Helena Valentine-18 (District 2)
Seven years before the Reaping
Part of me can't believe I'm doing this. It's not like me to put having fun ahead of training, but I am. I'm skipping one of my workouts to go to a party. Can you believe that?
All I have to do is go in there and tell my dad I'm leaving and then do it before he or my mom catch me.
"Ok, Helena, you can do this," I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest as I stand outside the door to my dad's office and try to smooth the wrinkles out of my new outfit. "Just knock on the door, tell him you're leaving, and then get out of here before he can stop you. You can do that. Right?"
It sounds so easy when I say it like that. All I have to do is blah, blah, and blah is just a fancy way of saying; all I have to do is look my dad in the eye, lie to him, and then leave for the party before he figures out I'm lying. And that's easier said than done.
Lying to my parents is bad enough, but lying to them and skipping a workout is basically unthinkable.
Seriously, skipping a workout—or anything else my parents tell me to do—is the worst thing I could ever do as far as they're concerned. I've known that since I was old enough to walk, and the consequences for doing so has been drilled into my head so often that I've never had the guts to do it.
Heck, I've never even thought about it before today. I'd never had a reason to. Not until Fausta invited me to her birthday party.
She's the most popular girl in school, and she invited me to her party even though everyone else in our class told her not to. And she didn't get mad at me or take the invitation back when I sat there and stared at her like an idiot because I thought she was playing a joke on me.
Instead, she sat with me at lunch and told me that she really did want me to come to the party before asking me to be her friend.
Can you believe that? The most popular girl in school wants me to be her friend.
That's why I have to go to her party. I just have to.
"Well, here goes nothing."
~KNOCK~
~KNOCK~
~KNOCK~
"Excuse me, Daddy?" I say, my voice shaking as I reach out with a trembling hand and push open the door to his office. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
"Helena," he says curtly, his voice flat and even, his eyes drifting up from his book to my face. "Shouldn't you be downstairs getting ready for your workout? And what are you wearing?"
"It's the new outfit Mommy got me," I lie, hoping he'll be too distracted by his book and the poor light in the hall to notice that my mom would never buy me something like this.
But I'm not that lucky, and it takes him all of three seconds from the time he closes his book and looks up at me to realize that I'm lying.
"Your mother bought you that?" he asks, his eyes making it clear that he's giving me a chance to do the right thing and tell the truth.
"Yes," I say, the lie slipping past my lips before I can stop it.
"Helena," he growls, shaking his head in disgust, "what have I told you about lying?"
"That it's the sign of a weak mind," I mumble sheepishly, my resolve and composure crumbling with each passing second as he sits there and glares at me.
"And?"
"And only losers and cowards lie."
"Exactly," he says, the sound of him tossing his book into the empty chair beside him causing my stomach to jump up into my throat. "And your mother and I didn't raise you to be a loser or a coward. So, please don't act like one."
"I'm sorry, Daddy," I mumble, my eyes drifting down to my feet in shame.
"I'm sure you are," he says, his voice dripping with anger and sarcasm. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Who bought you that outfit?"
"No one," I whisper meekly.
"Don't lie to me, Helena."
"I'm not."
"Then where'd you get it?"
"I … I traded one of my training spears to a girl at school for it."
"Why?"
"B-Because I needed something to wear to Fausta's birthday party," I whisper, my voice shaking, my hands trembling.
"And who is Fausta?"
"My … my new friend at school."
"I told you, Winston," growls my mom, her angry voice echoing off the walls as she slides out of the shadows at the other end of the hall and starts toward my dad's office.
"You were right, Azure," he says, his voice snapping my attention back to him as he shakes his head in disgust. "I didn't want to believe it, but you were."
"I almost wish I wasn't," she says, her voice a perfect mixture of anger and disappointment as she pushes past me and into my dad's office. "I mean, I know our daughter isn't perfect—she's entirely too slow and stupid for me to make that mistake—but I never dreamed that she'd be this stupid and selfish."
