Ten things that Willow Freedman refused to admit but were totally true.
1. She totally stole that orange from the fruit orchards.
The farms of 11 were broiling hot on the best of days and even children were expected to contribute to the quota. The backbreaking labor was reserved for the adults, but children had the advantage of size and lower pay. Willow had just wanted a slice to cool off. She'd never tasted one before, and its alluringly sweet juices had hypnotized her into forgetting to hide the peel.
The Peacekeepers had blamed her brother, of course. That twig of a five year old certainly couldn't have found a way to scurry up the back of the old orange tree in Lot 24; she surely couldn't have evaded the security cameras and planned the perfect escape to confound even the brightest Peacekeeper (Willow would argue the brightest Peacekeeper was still fairly easy to confound). No, it had to be her teenage brother to blame.
They beat Jordan within an inch of his life. They flogged and caned him until he had confessed thrice over, then locked him in the stocks for 24 hours. Willow brought him food that night, some small tesserae rations baked into a tiny loaf of bread. She clumsily broke chunks off with her small hands and fed them to him with her hands. He had tried to stay brave for her, to keep a smile, but couldn't help but break into tears.
Willow stayed by him the whole night. She never shed a single tear, only sat, and saw, and made sure she'd remember.
2. She never forgave the first rebellion.
As a twelve year old girl, Willow was just old enough to understand why her family had to go into hiding. Bombs were coming, she'd heard. They'd destroyed 13, and they were going to destroy 11 next. She'd followed her parents and brother down into the communal bunker where she had stayed hidden, packed like a corpse in a coffin, completely silent. There was barely enough room to stand upwards, and the 50+ people hiding together had to sleep in stacked bunks. Each night, Willow would stare at the outline of Jordan's sleeping body mere centimeters from where her nose ended and hope — no, pray that the rebels would show up and save them soon. Days passed, then weeks, and neither help nor her God showed any signs of arriving.
Finally, early one morning, she heard footsteps, then a loud banging sound. The commune members rushed towards the gate, eagerly hoping to find solace in friendly faces. As the vault door spun open, however, they instead saw a sea of white. Willow would never forget hearing the bullets fire into the crowd, rippling a sea of red through dark skin and unwashed faces. She could still feel the Peacekeeper kneeling on her back and neck, crushing her windpipe.
Jordan died in the raid, hit by a stray bullet. Her father was executed by hanging a week later as punishment for inaction in the war. Neutrality was just as bad as treason to the Capitol. Neither were given a proper burial, their bodies dumped into mass graves and left to rot. This time Willow did cry. She cried when they found what was left of her brother's body, she cried when they burned her father's belongings, and she cried when they carried out the District 11 tradition of planting seeds instead of burying bodies.
She cried and cried and cried until there was no more water in her body to make tears with and then she went back to work.
3. She was terrified at the reaping.
Not that she's ever shown it, of course. Throughout the entire ceremony her face held a single, stoic expression that she would come to be known for. Blight from 7 would later jokingly nickname her Weeping Willow in sarcastic reference to her refusal to show emotion. He'd made the mistake of saying to her face once, and she'd given him a stare so withering that he uncharacteristically apologized.
Her mother had been strong when they had lost her father and Jordan. She'd been her solid oak, standing tall and holding Willow while she mourned. But when the time came and Willow's name came out of the reaping jar, it had been her mother who needed holding.
Willow's knees never buckled as she walked onto the stage. She remained strong and steadfast because she had been strong and steadfast her whole life and this wasn't going to change her one bit. District 11 held strong; District 11 was resolute.
Her mother had said a final goodbye to her in the Justice Building. "Come back to me, baby." She had spoken through breathy sobs. "Please." And Willow intended to.
4. She knew she would win from the moment she entered the tribute car.
It was a particularly weak year, that much was certain. Most of the tributes were either in hysterics or sitting shell-shocked, unable to process what was happening. Even the tributes from districts that usually stood out, 1 and 2, were a mess.
The pair from 12 were both sickly little things from the Seam. The little boy had a hacking cough the entire ride and the rest of the tributes gave him a wide berth. Pneumonia was a tricky thing though, and airborne illnesses are difficult to escape in such tight quarters. Within hours, several of the tributes were showing symptoms. By the time of the Games, half were barely able to stand.
It was an unmitigated disaster that would be talked about for years to come. The winning districts (1, 2, and 4) had their male tributes completely wiped out in the opening bloodbaths. Within minutes, audience investment was at an all-time low. It was an embarrassingly pathetic affair. Already starving children weakly tried to lift heavy maces and axes, went into a coughing fit, then collapsed on their side. After two hours, only four tributes had been killed by another's hand. Willow was responsible for two, having garroted the boys from 1 and 5. Years of scaling trees to pick fruit had made her lean, yet surprisingly strong, and her skinny arms were thin but powerful.
