District 7 female – Asiza Sekewael, 15
"Hey. Hey, Keefer! Can I please borrow your pencil?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry Asiza, I'm using it. I'll write my notes really quickly and give it to you when I'm done if you want?"
"Oh, it's alright," I said. "I did lend you my pencil yesterday when I wasn't done, that's all."
"Did you? I don't remember that..."
"Of course I did! Do you not remember? Oh well, it's alright, I'll just... write with my fingers," I said, smiling at Keefer. He looked down at his paper and continued scribbling his notes down, faster than he had been.
"It's alright, Asiza, I have a spare pencil," said Keefer's best friend, Rowan. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pencil and handed it over Keefer's desk and placed it on mine.
"Thank you, Rowan," I said, taking the pencil. "You're too kind."
"Could you please return it to me when you're done, though?" Rowan asked. "It's actually my spare pencil, my lucky pencil. I don't use it often but I always keep it on me."
"Yes, of course I'll return it to you," I said with a smile, then began taking notes from the board.
"Who keeps a spare pencil?" said my best friend Saoirse, who was sitting on the desk on the other side of me.
"I don't know," I shrugged. "But I lost my pencil weeks ago, so it's a good thing he had one for me to borrow."
"Oh, OK," said Saoirse, her big golden eyes bright as she looked at me.
Ever since we were around twelve years old I'd had the feeling that Saoirse was into me, but just a month or so ago, it was confirmed to me when I overheard her talking to her sister about it one morning when I'd stayed over at her house, and she'd thought I was still in bed.
So now she once again looked at me with those bright eyes of admiration, and I had to smile at her, just to be nice. She was my best friend after all.
At the end of the lesson, Rowan approached me and asked if I could give him his pencil back.
"Oh, look, we still have another class today and I'll need it for that," I said. "Mind if I give it to you then?"
"Oh, yeah, alright," said Rowan, as we went out to get a drink of water, then came back into the classroom for our maths lesson.
At the end of that lesson, I walked out of the classroom with Saoirse by my side, and Rowan followed after me.
"Asiza!" he said. "Asiza, would you mind please giving me my pencil back now?"
"What?" I said, looking back at him and increasing the speed of my walking. "Sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush, I'll see you on Monday!"
"But–"
I didn't hear the rest of Rowan's sentence, because Saoirse and I were soon out of earshot.
"What are you doing this afternoon, then?" she asked me.
"Nothing, I just didn't want to talk to him," I said. Plus, I have a pencil now which will make schoolwork much easier.
"Oh. OK, then," said Saoirse. "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to have a tree picnic?
I smiled. "Of course. I'll get Jamie and the twins."
"Oh, I was thinking more just... you and me," said Saoirse, her cheeks going pink.
"Yes, but I can't leave my siblings to get home on their own," I said. "I need to walk them home, look after them, make sure the twins don't get into trouble, make sure no one has bullied Jamie today..."
"Yeah, alright, let's get them then," said Saoirse, but her tone was a little down.
The two of us walked towards the classroom where the twins' year was, and Jamie, my twelve-year-old brother was already there, standing with the twins and looking around nervously.
"Oh my god, Asiza, where were you!?" Jamie cried when he saw us. "I've been waiting here for you, worried sick, thinking something had happened..."
"It's alright, Jamie," I said gently, placing my hands on his shoulders. "I'm here. We're all going on a tree picnic."
Jamie nodded. "Oh, OK..."
We all walked out of the school, examining the trees. Saoirse picked out a large apple tree, and the five of us climbed to the top, grabbing apples once we were high enough to reach them.
"How was everyone's day?" I asked, taking a bite of my apple.
"Adoette stole the teacher's piece of chalk so he couldn't write on the blackboard," said Vanaja, one of my two ten-year-old twin sisters. Both of them always got into trouble, but Adoette was a lot worse with it than Vanaja.
"Well at least we weren't doing schoolwork," said Adoette. "You can thank me for that."
"Well, Jamie, how was your day?" I asked, turning to my brother.
"Alright, I guess," said Jamie. "Hera was calling me names again."
"Where is she now?" I asked sharply.
"Asiza..." said Saoirse, placing her hand on my arm.
"She would have gone home, I suppose," I said, beginning to climb down the tree. "Look after the kids please, Saoirse!"
When I was close enough to the ground, I jumped down and began running towards Hera Kemper's house. I was getting close when suddenly someone grabbed my arm.
I spun around to see who it was and felt my throat clench when I saw Gerald Finch.
"Sorry, Gerald, I'm a bit busy at the moment," I said to him.
"Not too busy to talk to me," he said.
"Yes, I am. Let go of me," I said, jerking my arm away from him, but he gripped onto my arm again straight away.
"Where's the money you still owe me?" he asked.
"What money?" I said, pretending to sound curious.
"Don't act stupid, Asiza," he snapped. "You still owe me money!"
I pulled my arm away from him and then smiled sweetly. "Well, you can't prove it, can you?"
District 7 male – Arnold Pryor, 15
"Hurry up, Timmy, table 4 is getting impatient!"