"You knew?!" I ask, the question slipping out despite my best efforts to stop it. "How?"
"Because we're your parents, Helena," she says, her voice cold and distant as she looks at my dad and shakes her head in disappointment. "We know everything that goes on in this house. And you're not as sneaky as you think."
I should have known that they knew.
How could I be such an idiot?
"Why didn't you say something?" I finally ask.
"Isn't it obvious?" she asks, her voice tinged with annoyance. "We wanted to see what you'd do."
"You were testing me," I say, the weight of the realization crashing down on my head like a ton of bricks.
"We were," she says flatly.
"And you failed," my dad adds, his voice dripping with venom and barely contained disgust as he slides out of his chair and heads over to his office bar to fix a drink. "Miserably."
"But why?" I whisper, my voice shaking as I fight the urge to cry. "Why would you do this to me?"
"I think the more important question is, why would you do this to us?" he asks, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he drops a couple of ice cubes into an empty glass and reaches for a bottle of scotch.
"We sacrificed everything for you, Helena," he pours the scotch into his glass.
"We spent every penny we had to hire a small army of trainers and tutors to help prepare you for the Games, and we called in every favor we had to get you enrolled in the academy as a six-year-old instead of waiting for you to turn ten like everyone else," he sets the bottle back down, picks up his glass, and takes a sip.
"We did that because we love you," he sneers the word at me, "and all we asked in return is that you take your training seriously," he turns to face me, his eyes hard and angry, his voice shaking with rage, "but you couldn't do that. Could you?"
"I'm ... I'm sorry, Daddy," I whisper.
"You're only sorry because you got caught."
"That's not true," I choke out, my eyes brimming with tears as I stand here and watch as he shotguns the rest of his drink before fixing another and stumbling back to his chair.
"Yes, it is, Helena," my mom growls, her face twisting into a scowl as she plucks my dad's drink out of his hand and takes a sip before handing it back to him after he's safely back in his chair. "And pretending it's not isn't going to change that."
"But I'm telling the truth," I whisper, my voice shaking, my hands trembling as I stare down at my feet and sob in shame. "I really am sorry. I promise."
"Then why'd you do it?"
I don't have an answer for her. I wish I did, but I don't. So, I do the only thing I can think of and tell her that.
"I ... I don't ... I don't know," I admit, my words coming out in short, ragged little sobs. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"You didn't think, Helena," my dad says, his voice trailing off for a second as he takes another gulp of his drink, "and that's part of the problem."
"It's also an issue for another time, Winston," my mom reminds him. "Right now, we need to deal with the situation at hand," she nods dismissively in my direction.
"Your right," he growls, his words slurring together slightly as the intoxicating effects of his drink finally start to kick in. "So, how do you want to handle it?"
"We're going to give her a choice," she says, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "She can either go downstairs and do her workout—plus an extra hour of cardio for being a selfish little bitch. Or, she can say fuck it all and throw away five years of blood, sweat, and tears for one night of childish fun.
"It's up to her."
"You'll let me go to the party?" I ask, my voice low and afraid but hopeful, my hands trembling in step with the pounding of my heart.
"We will," she says, her voice calm and even despite the rage burning in her eyes. "But don't bother coming home if you do."
"What?" I ask, clearly confused.
"If you walk out that door, you'll never set foot in this house again, Helena," she snarls, her tone making it clear that this isn't an empty threat. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," I whimper pathetically.
"Good. Now, choose."
And I do. It takes me a couple of minutes—most of which I spend trying to calm down and compose myself—but eventually, I make the only choice I can.
"I'll do my workout," I whisper, my voice low and defeated, my cheeks stained with tears and snot as I slowly back away from my dad's office door and head downstairs to change.
It's not what I want to do, but it is what I have to do. Because I owe it to my parents not to let all the time and money they've invested in me go to waste. Even if that means being friendless and miserable.
"DON'T FORGET THE HOUR OF CARDIO!"
