Here's the thing about District 12.
They have no hotel! Not even a motel. Nor do they even have an inn. I guess there's just not much of a demand for one - not to be cruel, but who would visit District 12 unless well, they had to? Like me. Which means the closest they can come is putting me up in a house in the Victors' Village, which is what they do for this year's Reaping. The mayor's wife does stock the cupboards and fridge (the latter which not many residents have, I admit), so it's not like I lack for a proper meal. Still...
A friend managed to snag the post of the emcee for District 4 this year, and they know to roll out the red carpet. They have a real five star hotel, actually several. And their hosts are a cordial group of former Victors, who eagerly await Reaping Day and do their best to make sure it's a festive and television-worthy occasion.
Oh well. Enough complaining. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade - another one of Mother's little sayings. Annoying, but she has a point. So from now on, I vow to make the best of things. And it's not like the house I'm in is uncomfortable, though it's isolated, as there's only one other Victor in the vicinity - Haymitch Abernathy. Not that I am about to voluntarily seek out his company. No, I'll be seeing him soon enough, thank you.
The eve of the Reaping, I sleep soundly, and wake early to see beams of morning sunlight dancing on the plain wooden walls. Looking out the window - there's already hints of blue sky appearing, I dress and descend the stairs to forage. But while I've been slumbering, someone has entered and left a basket of pastries and muffins on the table, along with a bouquet of flowers. It's likely the mayor's wife - I've met her before, and she's a nice sort. If I remember right, her sister participated in the Quarter Quell (the same one Haymitch won), and she suffers from migraines. A pity. I wonder if she's aware of the latest treatments, though currently, they're only available in the Capitol.
Making a mental note to thank Mrs. Undersee when I see her later, I decide to take a brief walk. It's a beautiful day, and it's going to be a big one. As I close the door, I see another early bird (yes, Mother, I know that saying, too): a slender adolescent girl, her hair hanging in a braid down her back, striding in the direction of the woods. Which are off limit, I know, but the Peacekeepers here turn a blind eye to illegal hunting. I suppose they appreciate the fresh game. Well, it's not to my taste, but I can see why it would appeal to some. And I suppose it's not hurting anything.
The girl doesn't see me, but tilting her chin up, keeps moving confidently toward her destination - whatever it may be. I don't know who she is, where she's going or why, but I can't help hoping the odds are in her favor today.
...
Later on, I join Mayor Undersee on the stage. His daughter Madge, a pretty well-mannered girl, is among the young people gathering into their age-designated groups today. I look for the girl with the braid, but the crowd is simply too dense. A whiff of whiskey signals to me without my having to turn around that Haymitch has arrived. At least, he's not late like last time. I give him a stiff nod and a somewhat strained smile, but he ignores me and takes his place with a frown. Irritating man. He hasn't even tried to conceal the fact that he's as drunk as a skunk - not even a hint of mint mouthwash or breath candy can I detect.
Here, as I've mentioned, the atmosphere is far from festive. The only merriment comes from a certain group of people taking bets on who will be chosen. I suppose the sobriety is warranted, as the Tributes here are, at best, dark horses in the races. Later, when I have to chat up potential sponsors, I'll take my usual angle - the plucky underdog one. What else can I do? Oh, and I mustn't forget to mention how coal transforms into pearls. Poetic and persuasive, at least that's what I'll be hoping.
But now it's my moment to shine, and I stand and make my way to the crystal Reaping ball. "Ladies first," I quip, but as always, it falls so flat I can practically hear the thud. Oh well. No time to fret over that. Here goes.
"Primrose Everdeen," I say, enunciating each syllable with precision so there can be no doubt who it is I mean.
There's a gasp - no doubt from the girl's mother. People crane their heads trying to pick out the Tribute. And after a long moment, a petite blonde detaches herself from the throng and bravely walks toward the stage. She's so small - obviously one of the twelve-year-olds. This will make my job harder, as no one, not even a lot of the Career districts approve of children this young being chosen. But wait. Suddenly, I hear a voice. Another girl's voice, slightly shaky but with an unmistakable note of defiance.
"I volunteer!" she cries. "I volunteer as tribute."
Well. This is unexpected. More gasps from the crowd - and who can blame them? I don't think this has ever happened before, at least not in my lifetime. Then I catch sight of the girl - it's the same one I saw this morning. But just as I am seizing the moment, hopefully proving my mettle to those in charge who are watching, Haymitch stumbles into my path, knocking my wig askew, mumbling something I can't quite catch - the wind has picked up - but that I expect is completely inappropriate. The mayor reaches out an arm to stop him, but it's too late - he's already toppled off the stage.
Good riddance, I can't help but think, as I continue, as I reach up to twitch my wig (hot pink and perhaps the brightest hair of anyone here) back into place. Pretending there's been no interruption whatsoever, I continue. The volunteer is Katniss Everdeen, the older sister of Primrose. Unusual, siblings as a rule, don't volunteer. For a moment, I wonder if I would have the courage to do the same for my sister. But there's no time to linger over such thoughts, it's time to finish with as much dignity as possible.
The boy Tribute turns out to be a sweet young man named Peeta Mellark, who is the son of the local baker. While he and Katniss are taken into custody and given time to say their goodbyes, I head off in search of some refreshment myself. Not alcohol, but my throat is quite dry, and I could definitely use something to quench my thirst.
It's over - at least the first part. Now I'll get ready to board the train back to the Capitol. Later, I'll welcome Katniss and Peeta. Right now, I'm exhausted, but I still have a lot to do. Also, I'm in need of mirror - something tells me that my hasty attempt to adjust my wig might not have quite worked. And I really do need to give my makeup a touch-up. When I see Haymitch again, I'll take the high road - inquire if he's all right and not once allude to the possibility that his behavior might have cost me my chance to be promoted to a better district next year. Surely not - who would blame me for his disreputable behavior.
What a day it's been, and how much more there still is to do...