Chapter 2
The entire population of District 4 is required to attend the reaping. Like she promised, Bara shows up at our doorstep just before we leave.
"You're here!" I embrace her.
"Of course I am! You have such little faith in me." She walks with my family as we make our way to the square.
"And how are you, Misty?" Bara asks.
"Good," Misty says shyly.
"Are you in the reaping yet?"
"She still has almost five years," I say, a little surprised at the audacity of her question. She always speaks what is on her mind without any sense of what is appropriate to the situation. Though, there's something about that that's to be admired. I can always trust her to be honest.
"Really? I couldn't tell because of how big you are." Misty blushes, and I smile in gratitude. Bara is a good friend. She is very different from me, which is why we get along so well. We can never replicate each other even if we try. Most people assume that because I don't speak much and am generally not a very friendly person. I don't like to hear other people talk, but Bara knows how much I love to listen. This only works out because she is a wonderful chatterbox.
A sudden thought crosses my mind. "You aren't going to volunteer this year are you?" I know she has been considering it for a while. I know how she trains like a career, only claiming it as a precaution if she gets picked. She would do well. She is sturdy and almost a head taller than me.
"No, I've decided it's not worth it."
"Good. I don't think you ever should," I say desperately. I can't imagine having to see Bara in the games.
She laughs at me. "I know you don't agree, but why? Why are you so against it?"
"I've just heard that being a victor isn't all it appears to be."
She looks at me curiously for a few seconds. "You know, it's not morally wrong. The tributes are going to die anyway, no matter who kills them. Besides, I think that fate has a way of deciding things, not us."
"I'm not sure about that." The legends of fate all become jumbled when you have to face the reality of the Capitol's power.
Bara smirks. "You're not sure about anything."
We've come to the square. "I'll see you in the crowd." She waves.
I show Claire to her age group, then usher Misty to Mama and Dad while I head to the group of eighteen-year-olds. Only the children eligible for the reaping are allowed in the square, and even still, there is hardly any room for all of them. My parents have to stand with the rest of the citizens outside and watch it on a screen. In the square, I spot Bara waving in the seventeen-year-old section. I can't locate Misty and Claire, but I know they are farther away in the back.
I see Finnick up on the stage as usual. I think I catch him winking at me, but it's probably one of his adoring fans next to me. Or he's just being annoying. That's very possible too. The other three victors are there too. The boys and our sole female victor: Mags Flannigan. The mayor sits on a seat on the other side of the stage. He steps up to the front and begins a long speech about Panem's history. How the rebels were evil. How we are still evil somehow. And most importantly, the reason for the Hunger Games: The District's evil rebellion.
Sitting beside him is Sterling Morgan. He is the host of the reaping for District 4 and has been doing it for the past twenty years. Sterling steps up to the front of the stage. He is a large, pudgy, man who always has a different eye color each year he visits. This year it's a bright dandelion yellow. Somehow, he believes it's attractive, but he completely freaks me out.
"Happy Hunger Games! I hope you are all excited about this year." Not one of the children gives any indication of mild excitement. My head faces the ground, and I stare intently at a clump of dirt. He continues. "I know I sure am excited. I'm also sure that you all are wondering who the tributes are going to be this year! So let the reaping begin but first, let us not forget, May the odds be ever in your favor!" He walks up to the girl's glass ball of names. My heart drops as he reaches inside the glass dome. But as he always does, he lingers on the drawing. He picks up a few and then places them back, while the audience waits in eager anticipation.
I don't have great odds. I'm eighteen and have my name in eight times. Seven because I had to and one extra for tesserae. The industry of fishing produces enough food so no one usually goes hungry. But during stormy months or if fishing wasn't doing well, there wasn't enough food. Or if the Capitol requires more of our supply for their extravagant parties. You give what the Capitol wants, no questions asked. That's what the other districts don't realize. It's not just how much food we get, we end up having to give most of it to the Capitol. So while we get money for it, we sometimes have a lack of food too. And what is money worth when there is no food? That's why Amon and I each took out tessera as an extra supply, just in case. It was worth the risk to us. We got tired of our family not being fed well enough during the bad weeks of fishing. When Amon was seventeen, our supply was draining, so he took out another tessera.