Sedge Hamilton-18 (District 9)
Three years before the Reaping
I still can't figure out what I did wrong.
I wasn't talking. I wasn't making random noises or stupid faces. I wasn't drawing or writing inappropriate things. And I wasn't distracting the other students. I was sitting in my chair with my head down, working on my project like the teacher told me to.
So, why did she ask me to stay after class to talk?
"Thank you for waiting, Sedge," she says, her voice snapping me out of my thoughts and back to reality as she walks confidently into the room with my project from earlier in her hand and a pair of men in suits I've never seen before following a few steps behind her. "I appreciate your patience."
"It's no trouble at all," I say quietly, my body tensing as the two strange men walk up behind me while my teacher slides into her chair behind her desk. "But I'm not sure why I'm here."
"Did your teacher not tell you the good news, boy?" asks one of the men, his voice gruff and throaty as he slaps me on the back with his tanned, heavily calloused hand so hard it makes my teeth rattle.
I shake my head no, my eyes searching my teacher's happy but otherwise unreadable face for clues while my mind races from one terrible but unlikely scenario to the next.
"Well, why not?"
"Because I was hoping to do it with his parents," she counters, her voice light and happy as she leans back in her chair and smiles at me. "But they're out in field six and can't be reached."
"That's too bad," says the other man, his voice surprisingly high and squeaky for a man his size. "But it's not unexpected," his voice trails off as I hear him stick his hand in his pocket and search for something. "Here," he taps me on the shoulder, "give this to your parents so they can call me if they have any questions."
"Thank you," I say, my hand shaking as I reach up and take the card, "I'll give it to them as soon as they get home," I finish, staring down at the card in my hands as I try to figure out how my parents are supposed to call him when we don't have a phone.
"Don't mention it, Sedge," he says, placing his now empty hand on my shoulder and squeezing it before nodding to my teacher to continue.
"So, Sedge, I want to start this meeting by reassuring you that you're not in trouble," she coos, her smile spreading to her eyes as she holds my gaze until I nod and smile back. "OK?"
"Then why am I here?" I ask cautiously.
"Because of this," she points to the stack of folders on her desk with my project in it as her smile spreads to the rest of her face before hopping to the faces of the two men on either side of my chair.
"What about it?" I ask, trying to sound confident as I sit here and pick at my fingers.
"It's incredible, Sedge," she laughs, shaking her head in amusement. "Some of the higher level calculations are a little off, but the bulk of the project is—"
"Game-changing," says the gruff man from earlier as he slaps me on the back for a second time.
"Revolutionary," squeaks the other.
"The most impressive year-end project I've seen from a student in over thirty years of teaching."
"Really," I ask, my voice cracking with excitement, my chest swelling with pride.
"It's all of those things and more," says a new voice from somewhere behind me. "So, so much more.
"It's going to change the world. And your life is going to change with it. ..."
~FIVE HOURS LATER~
"What does all of this mean, Sedge?" my dad asks, his voice low and tired, his face a mask of confusion as he sits there and studies the pamphlet I gave him. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No, Dad," I assure him, my face dripping with sweat as I carefully scoop up the onions and carrots I just finished chopping and toss them into the pot with the rest of dinner. "In fact, it's actually the opposite."
"Are you sure?" he asks, sliding the pamphlet across the table to my mom as she plops down in an empty chair with an exhausted sigh. "Because it sounds like you're doing bad in school and need extra help like your little brother Rush."
"That's not it at all, Dad," I laugh, shaking my head as I try to think of a better way to explain this to him.
The only problem is I'm not sure how to do that. Because even I'm having trouble understanding how doubling the amount of time I spend at school while nearly tripling my homework load isn't a punishment.
But my mom does. And fortunately, she can explain it to my dad in a way I can't.
"It's not a punishment, dear," she whispers, her words slurring together as she yawns before sliding the pamphlet back over to my dad, popping out of her chair, and walking up behind me. "It's a reward," she says, her smile seeping into her words as she kisses me on the top of my head. "Our little boy has a gift, Carex. And the district wants to nurture that."
