*DISTRICT 8*
*KARIN MONA LOUVRE*
*FOURTEEN*
I wonder if my father will watch me on television, Karin thinks sadly. There's nothing to do in this little room (the nicest she's ever been in) except to think sad thoughts. But she supposes that's exactly what it's created for.
Karin is usually optimistic, but when her dad's money stopped coming in the mail, her family pretty much crashed and burned, and now it's hard to know what to hope for. Does she wish that her father is alive, but can't come back? Does she wish he's dead, so at least he hasn't just left by choice?
She coughs.
"Karin? How are you?" Ellen Louvre nags gently as she enters the cubicle.
"I'm good." Karin forces a smile. She's never been truly upset in front of her mother since she was six, and she's not about to start. Her mom has enough to worry about without her contributing. "You?"
"I'm well," Ellen replies, smiling thinly, but there are wrinkles all along her cheeks that are too severe for her 33-year-old face.
"Keep the girls in the shop, will you?" Karin says, just so she won't feel guilty when she dies. "They need the work, and they'll enjoy doing it until they can go to the factories. The money helps them."
"I can't pay them without selling dresses," Mrs. Louvre responds, looking put out. She knows how much Karin usually asks for, and that's exactly nothing. But the one thing her daughter really wants, right before she dies . . . "I suppose I can try, honey."
"No, don't worry about it," Karin says immediately, but then checks herself. She should learn to stick to her values. "No. This is actually serious, Mom."
"Will they be able to sew the outfits on their own?"
"I don't know." Karin sighs heavily. "There are a couple. Maybe you could promote them to leaders?" How should she be expected to think straight when she's going to die in a week?
"Who?" Ellen demands.
"Lisa," Karin drawls heavily. "Um, maybe Jennie. Yeah. Lisa and Jennie can oversee. Maybe pay them a couple of dollars extra and slowly lower the other girls' pay? Just have them help the rest of the girls out."
"Time's up!" the Peacekeeper barks.
Mrs. Louvre nods at Karin, hugs her, and picks up the small bag that she never travels without. Karin has no idea what's in it. Then she's out the door.
::
Karin expects her brothers to come in, but, after about 40 seconds of waiting, it becomes clear that her mother kept them out. It seems counter-intuitive to Karin, who knows that her two young siblings will watch her death on national television, but can't say goodbye to her when she's perfectly clean, in the flesh?
She sits back on the couch, entertaining herself with small jokes and imaginings as she waits for her escort to collect her. But she has a surprise.
"Hi, Karin." A girl with blonde hair, crudely died black with what looks like tar, drags her feet as she makes her way inside.
"Hi, Gin." Karin channels all the energy she has left into a smile.
Then Gin, who stands at almost 72 inches, with her size 13 feet and tattered brown trench coat, ratty cotton shorts and black liner on her eyes, swings down to hug Karin, squeezing so tightly that Karin can feel her chest constricting.
She breathes in quickly and pulls back. She's never been one for physical contact. "You barely know me, Gin," she scolds, laughing. "What's up?"
"I have something to tell you," Gin admits quickly, biting her lip, her cheeks red.
"Okay." Karin tilts her head, leaning back.
"I've been watching you. A lot," Gin rushes, then cowers, then resurfaces to look at Karin again, her eyes intense.
Karin debates calling for the Peacekeepers. Although she never has, and never will, trust the men who train their entire lives for nothing more than to scare the members of the Districts into line, Gin is seriously freaking her out.
Gin keeps talking. "I love you."
Karin giggles nervously. "Um, love you too?"
"No." Gin's face grows serious. "I love you, Karin." Then, suddenly, she reaches down, cups Karin's chin, and pushes their lips together.
Karin's eyes widen. Then she shoves Gin off of her. The older girl is so surprised that she drops to the floor. Karin stands above her. "Don't do that. Ever again. I don't support people like you. It's not natural. Not here, not now, not ever. It's wrong. Please go, Gin."
Karin doesn't turn around, but she feels Gin close the door behind her as she leaves, feeling a bewildering mixture of confusion, anger, and a spark that she can't place.
*MARSHALL CLIFTON*
*EIGHTEEN*
Marshall runs the chain of his brass pocket watch against his fingers. His dad had given him the watch on his eleventh birthday, the most celebrated day for each child in the Clifton family. The eleventh birthday was the day the Clifton parents had decreed their children able to work, which, of course, came with extensive privileges and responsibilities. And a beautiful, expensive present. The watch had been Marshall's. He would use it as his token.