At this point, the Games had lasted longer than any before it. Three hours in and only Willow, the girls from 1 and 4, and the boy from 12 remained. The female tributes settled into an uneasy standoff, slowly pacing around the arena licking their wounds, nobody really making an attempt at another. The boy from 12 laid on his side at his pedestal, moaning as the coughs shook through his body. It was at this point that audience members began to openly complain and leave. This would lead to the Games being moved to a broadcasting format in future years rather than being held live. A little editing magic could make even the most boring moments captivating. Citizens that had purchased long-term tickets wouldn't be refunded, of course, but they could watch the Games from special VIP lounges.
Eventually the 1 and 4 two girls grew impatient and attacked each other, each deciding that the girl from 11 wasn't as big a threat as the other. The girl from 1 just barely managed to put her sword through her opponent before feeling the cold tightness of Willow's wire around her neck.
Pull tight. Hold for thirty seconds. Don't think too hard about it.
Twenty feet across from her, a young boy choked to death on his own bile.
She was going home to Mama.
5. She was quite an odd Victor, as much as she denied it.
The previous three winners had been tall, handsome boys with muscles to spare. The dark and homely shadow that slinked around behind them stood out like a sore thumb.
It was all the same to her anyhow; Willow didn't intend to associate with her fellow child killers. In the following years, she'd only really grow to trust the Victors from District 11. Maybe a 7 here or there, or a 9, and of course who didn't trust Mags, but never a career. They left her alone and she returned the favor.
The Capitol treated her with comforting indifference. She had basically won by default, but she still had a handful of kills to her name. She was never outright ridiculed or disliked, but they were able to muster about as much care for her as they would for a once popular style of dress going out of fashion.
6. She didn't entirely loathe her experience in the Capitol.
She still disliked being there, but the engorged lair of inhuman narcissism and opulent overindulgence had its small perks. For one, the freedom given to Capitol citizens allowed them to be much more open. Willow found the freedom to express herself… intimately.
District 11 wasn't conservative by any means, but certain things would still raise an eyebrow. Certain things like women loving women. In the Capitol, however, Willow could lose herself in the arms of call girls and escorts finally feeling free to be herself.
7. She only ever loved two people.
She never married. She had no reason to give the Capitol any more ammo against her. But there were two people that made her strongly consider it.
The first was a girl named Pine from her district. Willow would spend hours talking to her over lunches and long walks about just about anything they could think of. Willow came close to confessing before Pine announced her engagement to a childhood friend. She attended their wedding, happy that someone so close to her was able to find joy, but sad that she'd never had the chance to confess to one of her closest confidants.
The other was Mags.
8. She loved cheesy romantic novels where the guy won the girl at the end.
She once tried to learn how to cook and almost burned down the entirety of Victor's Village.
She was deathly afraid of the ocean and refused to visit District 4's long, sandy beaches.
She loved jazz music and was in the process of learning how to play the saxophone.
She loved and laughed and lived every inch of her life to the fullest extent possible before it ended.
9. She never forgot a single one of her tributes.
Some mentors tried to keep cool distance from their tributes, knowing that more likely than not their children wouldn't return. Willow was not one of them. By the end of their time together she'd know their hobbies, favorite colors, parents's names, and dreams and hopes. She left a piece in every single one of them.
Little Jaime who still hadn't learned how to tie his shoes and used slip-ons, big tall Cropper who was madly in love with his high school girlfriend, sweet and serene Seeder who hadn't had a full meal her entire life.
She'd plant a seed for every one that didn't make it back.
10. She was guilty as sin — of her charges at least.
Sedition, they'd accused her of, of plotting with rebel forces. They were right, of course. Willow had been working with rebels since nearly the moment she set foot back in 11. It had just taken them decades to notice.
Secret meetings, coordinated messages, inside knowledge of the Capitol — the rebellion had to get their information from somewhere, and Willow was one of their most trusted sources. The Peacekeepers had no actual proof of it, of course.
After the Girl on Fire had coated poor Rue Holmes's body with flowers, had treated her with kindness and love and the respect that 11 had lacked for 74 years, Head Peacekeeper Janus Ferrante marched up to Willow's home in Victor's Village and ordered her death by firing squad, execution papers signed by President Snow himself. They had hoped that her death would send a ripple of fear through the district, quelling the risk of open rebellion. Instead, it had the opposite effect, inciting riots and strikes so prominent that the district was mostly closed for Katniss's Victory Tour.
As for Willow herself, well, she wasn't afraid. Her mother was long gone, dead of a stroke at age 67. Everyone else she cared about was either dead too or too high-profile to execute. She'd gotten everything she wanted out of life. The rest was just confetti.
When they marched her up in front of the Justice Building blindfolded and aimed the rifles at her and 12 other "co-conspirators," she'd even given them a smile. She knew that at that instant, Plutarch was scheming to bring District 13 back into the fold. Killing her wouldn't do a damn thing but set off the powder keg that was 11. Besides, she was an old woman, and tired. It was high time she rejoined the rest of her family.