"Exactly," I coo, grunting as I pick up the pot of stew and set it on the table before turning to grab the bowls and spoons. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Mom."
"I'm still not sure I buy it," he mumbles, nodding his head in thanks as he takes the bowl I offer him and starts to search through the rich brown gravy for the scraps of meat hidden within. "But I know better than to argue with your mother," he laughs, reaching across the table to take her hand. "So, if she says it's on the level, then it's on the level."
"I'm going to remember you said that," she coos in response, a weak smile on her tired face as she squeezes his hand while I fill her bowl and set it in front of her.
"I'm sure you will," he rolls his eyes in mock amusement as he slips his hand out of hers, picks up his spoon, and looks down at his dinner. "This looks delicious, Sedge."
"I hope it tastes as good as it looks," I laugh, the rich, meaty aroma of the stew filling my nose as I carefully fill my own bowl to the brim before scooping the rest into Rush's bowl. "I tried to follow Mom's recipe to the letter, but I ran out of salt."
"It tastes fine, dear," she assures me, her eyes fixed on my dad's face as he shovels a spoonful into his mouth and swallows it without chewing. "See."
"It's delicious, son," he mumbles, a stream of gravy dribbling down his chin as he shovels another spoonful into his mouth. "Where's your little brother?"
"Playing soccer with his friends," my mom replies, her disapproving glare fixed on my dad's face as he quickly decides not to talk with his mouth full. "I told him he had to be home by eight-thirty."
He nods in response before swallowing the rest of the food and turning his attention back to me.
"So, tell us more about this program," he smiles, his eyes fixed on me as he reaches across the table to get a piece of bread.
"Well, for starters, It's the most prestigious program in the entire district," I say, my voice tinged with just the faintest hint of uncertainty as I dip my spoon back into my bowl, "and they only choose the best to be a part of it.
"It's going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done," I swallow subconsciously. "But, if I make it through it, I'll be all but guaranteed a job as an engineer after I graduate."
"When are you supposed to start?"
"Monday."
"Well then, your mom and I will have to do something special for you this weekend to celebrate. Won't we?"
"We will," she smiles. "And maybe you could invite your friend Zeya too?" she says, a knowing smirk on her lips. "If you want."
"I'll see if she's busy," I laugh, rolling my eyes in amusement at my mom's latest attempt to get me to date my best friend. "But I can't promise anything."
"All I ask is that you try," she says, her eyes lighting up as she starts to brainstorm creative ways to get the two of us alone in a romantic setting.
"I will," I mumble, an amused smile on my lips as I finally push myself away from the table and stand up to stretch.
"Well, I'm going to bed," I yawn, my voice straining, my back and shoulders popping as I reach up and bring my hands together over my head before letting go and leaning down to kiss my mom. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, dear," she coos, her eyes fixed lovingly on my dad as he uses the crust of his bread to sop up the last of the gravy in his bowl. "We love you."
"I love you guys too."
Cypher Diamantis-12 (District 3)
Two years before the Reaping
"This can't be happening," I whisper, my voice trembling with sadness and uncertainty as I sit here and struggle to understand what happened. "It has to be a mistake.
"I talked to Breaker on the phone this morning, and he was fine," I sob, my voice and body shaking. "That was just a few hours ago."
"We know," my mom mumbles, her voice low and distant, her eyes red, puffy, and clouded with tears as she sits there and stares off into oblivion.
"What happened?" I ask, hoping that knowing the how will help me understand the why.
"We don't know," my dad growls, his voice low and angry, his knuckles caked in dried blood from where he'd punched the wall when he heard the news. "We asked, but all his handler would tell us is that there had been an accident during morning training, and Breaker didn't make it."
"But that doesn't make sense," I whisper, my mind going a million miles a second as I try to fit this new piece of information into the puzzle that is my brother's death in a way that makes sense. "Today was supposed to be an off day for his training group.