"Marshall," Elise Clifton states as she walks in. Marshall can see the gears in his mother's mind already turning as she calculates the amount of time she has left with her third child and what to use those minutes for. Then she begins her speech. To anyone else, it would sound flustered, but Marshall knew his mom was making each and every word count. "Good luck. Don't let them win. Go down with a fight. Don't hurt anyone if you don't have to. Try not to kill. If you do because you have to, we'll never hold it against you, of course. But try not to." She pecks her son on the cheek, then hugs him, then steps aside, all with precise movements.
Then his dad starts in. "Take advantage, Marsh. Use the showers and the baths and go outside if you can. Eat as much food as possible. Sleep in their silk sheets, that our District makes," he finishes sourly.
Marshall's favorite sister, Carol, flips her light brown hair, so pretty and thin and soft and straight, so unlike Marshall's coarse, oily curls. "Respect people and play along. You're handsome. You have a shot. Oh, and commit suicide over a painful death, Marshall," she instructs, more serious than he's ever seen her. "It's not the coward's way out. It's dying on your own terms. It's dying safely when there's nothing you can do anyway, when our own capitol encourages children to be deathly afraid for seven or eight days, or years, or all their life, and then die."
Laura, his other sister, stomps up in her chunky boots. A year ago, she got married to a Peacekeeper, and now she replicates him to a tee, marching everywhere and speaking in a clipped tone. Although women can't be Peacekeepers (but they can fight to the death in the Hunger Games; one wouldn't expect anything else), it is clearly Laura's fondest dream. "Do not say that about the Hunger Games," she shoots at Carol. "The Hunger Games are a bold pageant embodying qualities that Panem encourages: bravery and nerve."
"But not when the Districts do it on their own, right?" Carol says, her eyes fiery. "Not when they rebel?"
"No," Laura smirks coolly. "Not then."
Marshall rolls his eyes. "Guys, I'm gonna die in a week," he reminds his family.
Carol embraces him. "Don't say that. We don't know that for sure. Until then, fight."
"In the Games," Laura adds quickly. "Don't fight anyone else. Like the Peacekeepers. Or your escort. They're nice people. But you can fight the Avoxes. Fight - "
"Will you shut up?" Carol screams, then pounces.
"Get off!" Mr. Clifton roars, but to no avail. He raises his voice louder. "Get the hell off of your sister, Carol Clifton!"
"Why? So she can spew more bullshit about the Hunger Games?"
Marshall screams, letting his frustration and anxiety out in one long, unending noise.
The Peacekeeper outside swings the door open and pulls Carol off of Laura. "Come with me, young lady." Scooping Carol up, he strides out. Just before closing the door, he turns to Laura and commands, "And you."
Laura smirks and hugs the Peacekeeper. "Love you, Mick." Then she follows them out.
"After he manhandles your sister?" Mrs. Clifton yells at Laura. "You still love him?"
"He's doing his job!" comes Laura's distant call from down the hallway. "Of course I love him!"
"Carol will be put to death." Rick Clifton puts his head in his hands. "He'll kill her."
"And Laura will still love him," Marshall points out.
"Time!" shouts the new Peacekeeper, and Marshall lets his parents out.
::
"This is it!" Elizabeth screeches as she runs in and hugs Marshall. Her exuberance bubbles over into her bright green eyes. "Right here! You can win! A Quarter Quell, too! God, how lucky are you, Marshall?" She grins.
"Yeah, lucky. I get to die."
"Oh, stop being such a downer." Elizabeth pats his arm. "You're gonna win!"
He shakes his head. "If you say so, Liz."
"I don't say anything unless I know it's true," she responds firmly. "You, of all people, should know that."
"Right, because I've never won an argument with you," Marshall retaliates.
"That's right." She smirks, kisses him once on each cheek, and flounces out. He watches her in awe.
*DISTRICT 8 TRAIN*
"Tributes, tributes." Lynrd Crais beckons subtly for Karin and Marshall to board the train with him.
They trail him cautiously, too aware of his long, sharp fingernails and weirdly pointed nose.
"How are you?" he ventures, probably more scared of them than they are of him.
"Good," Karin replies, her heart beating quickly.
"Yup. What she said," Marshall agrees.
The train ride is sufficiently awkward.