Still, even with having to sign up for a tessera, I have decent odds. The population of District 4 is large. And if Amon didn't get chosen, I have even better odds.
Sterling finally picks a name and walks up to the front. Then he walks back and retrieves a different one. I groan, annoyed but also anxious. I am ready to burst from nerves, and he is acting like it's the most enjoyable moment. He finally unfolds the chosen name.
"The female tribute competing in this year's Hunger Games is . . ."
My hands start shaking the way they do when I am filled with trepidation. I can almost hear the combined beating of the crowd's hearts, but the ringing in my ears is too loud.
". . . Annie Cresta." I almost miss the announcement. Then, when I interpret it, I look around for Annie Cresta, waiting for the unlucky girl to step forward. Then the truth hits. My shaking fingers turn to ice, and my face ignites with fire. I stand still, trying to remember how to breathe as my hearing gradually fades away, replaced with a deafening silence.
I was picked. Impossible. I couldn't be. And yet I was. I attempt to gain my composure and step forward as the girls clear away to reveal a path toward the stage. An icy tear ripples down my cheek, making a burning trail as it travels. I feel sick, but at the same time, like fire.
"Come, Annie," Sterling says, his yellow eyes stalking me like that of a tiger. My feet barely move once I'm on the stage, so Sterling has to position me on the right side. I keep my head down, not wanting to see the crowd's faces. Were they disappointed that District 4's tribute was a skinny, pale girl? More tears fall.
"Well, there you have it." Sterling projects his voice with enthusiasm. He pauses and then seems to remember something. "Any volunteers?"
I look up, suddenly remembering the prospect of volunteers. My heart is on a rampage of fear, spiraling down a hole of endless nightmares, but I hold fast to my small beacon of hope. I spot Bara in the crowd. Her expression is somewhere in between horror, anger, and conflict. I see her hand rising slowly. I catch her gaze. I shake my head and mouth No. A silent and earnest beg. I will never forgive myself if she volunteers. For me, that would be a fate worse than death. But slowly, her hand drops back down by her side. Her face hosts a defeated expression. She mouths something, and I think it's I'm sorry. But it's hard to tell with the movement of the crowd.
"No, then? Give a hand for the female tribute of District 4," Sterling pipes. I hear a loud, fervent, clapping and realize it's Bara. The rest of the children follow suit, and the crowd erupts in applause. I can't help feeling like a sacrifice being marched across a desert land about to be burned in a ritual. Technically that's not far from the truth.
Instead of a fury of thoughts, a numbing quiet takes over me. No more tears bother me. I can't think about anything now. I have to press on through this. Only until I am alone in the Justice Building, I tell myself. Then I'll cry until I pass out.
I am too busy thinking, trying not to think about anything—but in turn, thinking about everything—I don't realize when Sterling selects a slip of paper from the boy's bowl. I start paying attention when he steps up to the microphone.
"The male tribute competing in this year's Hunger Games is . . ."
I don't care who it is. The few guys I know aren't in the reaping anymore. I just hope that it isn't a young child. I despise when the twelve or thirteen-year-olds are reaped. Please let it be some bulky teenager who can hold his own. Or a volunteer. But then maybe that would be worse. We would spend time as a team at the Capitol only to have to fight each other when the games begin. He might end up killing me. My palms grow sweaty again. I try to find the blessed numbness that inhabited me before.
"Adrian Hemmings." I feel relieved when I don't recognize the name. I lift my gaze to scan the crowd. It falls on a man walking toward the stage. He looks to be in his twenties, but he can only be eighteen at most. He is broad-shouldered and muscular. His raven hair is brushed to the side of his face. He carries himself with pride, not a single quiver of fear in his stride. He comes up to the stage beside Sterling.
