"Kevin, hold it steadier," Betty instructed, bracing herself as she tightened the wraps on her knuckles, "Or else I'll shatter my hands."
"Wouldn't be the worst thing, you know?" Kevin sighed, "Then you could get out of this horrid game."
"You know I'm not going in for another year," Betty reminded him, "I think I'd get murdered if I took the spot from someone in the year above me."
"I'm just saying, hand wounds may never heal correctly, and-,"
Betty did a roundhouse kick at the hanging punching bag and knocked Kevin back a few paces. He stumbled over a rolling pad, crashing to the ground. The other athletes paid him little to no notice; all engrossed in their training. The Reaping was only a few days away, after all.
When Kevin looked up, he winced, and Betty knew why. Her face was pulled into a deep scowl.
"You think I'm not gunna make it out?" She asked.
"You know I think you're good," Kevin huffed, picking himself up. He dusted off chalk from his pants, "But these games aren't meant for good. They're meant to tear you down completely."
Betty clicked her tongue, "If your father heard you talking that way…"
"I know, I know," Kevin drew a hand down his face, "Can't have the son of the Head Peacekeeper espousing anti-nationalistic thoughts," He added bitterly.
"Kevin, you need to stop worrying. When I volunteer, I'm going to win. It's in my blood. Literally." She preened with pride. Many hopefuls in the gym were good enough to win the Hunger Games. But as far as Betty could see, she was currently the only one with a victor for a parent. It came with high expectations, but high respect as well.
"Plus," She added, setting the punching bag just right, "I have a whole year to learn what I'm lacking. Archery, for example, needs a bit of brushing up on."
"What happens if your name is drawn?" Kevin twittered nervously.
"Easy. Someone else takes it. Like I said; I'd be drawn and quartered if I took this away from whichever District 2 girl has been chosen." Taking away a volunteer from a career was just about the biggest faux pas out there. Betty was not a girl who disobeyed rules, not when she was depending on them to give her a chance to play the next year.
"I just…" Kevin sighed at her, pouting.
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You're looking at me like I'm already dead. Kev, I've trained for this since I was six. I can throw knives at a target in my sleep. I know all the basic hand-to-hand combat, and then some. I've memorized poisons and edible plants until I see them in my dreams. And I couldn't ask for a better trainer." She said, smiling widely.
"Well…" Kevin huffed.
"Look, whatever my dad did, he did it to survive. Just like everyone else." Betty said, her tone growing sharp, "So I don't want to hear it. Not at all, Kevin Keller!"
Kevin, recognizing he was about to cross a boundary, raised his hands, "Sure. Of course. Right." He agreed though it wasn't very convincing. Either way, Betty couldn't be moved to care. Her father was a District hero and she knew she would be too one day. At this moment in time, Betty could imagine nothing better than sharing that bright, warm, welcoming spotlight with Hal Cooper.
Waiting a whole additional year seemed almost too much time to have to wait.
Betty was ready to be a Victor.
XXX
"A toast!" Fangs raised his glass high, the moonshine spilling over the liquid of his glass, sloshing down his fingers, "To just one more year!"
Toni turned, "You sure you don't want any, Jug?"
Jughead scowled, peeling himself away from the walls of the decaying wooden threshold, an old mine shaft no one had used in years, shaking his head. If they really wanted to hide, they'd go farther down the darkened tunnels to the left of them into the gaping darkness. Not that they hadn't; kids playing in mines were quite a usual hiding location, but with tipsy friends, Jughead thought it best they stay in a place with light and steady ground.
"It's inaccurate. You should say two years," He snarked, "We might very well be picked tomorrow." He stared out the window at the graying sky, and the thick cluster of trees beyond that, "Or next year."
"Naw, naw," Fangs took a deep swig of the drink, choking on the taste slightly, "Odds are we're in the clear!"
"You really believe that?" Jughead hummed, "Because I don't. Our names are in there so many times over, man. And besides, it's all fucking rigged anyway."
"Shh!" Toni stumbled across the dusty floor to shove her hand over her mouth, "Don't say that! I don't want to hear it, Jughead!" She hissed.
Jughead just looked at her with a slight sense of mirth, "If you're worried about the Powers that Be hearing us, you should be more terrified about getting caught with illegal moonshine." He shook his head, "Naw. Old Snow can't get us here. But he can get us, " Jughead chewed on the edge of his lip, "He's far too smart to choose just any old kids to die. We're valuable, don't you know? That's the whole reason these things exist."
"Oh, whatever!" Fangs rolled his eyes, snorting, "That's just old conspiracy theories. You think every name in the bowl is just one name?" He asked.
"Maybe. Perhaps. Wouldn't put it past him," Jughead said tightly, "So while you two get drunk off your ass on a celebration that hasn't come to pass, I'll be level-headed for the Reaping tomorrow."
