Miami Saffridge, 18: District 4 Female
Daylight
I wake up feeling like you won't play right
I used to know, but now that shit don't feel right
It made me put away my pride
June 29, 73ADD: 8 days before Reaping
"That's ten to nine, we're up," I call out. "Our serve."
I brush the wet sand off after another one of De'Andre's spikes went embarrassingly far out of bounds. This time he almost sent the ball halfway into the ocean. Bisque and I have gotten most of our points from De'Andre and Marissa's mistakes. We haven't played our best, but Marissa and De'Andre are playing like straight up trash. Good thing no one else is here to watch because that would be hella humiliating.
I serve the ball aiming for the back left corner of the court. Marissa runs for it, bumping it to De'Andre who sets it. Marissa jumps up and spikes it. Bisque tracks the path of the ball perfectly, diving for it and hitting it up just before it touches the ground. I run over and set it for Bisque, who spikes it before De'Andre can react. The ball hits the ground hard, kicking up quite a bit of sand on impact.
"Nice hit, dude," I tell Bisque. He gives me a little smirk before turning to face the net.
As I get in position to receive Marissa's serve, I spot a figure moving towards us on the beach out of the corner of my eye. I squint and try to make out who it is, but they're too far to identify. As they walk closer, their figure becomes slightly more familiar. Just as they get close enough for me to clearly see their face, Bisque notices and waves.
"Hi Mr. Saffridge!" Bisque is smiling like a total idiot as Dad approaches. Dad returns the gesture, lazily waving back at Bisque.
"Bisque, how many times have I said you could just call me Maverick?" Dad asks.
"Sorry about that. I'm just so used to—,"
"It's all good, bud," Dad says, patting Bisque on the shoulder. "But do you guys mind if I talk to Miami real quick?"
All three of my friends give little nods. Dad thanks them and pulls me aside. His mood shifts from the lighthearted vibe he was giving just a moment ago. Suddenly, I find myself apprehensive about what he's about to tell me.
"Your mom just called," Dad says. "She says she wants you at her house right away."
A feeling of dread washes over me. It's like all of the good energy of the moment was just sucked out of the air. Nothing around me seems nice anymore. The sun's rays are no longer pleasantly warm. The sound of the rolling waves is no longer calming. The ocean breeze is no longer a welcome presence. Everything feels wrong all of a sudden.
"What does she want?" My voice drags. Just the very mention of her drains me.
"She didn't tell me," Dad answers, brushing back his wavy brown hair. "But she didn't sound happy."
"Fuck," I whisper under my breath.
"Just go see what she wants," Dad says. "Take Bisque with you if you need to."
"What was that?" Bisque calls out, perking up.
"We're going to my mom's house," I say.
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now," I reply.
"But what about the game?"
"We'll finish it some other time," I say. I turn to face De'Andre and Marissa. "Sorry guys, but we gotta go."
"That's cool," De'Andre says. "We'll see y'all later."
After saying our goodbyes, Bisque and I leave the beach. We get in my van and set off towards my mom's house. It's a fairly quiet drive at first, then Bisque spoke up.
"So why are we going to your mom's house?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say. "But it probably isn't for anything good."
"I figured that much," Bisque says. "Your mom is never in a good mood."
"Oh, I'm very aware." Mom always seems to have a huge stick up her ass. Her entire life revolves around work, so she just throws all of her time and energy into that. The only thing that really matters to her is being a valuable contributor to society. She wants me to do the same, and I try hard to do that. But Dad always says that I should live my own life. Dad has always been a free spirit unlike Mom. He tried to get her to see things from his perspective but Mom was too close minded to listen. That's part of the reason they aren't together anymore.
Our short little conversation ends when we pull into Mom's driveway. Before I can even put the van in park, the front door swings open. My younger sister Tampa sprints out as fast as her six-year-old legs can take her. I'm hardly out of the car when she leaps into my arms. I hug her back before setting her back down.
"Miami, you're here!" Tampa exclaims.
"Hey, Tampa," I say. "Where's Mom?"