"Any volunteers?" Sterling asks with flair. There won't be any volunteers. No one volunteers when the tribute reaped already has a good chance of winning. Sure enough, I'm right, no one steps forward.
The mayor comes forward and reads the Treaty of Treason—the whole paper causing these bloody games to be in the first place. After he finishes, he tells me and Adrian to shake hands. I turn and extend my arm to Adrian. He takes my hand and squeezes it tight. Too tight. I look up and peer into his dark eyes. Cold. Determined. A devious smile plays on his lips. I suck in a breath.
As the anthem plays, we are taken into the Justice Building by a squad of peacekeepers. I've been here only once before for a similar reason. To say goodbye. But it wasn't me leaving that time. This time it's me. I'm actually leaving. I'm really going to fight to death in the Hunger Games.
I am locked in a large room with high-arched windows and cushioned couches. A large platter of seafood sits on the table in front of the couches. I don't touch it. Instead, I collapse onto the couch and try not to cry. Suddenly, I hear the door creak open.
"Annie . . ." When I don't acknowledge Amon, he comes to the back of the couch and wraps me in a hug. The tears start falling. The rest of my family come over too. When I recover enough, I tell Misty to be good and Claire to be helpful to Mama. I tell them how much I love them. Then I hug them for a long time. I just can't seem to let go.
I talk to my father next. He tells me how upset he is that I was picked and that he would do anything to change it. He looks at the appetizer table, takes a glass of alcohol, and swiftly swallows it. He reaches for the flask to refill it, but I grab his hand.
"Please, Dad, don't turn to it again to cope with what you're dealing with. It won't solve anything. Please don't give up on anyone." For a moment, he seems provoked. But then he softens.
"I won't, I'm sorry Annie. I just don't know how—" His voice cracks.
"It's okay. I understand."
"I promise we'll be rooting for you."
I smile. "Thanks." I can imagine him gathering together our neighbors and chanting my name louder and louder. Annie Cresta, the female tribute from District 4.
Mama comes up to me next. For a few moments, she just sits next to me in silence, stroking my hair like I am a child again. Then she finally speaks.
"No matter what anyone thinks or what they say about you, you are so much stronger than what you believe, okay?" Her voice is bitter as she tries not to cry.
I nod.
"You do like to cause problems don't you Annie?" Amon comes up beside me.
"I do?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Sarcasm."
"Oh." I lower my head and stare at the ground. Then without warning, I suddenly burst into tears.
"Oh, Annie." Amon enfolds me in his arms again. "I'm so sorry. If I could do anything, I would. If I could have volunteered, I would have, in a heartbeat."
"It's okay. I'm glad it was me rather than any of you." Amon stiffens and pulls away slightly. "What?" I ask, slightly alarmed.
He shakes his head. "I can't imagine what we did to deserve you. You can't be replaced." He says this solemnly as if it was a terrible disappointment. "We probably shouldn't keep you any longer, there are others here to see you."
"What?" I ask, puzzled.
Sure enough, he was right. Throughout the next half hour, dozens of people come in groups to see me. Various relatives I have not talked to in years. My entire senior class and some students from younger classes come to encourage me. My favorite teachers come. Most of my neighbors visit too. And a few other random people I don't know. It's all too overwhelming. Then, I see a familiar voice that comforts me.
"You have no idea how hard it is to get through that many people! I don't know how they got here faster than me!"
"Bara!" I exclaim. She wraps me in a tight hug.
"Annie, I'm so sorry! I wanted to volunteer in your place, but I just couldn't. I was hoping that there would be a volunteer, and then it went by so fast. I guess I just wasn't ready—I couldn't pay the cost." She looks down at me, dejected.
"Bara, it's okay. I would have never forgiven myself if you had taken my place. You owe me nothing."
