(Chapter 6: James)
I slip on my best white shirt and black tie, and put on black pants and shoes. I comb my dark hair and stroll out of my room. My mother wears a light green, ankle-length flowery dress, and her hair is pinned back in a tight bun. Cleo wears a white knee-length dress, her hair in a ponytail and her big brown eyes full of fear. I hold her cold hands.
"It's alright Cleo. You're alright." I tell her, and give her a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes meet mine.
"What if you're chosen?" she stutters. I can see her eyes watering.
"I won't be, and neither will you." I whisper, so my mother can't hear me. I pull Cleo into a warm hug.
"It's time to go. Hurry up." My mother snarls, slamming the front door behind her as she leaves. I smile at Cleo.
"C'mon." I say. "We'll be alright, I promise."
We make our way into our designated groups. I spot my friends in the sixteen year old group, who slap me on the back and give me handshakes. At twelve o'clock the ceremony starts, and the mayor and our district escort, Sylvia Hale, from the Capitol, stand on the grand stage, all cameras pointed at them. The mayor reads the history of Panem, then explains the games. Usually he would read the list of victors, but we haven't had any. Other districts might have their victors on the stage, who may do a speech since they might be the mentors. We usually just have two people from the Capitol to mentor us until someone wins. Almost everyone in District 1 trains extremely hard, working to become the first victor of our district.
The mayor then introduces Sylvia, who trots over to the microphone. Sylvia has long white-blond hair and extreme makeup, with a bright green jumpsuit and tall pink heels. Sylvia does her speech about honour and whatnot, then walks over to the giant glass ball with the girl's names.
"Girl's first!" she insists, plunging her hand into the sea of paper slips and swishing it around, adding to the suspense. I look over at the girl's crowd and meet eyes with Cleo. Her cheeks are still wet and rosy red from crying. She looks like she's going to be sick. I hope her name doesn't get pulled, I don't know what I'd do. Cleo wouldn't survive, she'd be one of the first dead. She refuses to train, or even talk about the games. My heart skips a beat, imagining a scenario where her name is drawn. Mother wouldn't even care, a cruel smile would stretch on her red lips as she watched her only daughter suffer on television. As long as her name is known, she doesn't care.
Sylvia chooses a slip, and the crowd is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. She reads in her slightly high-pitched voice.
"Cleo Lysander!" she smiles, green eyes searching the crowd of girls. "Up you come!"
My heart stops, and I quickly look in Cleo's direction. Everyone knows her as that weird girl who doesn't leave the house. I'm about to have a heart attack. Cleo was chosen. Cleo will die. I think I'm about to throw up.
She's probably got worse nerves right now than I do. Bravely, Cleo carefully makes her way out of the crowd and into the walkway to the stage. I take a breath. I can't believe she's doing this. I wish I could volunteer for her.
Then she pulls out her knife from breakfast. The crowd gasps, and the peacekeepers begin to move, edging closer to the small little girl in the white dress with the knife.
It's hard to believe that she'll do anything with the knife, after all, she's only about twelve.
But she did.
Instead of killing Peacekeepers or anyone else, she did something nobody would expect.
Her arm extended, she pointed the knife at her heart. My own heart feels like it's up in my throat. I don't move. My eyes are locked on the back of her head, silently pleading for her to stop. The peacekeepers break into a run. But before they can do anything, Cleo plunges the knife into her heart, and bright red blood seeps into the white cotton of her dress, and falls to the ground.
"No!" I cry out. All eyes on me.
I glance at my mother, and find that her lips are pulled into a grin.
This is just the kind of event that gets your name remembered. 'Lysander', the name of the crazy people. I'm frozen in place, as I watch as the peacekeepers haul Cleo's lifeless body out of the walkway. Everyone is silent for a moment, eyes glued on a small bloodstain in the gravel.
Sylvia clears her throat. She attempts to be positive, but it just sounds cruel.
"W-Well! I guess this means we draw again, yes?" she asks, looking desperately at the mayor. After a moment to think, the mayor nods.
"Wonderful! So any of you lucky girls has another chance to have glory in the games!" she squeals, and dips her hand into the glass ball again, this time quickly snatching the first piece of paper her pale fingers touch. She hastily unfolds it, and reads out the name.
"Lilly McRobinson!" Sylvia says.
I had known Lily my whole life. In fact, we used to be good friends when we were younger. When I was thirteen, she said she liked me in a more than friend way and I rejected her, creating the awkwardness that made our friendship drift apart. Lily was pretty in a way that she had been told her whole life, the way she effortlessly drifts over to the stage, not a hint of fear in her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as her dark blonde curls bounce on her back. I can't remember why I rejected her now.
She skips up the stairs, and almost everyone forgets about Cleo.
But I feel like my own heart has been stabbed with a knife.