"Why would they have been training on their day off?"
"What difference does it make?!" my dad snaps. "Is the answer to that question going to change anything, Cypher?"
"No, Dad," I whisper, silently kicking myself for letting my curiosity get the better of me as I brush away a fresh string of tears with the back of my hand.
"Then why ask it?"
"I... I don't know," I admit sheepishly. "I just thought knowing might help me figure out what happened to Breaker," I whisper as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"You don't need to figure out what happened to him, Cypher," my mom croaks, her voice low and hoarse from crying, her red, puffy, bloodshot eyes still staring into the abyss. "All you need to know is that Breaker is dead."
"But I—"
"But nothing, Cypher," she snaps, her tone taking on a serious edge as she turns toward me. "Your brother is dead," she pauses, choking back a sob. "How it happened doesn't matter. Do you understand me?"
I nod, a lump forming in my throat as I try to figure out what Breaker could have been involved with in the Capitol that would scare my parents like this.
"Good," my dad growls, an exhausted groan slipping past his lips as he slides out of his chair and stumbles toward the kitchen to get himself a drink. "We've already lost one son to this madness—we don't need to lose another."
Part of me wants to ask my dad what madness he's talking about, but I'm smart enough to keep that question to myself.
"Are they going to send us his body, at least?" I ask instead.
"They are," he growls from the kitchen. "His handler said they'll send it to us as soon as they clear it."
"What does that mean?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
"We don't know," my mom says bitterly, "and we didn't ask."
"Ok," I say quietly, my mind racing a million miles a second as a blanket of sadness slowly settles over the room until a soft but persistent rapping at the front door jolts us out of our grief-induced stupor.
~tap~
~tap~
~tap~
"Mr. and Mrs. Diamantis, we know you're in there," says a soft but commanding voice from the other side. "Please open the door."
"Go to your room, Cypher," my dad says, his bruised and bloodied hand on my shoulder as he walks back into the living room with a worried look etched on his sad and tired face. "And don't come out until we tell you to."
"But, Dad—"
"No buts, Cypher. Just go."
~tap~
~tap~
~tap~
"Open the door, Mr. and Mrs. Diamantis, or I'll have one of my men break it down."
I want to fight him on this. I want to tell him that if this is about Breaker—which we all know it is—then I have a right to hear whatever the woman on the other side of the door has to say. But I don't.
Instead, I nod and scurry off to my room while my mom takes my dad's good hand in hers and opens the door to the polite but insistent woman on the other side.
~SIX WEEKS LATER~
Six weeks. It took the Capitol six weeks to clear Breaker's remains and send them to us. And, even then, we didn't get his body. We got an urn full of ashes—and a few personal effects of a nonsensitive nature—dropped off on our doorstep in the middle of the night.
That's how the Capitol treated a hero who died in its service. No pomp, no ceremony, just a late-night drop-off that sat out there in the dark until my parents found it when my dad left for work in the morning.
That was a fun wake-up call—my mother screaming into the early morning air as she clutched my brother's urn tight to her chest and sobbed while my dad did everything he could not to rebreak his hand. It was gut-wrenching.
The only good thing about it is that it ended six weeks of waiting. We have Breaker back—what's left of him, anyway—and we can finally lay him to rest and say goodbye.
So, why do I still feel so empty?
"Are you ready to go, Cypher?" my dad asks from the other side of my door, his voice driving away my thoughts as it knifes effortlessly through the still quietness of the morning.
"Yeah," I say, my voice low and passive as I slide off my bed and grab my suit jacket off the back of my chair, "just give me a second," I mumble as I pull it on.
"Don't take too long," he sighs, his voice tinged with anger and frustration. "We're running late as it is."
"I'll try to hurry," I growl through gritted teeth, doing my best not to let my own anger and frustration seep into my response as I roll my eyes and glare at the door.