"They're all just peacekeepers and capitol tourists," said Timmy, crossing his arms. "They can be patient for once in their lives. Plus, you were the one saying the steak wasn't good enough and we had to remake it."
"Because it's been shipped all the way from District 10," I said. "It's gone bad, that's why you needed to add more oil! More flavour!"
Timmy sighed. I knew he didn't agree with how much oil and spices I put into the food I cooked, but he was just ridiculous and boring, even if he was my best friend.
"Arnold!" the manager of the restaurant where Timmy and I were working came flooding into the kitchen then, arms crossed. "Table 4 is about to sue me!"
"We just had to remake their steak, because Timmy didn't add enough oil!" I cried.
"Not enough oil?" the manager repeated. "I thought I told you to use less oil, Arnold."
"Well, it tastes like shit if you don't add enough oil," I said, crossing my arms.
"Well, this isn't your parents' restaurant," he said, crossing his arms as well. "You're just an employee here."
"And I have every single qualification there is to be a chef in Panem," I said. "I think I know what I'm doing."
"Well, go pay for the oil yourself, then!" he cried, uncrossing his arms. "This isn't the Capitol! You're lucky you're even in a district where there are restaurants."
I rolled my eyes. The manager always had a way of making me feel like I was just lucky to have a job at all. But I knew I was good at what I did, and I wasn't going to let him make me feel otherwise.
"Fine," I said, grabbing my apron and heading towards the door. "I'll go get the oil myself. But Timmy's coming with me."
The manager opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off. "If Timmy hadn't messed up the steak in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess. He's coming with me to make sure we get it right this time."
"No, Timmy can stay here," the manager said gruffly. "He needs to work, and so do you. So hurry up and buy more oil if that's what you want, then get back to work."
I gritted my teeth, feeling anger boil within me. The manager had always been unfair to me, and I was sick of it. But I knew I couldn't argue with him if I wanted to keep my job.
"Fine," I said through clenched teeth. "I'll be back soon because I know you won't be able to do well without the best chef for long."
I stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed my coat and made my way towards the markets. As I walked, I couldn't help but think about how unfair it all was. I was ten times the chef that the manager would ever be. But here I was, running errands for him when he didn't even appreciate my talent.
When I arrived at the markets, I quickly found the oil and walked to where I needed to pay, using the money I made at my job, and from what my parents still had left over from their old restaurant.
That restaurant had been closed down when I was just ten years old due to 'health issues'. It was completely unfair because all of the customers enjoyed the food thanks to the talent of my parents and I in the kitchen.
I paid for the oil and stormed out of the stall, my mind consumed with anger and frustration. But as I walked back to the restaurant, I knew I had to keep my emotions in check. I couldn't afford for the manager to find out what my plans were, and how I intended to make this restaurant have the same fate as my parent's restaurant did.
When I finally arrived back at the restaurant, Timmy was frantically cooking, trying to keep up with the orders. I could tell he was stressed out, but I didn't have the energy to comfort him. I handed him the oil and got back to work, focusing all of my energy on cooking the perfect meal.
As the night wore on, the restaurant became more and more crowded. But somehow, Timmy and I managed to keep up with the orders. And by the end of the night, the manager begrudgingly admitted that we had done a good job, and I grinned to myself, knowing that we had only done a good job for now. It wouldn't be long before the customers were puking their guts out.
When I arrived home, my nostrils were filled with the incredible smell of my parents' cooking. I finished work late, but they always waited for me before eating dinner.
Even while living in a district that wasn't known for its food supply, my parents always managed to make incredible meals every single day. Food and cooking was what the three of us bonded over.
As I sat down at the table, my parents greeted me with warm smiles. They knew how much I loved cooking, and always encouraged me to pursue my dreams of becoming a chef.
"How was work, Arnold?" my mother asked, dishing out a serving of stew onto my plate.
I sighed, knowing that I couldn't tell them the truth about how miserable I was at the restaurant. They were already struggling enough with their own business, and I didn't want to burden them with my problems.
"It was fine," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Busy, but we managed to get through it."
My father looked at me intently, sensing that something was off. "Is everything alright, son?" he asked.
I hesitated, wondering if I should tell them about my plans to sabotage the restaurant. But then I shook my head, knowing that it was too risky. I couldn't risk getting my parents in trouble or losing my job.
"Yeah, everything's fine," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."
My parents exchanged a worried look but didn't push the matter any further. Instead, we ate our dinner in silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of silverware and the occasional slurp of soup.
After dinner, I helped my parents clean up and then retreated to my room. As I lay in bed, I couldn't help but think about my plans for the restaurant. It wasn't fair that the manager got to keep his job while treating me and Timmy like dirt.
But I would do anything to be successful as a chef. And if that meant sabotaging the restaurant I was currently working at so that I could open up my own better restaurant to replace it, then that's what I would do.
Thank you to averyrandomauthor for Asiza and wiifan2002 for Arnold. What did you all think of these two? See you in the next district!