Chapter 6
NARRATOR | Easton Rodgers, District 9
Sweat runs down my neck as the brutal summer sun beats down on the District Nine crowd. I'm used to the heat from being in the wheat fields every day, but today's an exceptionally sweltering day. I see some of the boys from the inner city attempting to fan themselves to keep cool; next to me, some of the boys from the fields are making fun of them.
A hush falls over the crowd as the huge doors to the Town Hall creak open. The mayor steps out, followed by a few other officials I don't recognize. One woman sticks out from the group for many reasons - it looks like her dress is completely made of wheat, and a few pieces stick out of her hair.
"Subtle," someone snickers from behind me as she steps onto the stage, and I agree. Could this girl's outfit be any tackier?
The girl stands behind the mayor as he makes his introductory speech. The whole time, she looks like she's about to burst from excitement. She keeps glancing excitedly at the crowd as the mayor talks as if she's sharing her excitement with an adoring crowd. All she gets is blank stares in return.
The mayor points us to the usual propaganda film. It's just the same old shots - District Thirteen destroyed in flames, Katniss Everdeen's execution, the revival of the Hunger Games. Nothing new.
"Well then," the lady says, stepping up to the microphone. She pulls the microphone down to her short stature with a giggle. "Welcome, everyone, to the Reaping of the 98th Hunger Games! I'm Portia Whimsiwick, your new Capitol escort."
I think Portia is expecting a round of applause, but all she gets is the groaning of the metal stage beneath her. She clears her throat, taking a look at the District around her.
"Alright," she says quietly before returning to her energetic self. "The time has come for us to select one courageous man and woman to represent District Nine in the 98th Annual Hunger Games!"
The crowd is so quiet that I wouldn't even know they were here if my eyes were closed. I can tell what everyone is thinking: please, don't be me...
"Without further ado, let's begin," Portia says, grinning out at the audience. "Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor. As usual, ladies first."
Portia hops over to one of the glass bowls filled with paper slips. As she leans over the bowl, a strand of wheat falls from her hair, landing in the bowl. With a giggle, she fishes it out, bringing a piece of paper with it.
"The female tribute representing District Nine..." she says, opening the slip.
"Heather Sullivan!"
Heather... Sullivan...
I feel like I've just been knocked out of my own body. Across the courtyard, the crowd scatters away from Heather as if she's diseased, and she slowly approaches the stage. The second I see her face, the memories flood back.
The last time I laid eyes on Heather was a year ago. I'd only been in the fields for a year at that point. I tried to stay in school, tried my hardest to keep my grades up, but eventually, my parents told me to give it up. School was only free until the age of twelve, and it was too expensive to justify considering I was nearly failing anyway.
So there I was, at the warehouse storing the District's tractors. I was one of the last ones back from the fields, probably because I was still so much newer than everyone else.
I followed the usual steps - lock up the tractor, hide the keys beneath the front wheel, unload bags of wheat from the back - and by the time I was done, I was the only one left. With a sigh, I stepped out of the warehouse and into a street swarming with Peacekeepers.
"Hold it," one of them barked at me. "What are you doing messing around in there?"
"I work in the fields," I explained. "Just locking up for the night."
"Yeah, right," the Peacekeeper said. "You got ID on you?"
"Only my work permit," I said, nervously glancing around at the group of Peacekeepers completely surrounding me. "It's back in the tractor if you want me to-"
"Nice try," the man laughed. "Listen, son, we've had a report of tractor parts going missing. Engines especially. They're probably getting sold on the black market. You know anything about that?"
I shook my head - how could I have stolen the engine out of a tractor and smuggled it through District Nine undetected?
"Here's what we're going to do," the Peacekeeper said, a twisted grin breaking out on his face. "Who knows whether you did it or not - I don't really care. These people need to learn a lesson that this won't be tolerated. We're gonna take you to the town square and beat you until you confess to stealing the engines. Or, you could confess now, and we'll just lock you up for a few days. How does that sound?"
"I didn't do it!" I insisted, panic starting to spread through my body. "I swear!"