"Don't try, Cypher," he snaps. "Just do it," he yells, his voice quivering with anger as he slams his fist into my door before stomping off. "People are waiting. So, stop being a selfish little asshole, and get out here so we can go to your brother's service."
It takes everything I have not to lose my shit on my dad through the door for that. How dare he call me selfish when he's spent the last six weeks alternating between screaming at me for breathing too loud one second and then ignoring my existence the next?!
And don't even get me started on my mom. The only time she's said more than two words to me since Breaker died was when she accused me of trying to make his death all about me because I was crying.
My parents have spent almost every day of the last six weeks treating me like this is my fault instead of helping me deal with the loss of my big brother. Breaker was my only friend, and now he's gone.
I'm all alone now, and the two people who should be helping me deal with that are making it worse. And I'm sick of it.
But they don't care; no one does. I have to find a way to live with that. And the only way I can is to stop showing how much I'm hurting.
It's going to suck; there's no doubt about it. But pretending not to care is the only option I have at this point.
"CYPHER, WE HAVE TO LEAVE. NOW!" my mom screams, her voice low and hoarse as she pounds on my door. "PEOPLE ARE WAITING FOR US!"
"I"m coming," I mumble, a smattering of tears rolling down my cheeks as I choke back an angry retort, grab the scarf I found in Breaker's box of things from the Capitol, fold it up, and stuff it in my pocket before wiping my eyes and throwing open my door with a passive look etched on my face. "I'm sorry I took so long."
Neither of them says anything. Hell, they barely even acknowledge me as I shoulder past them and out into the warm embrace of the midday sun as I slowly make my way toward the cemetery so I can say goodbye to Breaker.
Maira Renault-12 (District 12)
Six months before the reaping
"You can do this, Maira," I whisper, my voice shaking as I stand here and stare down at the plastic kazoo in my hands while I try to work up the courage to walk into the music school. "There's no reason to be nervous.
"All you have to do is walk in there and ask if you can sign up for music lessons," I whisper, my body trembling with fear as I try and fail to psych myself up for this. "You can do that. Right?"
I really don't think I can. If I could, I'd be in there doing it instead of standing out here trying not to cry.
That's always been my problem. I want to try new things—like learning to play my kazoo—but I'm not brave enough to follow through. I always chicken out at the last second. Just like I'm going to now.
"This was a stupid idea," I mumble, my cheeks slick with tears and red with embarrassment as I stand here and fidget with my kazoo like a giant chicken. "I should have known better."
I'm just about to leave—to run away from yet another thing I really want to try because I'm too scared to actually do it—when a soft voice jolts me out of my own little world and back to reality.
"Are you here for the beginner music class too?" she asks, her voice soft and friendly.
"I um... I am," I say, taking a deep breath before turning around and smiling at her.
"Good," she says excitedly. "I was worried I'd be the only kid my age here," she smiles as she offers me her hand. "I'm Carly."
I didn't know what to do at first, so I did what she did and offered her my hand while using the other to adjust my glasses. "I'm Maira," I mumble softly. "It's nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you too," she coos, smiling as she shakes my hand before looking down at the kazoo I'm holding. "Is that your instrument?"
"Um," I look down at the plastic toy in my hand and blush. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"That's so cool," she smiles as she reaches into her pocket. "This is mine," she squeals, her eyes lighting up as she shows me an old harmonica.
"My grandpa gave it to me before he died. He used to play it for me when I was little.
"Do you have a cool story about your kazoo?"
I shake my head no, blushing in embarrassment as I stand here and fidget with it like an idiot. "I didn't know instruments could have stories," I admit sheepishly.
"Of course they can, silly," she giggles. "Anything can have a story," she puts her hand on my shoulder and smiles.
"But it's OK if your kazoo doesn't have one yet. There's still plenty of time for it to get one."
"There is?" I ask, afraid that it's a stupid question but allowing myself to ask it anyway.