"There's still one more person waiting to see you, and we're running out of time. But, listen. You have to fight."
"I can't, I don't know how."
"I am talking about something different. You know, people here outshine you in a lot of ways. It's the same in the arena. People can fight better. They're stronger, more cunning, they know more about stuff like this. But you have something that can compete with all of it. You can tell a better story. And sometimes, the story determines whether you live or die. People will root for you if they believe that you have a compelling life story that's worth their time. So use every emotion you have and fight. Promise."
I stand back, a little surprised at her intensity. "I will."
A peacekeeper takes her arm and ushers her out as she pulls against him. "Goodbye, Annie."
After she's gone, I sit back down on the couch. But in a second, the door bursts open again, and no one but Finnick Odair struts in.
"What are you doing here?"
He shrugs. "I like surprising people."
"I don't like surprises."
"That's too bad." His attitude isn't one bit broken. "I don't have long. I just wanted to give you something."
I take a cautious step back, worried. Anything from Finnick Odair can't be any good.
"If you're looking for me to flatter you or confess any hidden feelings, you will be sorely disappointed," I say bitterly. Being angry at Finnick keeps my mind away from the pain.
"No, no! That's not what I'm looking for. Look, I'll make it easy. You don't even have to say thank you. Here." He extends his hands and reveals a seashell pendant on a pearl chain. Smaller shells and lines of gold line the rim of the white seashell. It is slightly smaller than his palm.
"It was the token from my games. Although I changed it a little since then." I remember that it looks different from when he wore it in the games. His was a pin, not a necklace. And it looks bulkier too, I guess.
I shake my head, not wanting any part of past Hunger Games.
He leans in and whispers. "Look, it will help you with the crowd."
"Fine." I swiftly snatch the necklace. The bow on my dress brushes against my cheek. "Why are you even giving it to me? Shouldn't you give something special to Adrian? Did you give something to Adrian? He has a chance of winning. And why now? You've had years to take the opportunity."
Finnick chuckles. "Well, I just couldn't part with it until now. I guess I don't need it anymore. But you will." He looks at the pendant as if he's parting with something irreplaceable. "It's good luck." He explains.
"Fantastic . . . "
"And I don't want to give it to Adrian. He has a bad bloodline." He shrugs. "I guess that's all." He flashes a sickly sweet smile. "May the odds be ever in your favor." He closes the door behind him, leaving me utterly confused. He gave me his pendant. Why? You don't even have to say thank you. I scoff. Well, I wasn't thanking him.
I look down at the pendant and finger the gold rim. It is beautiful. I loop it over my head.
A Peacekeeper comes into the room. "Time to go." He says gruffly. I rush out the door and see Finnick striding down the side hall.
"Thank you!" I yell down the hall.
He turns. "You are a strange girl, Annie Cresta." He yells back. "Use that!"
The Peacekeepers lead me into a black car and the next thing I know, I'm at the train station, which is located near the Justice Building for the Capitol's convenience. As soon as I step out of the car, I'm assaulted by cameras and reporters from the Capitol. I do my best to ignore them.
And then Adrian comes out. The crowd around me cheers and screams in praise. A group of Capitol girls who are far too old for him calls out his name. He ignores them. Before I realize what I'm doing, I roll my eyes. And then I remember I am on camera for everyone to see. I struggle to regain a placid expression. I see a glimpse of myself on a large screen on the wall. I look like I'm in pain. What an incredible start.
As we walk onto the train, I hear someone with a Capitol accent shout: "You got this Adrian Hemmings. Just follow in his footsteps!" I can't figure out what that means.
But once I'm onto the train, it hits me. What Finnick said. He has a bad bloodline. Follow in his footsteps. Hemmings. Taran Hemmings. The Victor of the 45th Hunger Games has the same black hair and dark eyes. The more I think about it the more it comes together.
Adrian is the son of a Victor.