"Grab him," the Peacekeeper said, and his buddies grabbed my arms. "Take him down to-"
"Wait!" I heard someone interrupt. The Peacekeepers paused, turning around to see a girl running down the streets.
I recognized the girl - it was Heather Sullivan, a girl from my class back in school. Unlike me, she was always at the top of my class. The golden girl. Everyone loved her - out of everyone at school, she was the only one with real aspirations. She believed that things could actually get better around here if we just tried to make a positive change.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Heather had said, panting from exertion. "What's going on, officer?"
"This boy's been stealing engines out of tractors in this warehouse," the Peacekeeper announced proudly.
"That can't be true," Heather said, locking eyes with me. "I saw a group of men carrying a big metal box just down the road."
"An engine isn't just a big metal box, hun," the Peacekeeper had scoffed.
"Yeah, thanks," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "I know what an engine looks like, sir. It was an engine."
At this news, the Peacekeepers perked up; one of the men behind me released my hands.
"You're sure?" The leader asked, and Heather nodded.
"Positive," she asserted. "And they walked into a blue house just around the corner."
"Perfect," the Peacekeeper muttered. "Let's go, boys."
Finally, I was free. The men let me go, jogging down the road to follow Heather's tip.
"Thank you," I said, finally regaining my senses. "They were about to beat me..."
"I heard the whole thing," Heather sighed, shaking her head. "I can't believe they were about to frame you like that. I know you would never steal anything - you're a good guy. Can't believe they didn't see that."
Heather's words filled my heart, and I could've cried. You're a good guy...
"Did you actually see those men with the engine?" I asked.
"Maybe I did," Heather said with a shrug. "I've never actually seen an engine before. Not sure if you could tell."
"Heather, you're going to get in trouble," I said, my heart dropping. If there's one thing I didn't want, it was for Heather to be punished for protecting me.
"I have a good reputation around here," Heather said with a wink. "Hey, I have to get home, but stay out of trouble, okay?"
That was the last time I saw Heather Sullivan. Until today.
By the time I drag myself back to reality, the male tribute has been called, and it looks like it wasn't me - a small boy slowly climbs the steps to the stage. He looks like he's barely twelve; there's no way he'll survive in the Arena.
My mind is swirling as Portia steps back up to the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, your tributes for the 98th Games, Heather Sullivan and-"
"I volunteer!"
The words rip out of me without a single thought behind them, like my body is speaking for me. A thousand people turn to face me, and then I realize what I've just done.
Is it too late to back down? Can I duck down and pretend that I didn't speak up?
No, I just volunteered myself for the Hunger Games. I volunteered myself to protect a girl who I care about, a girl who deserves to come back to District Nine alive. I need to stand by that decision.
The boy on stage is crying hysterically when I finally reach the stairs. Across the stage, Heather is staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face.
"What a surprise!" Portia chirps, grabbing me by the shoulders and bringing me up to the microphone. "Tell everyone your name, young man."
"Easton Rodgers," I say, dazed. I'm standing in front of thousands of people, but it feels like my body is still standing back in the crowd, an anonymous face in a sea of people.
"Well, Easton, looks like you volunteered just in time," Portia says with a giggle. "We were just about to report the tributes to the Capitol!"
In front of me, District Nine is staring up at me, all sharing the same expression. What are you doing?!
"Alright, let's give our tributes a round of applause," Portia says as the sobbing boy next to me is hauled away by Peacekeepers. "Heather Sullivan and Easton Rodgers!"
This time, we get a smattering of applause.
Portia grabs both of us by the arm, leading us through the doors to the Town Hall.
"What are you doing?" Heather hisses from next to me, and I turn to face her. Her eyes are wide, still shocked by what's just happened.
"I had to," I exhale. "You saved me last year. Now it's my chance to repay you."
"You didn't have to do that, Easton," Heather says, shaking her head. "All I had to do was tell a lie. You could be giving up your life right now."
"I don't have a life to fight for," I mutter. "No future ahead of me and barely a family to care about. Not like you do. I want to do this, Heather."
Peacekeepers arrive, grabbing us by the arms to pull us into separate rooms.
"I can't stop you," Heather says with a defeated smile. "Thank you, Easton."
And then she's gone.