containing four chairs and a wooden table. The Peacekeeper prompts me to take a seat, so do just that: I sit down and wait. I am no longer in charge of my fate; all I can do for now is wait too see what comes next.
I hear them before I see them. It's hard to keep myself from throwing the door open and meeting them halfway. Something tells me that would be a bad idea, so I force myself to stay seated. Father's voice sounds desperate. "Where is she? Where did you take her? I want to see her now!"
Finally the door to the room is opened, and my family walks in.
I am immediately enveloped in a soul-crushing hug. "Dad!" I gasp.
His whole body shakes in a silent sob. When he releases me, I am left gasping for air. I don't mind. I know this is likely the last time I will see any of them, and I welcome the contact.
Tears are streaming down my mother's face, but she doesn't break. I know she is trying to be strong for me.
A little voice commands my attention.
"Widget, what's wrong?"
One of Coyle's little hands is wrapped around my mother's, and he reaches toward me with the other one. I take it, and look at his face. He's confused; his brow is furrowed, and his tongue is peeking out of the corner of his mouth. He's too young to understand any of this: the Reaping, the Games, the consequences. The innocent way he looks at me breaks my heart. How do I even begin to answer his question?
"I'm going away, Coyle."
"Where are you going? Can I come?"
No, I think, never. I hope you never have to go.
"I'm sorry, buddy. It's a big-kid thing."
"Oh. When are you coming back?"
I swallow, pushing back tears. "I don't think I'm coming back any time soon."
At this my mother lets out an audible cry of despair; my father only hugs her tightly. Coyle still looks confused, but before he can question me further I add one more thing. "Promise to take care of Mom and Dad for me, Coyle. And keep Dash company, okay?"
My little brother nods. The Peacekeeper in the doorway taps his foot and coughs. "One minute," he warns.
My eyes land on a figure huddled in the corner of the room: Dash. Wordlessly he steps forward, face unreadable.
What happens now? I want to ask. Is this what you wanted?
Even as I think the words I know I don't mean them. We might not get along all the time, but he's still my brother. He loves me, even if he doesn't always know how to show it.
Say something. Anything. Please.
"Widget..." My name hangs in the air, and I can tell he doesn't know what to say next. I decide to help him out by making the first move.
"I love you," I whisper, reaching forward to pull him into a hug. After less than a second he hugs me back. "Love you too," is all he has time to say before a Peacekeeper is ushering my family out of the room. I don't want to let go; I don't want them to leave. Dash presses something against my chest as in lieu of a goodbye.
Then they're gone. I look down at the object; it's a small metal gear on a chain. A makeshift necklace. I recognize it immediately: Dash doesn't leave the house without it.
And now it will be my token in the arena.
The arena.
No. I can't let myself think about it. Not here, not now. Later, when I'm alone and no one can judge me.
The Peacekeeper turns to me and gestures for me to leave. When I exit the Justice Building, I find Aeliana waiting outside. Seeing me, she claps her hands and nods toward the train waiting at the station.
"Took you a little while! But that's okay. We're still on schedule, so don't worry. Mr. Latier just insisted that you get as much time as possible in there, but there are much more exciting things to see, in my opinion. My, I hope they serve dinner soon. I am positively starving..."
The escort's chatter is meaningless and shallow. I tune her out as we approach the train, my brain caught on the name Mr. Latier. She's talking about Beetee Latier, of course: District Three's most famous victor. His Games took place before I was born, but everyone in our district's heard the story so many times that we can recall his victory perfectly.
He and Wiress are the only victors we have.
Aeliana and I enter the train's main compartment, and I hear the doors slide closed behind us.
I give myself a moment to absorb my surroundings. Everything about this train looks expensive. A giant high definition TV screen takes up a large portion of the paneled wall to my left, while the floors in this compartment are wooden, with intricate designs carved into the panels. The smell of something delicious permeates the air, and facing the TV is a large table on which an array of small dishes are laid out.
Aeliana notices me staring at the food. "Hungry? Feel free to help yourself to the samplers, dear, but save room for dinner."
Those are just the samplers?
The Capitolian smiles and points to the right. "Down that way you'll find your compartment. It's the second door on the left side. There are clothes in the closet you can change into, but don't take long! Dinner will be served shortly."
Aeliana snatches some sort of circular blue fruit from the table and proceeds to make herself comfortable on a sofa in the corner. I give the dishes a quick once-over, but don't really recognize anything apart from the bread. I don't exactly feel hungry, so I decide to make my way to the compartment Aeliana directed me to.
A short man with ashen skin and glasses exits a compartment opposite mine just as I reach for the door handle. I recognize him, of course, so the words that come out of his mouth next are no surprise. "Oh," the man says, for some reason a bit uncomfortably, "Hi. Uh, I'm Beetee, your mentor."
I reply with the first thing that comes to mind. "I know you," I blurt out. When the older man simply stares at me awkwardly, I backtrack. "I mean, um, I'm Widget."
Beetee nods. "I'll see you at dinner then, Widget," he half-mumbles, shuffling away. I stare after him for a few seconds before coming to my senses and yanking my compartment door open.
The room is spacious, but I don't give myself time to look at the decor.
Flinging the door shut behind me, I collapse on the bed with a sob. Only now does reality come crashing down on me.
I'm going to die. Everything I've worked towards, every person I tried so hard to impress, every grueling programming lesson, every hopeless argument I've had with Dash, every conversation with Grace... It all amounts to nothing.
My whole life has led to nothing.
This wasn't supposed to happen to me! I had a plan, a future! I was supposed to meet Inventor Nimb tomorrow...
I can't bring myself to get changed, or even sit up. For now I just remain sprawled out on the bed, my tears staining the sheets.
—
A/N: I hope this was okay! Comments appreciated. I got the statistics about Reapings from this Jezebel article called "An Incredibly Detailed Super Statistical Hunger Games Survival Analysis." It was a great article with a lot of cool data from the books. Also, thanks for the review! It made me really happy :)