"You bet," she says, smiling warmly at me as she reaches for the door. "And the first step to getting that story is to go in here and sign up for music class.
"Right?"
Part of me still thinks that doing that will be a mistake. A kazoo isn't a real instrument, and I'm terrified that I'll get made fun of if I sign up for lessons and ask them to teach me how to play it like it is. But there's something about how happy and confident Carly is about this that makes me think it might be worth the risk.
"Right," I say, trying to sound as confident about it as she does, even though I'm super nervous.
"That's the spirit, Maira," she says, an excited squeal slipping past her lips as she takes my free hand in hers and leads me into the music school without a second thought.
Well, here goes nothing.
~SIX MONTHS LATER~
~The Day Before the Reaping~
"Mom, do you know where my kazoo is?!" I ask, my voice low and panicked as I tear through my backpack, looking for the little plastic treasure that means so much to me. "I can't find it anywhere, and I'm late for class."
"The last time I saw it, your dad had it," she yells back, her attention obviously on something else.
"Do you know what he did with it?!" I ask, my voice a mixture of anger and frustration as I throw my now empty bag on my bed and storm out of my bedroom toward the kitchen.
"Don't try and put this on me," he says, his tone low and defensive with just a hint of playfulness. "This was your idea, not mine."
Oh, no. What happened?!
"Dad, what did you do with my kazoo?!" I ask—my panic from earlier rushing back with a vengeance as a sick feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. "You didn't lose it, did you?" I run into the kitchen, my voice cracking as I fight back the urge to cry. "I need it...for...class.
"What's going on?" I ask, my eyes darting between their faces for any hint as the two of them sit at the kitchen table and smile at me.
"We have a surprise for you, Maira," my mom coos, her face an unreadable mask of happiness as she motions for me to sit down with them.
"Can't it wait? I'm late for class," I remind them. "Carly's waiting for me."
"This will only take a second, munchkin," my dad says, his eyes lighting up as he reaches under the table to grab something. "Besides, you can't go to class without the surprise anyway."
"What is it?" I ask, my voice slightly annoyed as I sit down on the far side of the table.
"This," he says, smiling as he slides a small box across the table to me before taking my mom's hand in his and waiting for me to open it.
So, I do. I pick up the box, slide off the bow, untie the ribbon, and carefully lift the top open to find a beautiful metal kazoo with my name engraved on the top.
"Wow," I mumble, my eyes tearing up as I take it out of the box to look at it. "Mom, Dad, this is incredible."
"We're glad you like it, munchkin," he says, leaning in to kiss my mom on the cheek before reaching across the table to grab the bow and ribbon. "It took us two months to get it."
"We wanted to give it to you for your birthday," my mom adds. "But the people at the music school couldn't get it for us that fast."
"I'm surprised they were able to get it at all," I say, admiring the way it feels in my hand as I press it to my lips and give it a soft test blow. "They've been trying to get Ash a triangle for five months, and they haven't been able to do it."
"Yeah, well, your dad might have called in a favor or two to get it for you."
"What kind of favors?"
"It's better if you don't know, kiddo," he says, his voice light and playful despite the serious look in his eyes telling me to drop it. "Just enjoy your gift."
"I will," I whisper, putting it back in its box and sliding the box into my pocket before jumping out of my chair and racing off to show Carly. "I'll be back later. I love you guys."
A/N: I wanted to give a special thanks to Iron-Doughnut, Josephm611, Formerly Chuck's, and Victoria the Bipolar Tribute for sending in Helena, Sedge, Cypher, and Maira; I had a lot of fun writing each of them and I hope I've done them justice so far.
So, I never intended for it to take me this long to get this update out. I won't bore you with the details of my personal life, but I hope the wait was worth it and that I've done a better job fleshing out these four amazing tributes than I did the first time around.
That's really all I have, I hope you all enjoyed this long overdue update, and I'm looking forward to hearing what you all think and seeing your smiling faces at the next update. Which, hopefully, won't take me 4+ months to finish.