"You worry so much, Jughead," Toni said, squeezing his cheeks with her fingers, pinched between them, "Whoever is picked has like, the most badass mentors to choose from! Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta-,"
"That hasn't produced another District 12 victor since they won eight years ago," Jughead replied, swatting her hands away, "It's all planned out. Snow almost lost everything by letting two victors win. He got his power back, somehow, but trust me…" Jughead wiggled his finger, "We're on his shit list."
"A whole District?" Fangs slurred.
"Probably," Jughead shrugged, "Just reading between the lines."
"Bullshit," Toni finished the last of her moonshine, puckering her lips at the taste of it, "We've been beaten and trodden since far before any of our parents were born and nothing has changed. No better, but no worse. Jug here just likes to think of the worst-case, scenario. A real downer, huh?"
Jughead clenched his fists slightly, "I'm a realist," He muttered.
"Yeah, whatever," Toni shoved her illicit glass down in her bag, eating a handful of mint leaves to hide the taste of it, "See ya, tomorrow Jones." Her eyes flickered with laughter, "May the odds ever be in our favor," She recited in Effie's high-pitched tone.
"Fuck off," Jughead sighed, "I gotta get home. Jellybean'll be wanting me near. She's only twelve," Jughead sighed, "You remember how we were about our first year."
"Yeah, get home," Fangs said, sighing, "And tell her not to worry. No one really wants to see a twelve-year-old fight. Not as good fun for the Capital. So…if your theory is correct," Fangs shrugged, "Guess I gotta find a way to sober up before I get picked tomorrow, huh?"
XXX
The party in the caves was in full swing by the time Betty, Kevin, and Polly dropped by. What would a bunch of students with dreams of high aspirations and applause do on the night before the Reaping but get roaring drunk? Betty always thought of it like a Grecian bacchanalia, or a warrior's send-off, since after reaping there would be little time for celebration before they were dumped on the train to the Capital.
The old cave system of District 2 was all but forgotten, a remnant of the past before Panem was Panem. Sometimes, adventurous youth even found relics, like torn stubs of attractions that lived here (tours, it seemed), or wrappers. Panem couldn't hide every inch of the past, and finding a trinket, something worthless but interesting was a common bartering system for the young and brave. The rumor was Enobaria had even found human remains wearing strange clothing, but that was more an urban legend than truth.
The Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to what students were doing because they most likely did it too at one point in their life.
Someone always had some sort of distilled alcohol. Nothing good, but what else were they expected to bring?
Someone had lights illuminating the caving system, and someone had dragged a record player all the way here, spitting out songs that Betty knew from the time before.
"I don't know why I'm even here," Polly sighed.
"Me neither," Kevin muttered, "It's your crowd," He said pointedly to Betty, and she ignored the barb in his tone. What he meant was it was those that who hoped to play in the games were the usual ilk. And those whose year it was an easy sight; those people refrained from any alcohol that may dull their senses and lessen their chances tomorrow morning for that coveted spot.
"Awe, come on, you guys! Just...don't leave yet. Have some drinks." Betty said, so desperate to be part of this crowd. She'd always felt a tad bit othered because of her father. So few victors had children, strangely, and even fewer had a child that showed any inclination toward following their footsteps. Hal Cooper always said it was jealousy of her peers that made her seem like she was distanced, but Betty wasn't sure that was it. Honestly, despite her abilities honed by her father, she never was a social butterfly. Not for lack of trying, though, but something always felt off when she attempted to engage.
She wasn't even sure how she ended up with Kevin as a friend but was always grateful it had happened. He was more social, but this wasn't the place he shined. Polly too had always made friends easily, Betty considered.
"Here," Betty said, bringing back three glass cups full of whatever noxious drink they were serving, shoving it into her best friend and sister's hands, "Drink up."
"It smells like lighter fluid," Kevin said, gagging.
"It has to taste better, right?" Polly twittered, holding the cup at arm's length. She pushed it into Betty's hands, "Sorry, It's making me want to vomit. I can't. Gross."
"Not much better tasting," Jonathan Cavanaugh said in passing, one of this year's hopefuls for the men, "So I hear, at least."
"You ready for tomorrow?" Betty asked, pivoting her body.
Jonathan grinned, the whites of his teeth reflecting in the low lighting, "Since I was twelve." He knocked his knuckles on the glass, "Enjoy that for me. I want to be fully rested for tomorrow, so I'll be heading out in a moment. Plus," His tone dropped, "You need to watch out. Word of warning for next year."
Betty frowned, "For what?"
Jonathan's eyes flickered, "Sabotage."
Betty nodded at once, understanding. While making sure your competition didn't make it in wasn't exactly smiled upon, it wasn't enforced either. And if you were really desperate…
"Nabi already is barfing up something foul, no chance she'll be ready for tomorrow," Jonathan continued, "Shame. She would have been a good choice."
"Well," Betty raised her glass, "To your year, and mine next."
Jonathan's smile didn't quite meet his eyes, "Yes. I suppose so."
Betty sipped a small taste and gagged despite the burning at the back of her throat and the tears prickling her eyes.
Noting good was ever without pain and suffering, she reminded herself, an adage from her father.
She choked the rest of it down in a single swig.