"She's inside," Tampa says. "Do you wanna play?"
"I think Mom wants to talk to me," I say. "But Bisque would love to play with you."
"What?" Bisque says as he steps out of the car. Before he can question things any further, Tampa grabs him by the arm and drags him to the backyard. I make my way into the house. The living room is visible from the front door, and in there sits Mom.
"Where were you?" she asks. Her tone is stern.
"I was at the beach with a few friends," I say. "Y'know, just playing volleyball and stuff."
"Don't you think that there's something else you should be doing?"
"Like what?" I really have no idea what Mom is trying to allude to here.
"Don't act like you don't know, Miami," Mom says.
"I really don't," I say. "What are you talking about?"
"Preparing for your meeting at the Academy tomorrow." Oh yeah, that. The Academy always has a one-on-one meeting with each of the designated volunteers a week before Reaping day. It's nothing formal, just a debriefing on how things are gonna go down and to make sure we actually go through with volunteering. I told Mom that it wasn't something I really could prepare for, but obviously she heard the word "meeting" and thought it was the most important thing in my life.
"Mom, I thought I told you I couldn't really prepare for this meeting," I say.
"I don't want to hear that nonsense," Mom says. "You can prepare for anything."
"Mom, if there was something that I could do to prepare for the meeting I would've done it."
"Really?" Mom says. "Or would you just procrastinate and put it off until the last minute like you do everything else?"
"Mom, it's just a final check-in before the Reaping. Everything I could've prepared for is already done." I intentionally leave her last question unanswered. I don't have the energy to go back and forth with Mom any longer. It's about time to wrap up this conversation and get out of here before I get grilled even more.
"You still need to be properly prepared," Mom says. She's still going on about this shit. I can sort of see her point, but it's getting a little excessive now. I want to make Mom happy, but there isn't anything I can really do in this situation.
"Alright, Mom," I sigh. "I'll do what I can, but I have to go now. I need to help Dad with dinner."
I walk out of the front door before Mom can object. Bisque and Tampa are kicking a ball around in the front yard now. I walk over to Bisque, who turns towards me and gives me a thumbs up with a hopeful expression, nonverbally asking if the conversation went well. I give him a half-hearted shrug. He doesn't look satisfied with my response, but I can't really say how things actually went in front of Tampa.
"Well, Tampa," I say. "We gotta go now."
"Aw, come on," Tampa says. "Can't you stay for dinner?"
"Oh, I wish I could," I say. "But I already promised I'd have dinner with Dad."
I know Tampa is probably disappointed, but I couldn't spend another moment with Mom for the sake of my own sanity. She would just use dinner as an opportunity to scrutinize everything I've done. Spending time with Dad is pretty dull, but at least I don't have to worry about Mom's nagging.
I give Tampa a quick hug goodbye and hop into my van as she runs in the house. Bisque settles into the passenger's seat and we back out of the driveway. We peel off and head down the road towards Dad's house.
"So what happened?"
"I'll tell you later."
Shizuka Miura, 18: District 4 Male
Beware, Beware, be skeptical
Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold
Deceit so natural
But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning
June 30, 73ADD: 1 week before Reaping
The lobby of the Training Academy office is dead silent. The only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning unit. Usually there is a frenzy of instructors, students, and parents running in and out of the place. Not today. It's actually peaceful for once. No one is here to bother me. I can just sit here alone in peace and—
"Miura, what's up! Come on in." Head Trainer Trent Nemeth's booming voice disturbs the silence. He holds the door to his office open with an obnoxious grin on his face. I stand up and quickly walk in, taking a seat in the chair in front of Trent's desk. The door shuts behind me. Trent takes his seat on the other side of the desk.
"Let's hop right into things, shall we," Trent says. "As you know, the Reaping is only a week away."
"I'm aware," I say.
"Good," Trent says. "Now, I'm not gonna lie, you were not who we expected to be the designated volunteer."
Trent's voice has lowered from his usual gusto to something much less confident.
"Oh really?" I say, feigning surprise. "Why is that?"
"Well, Trigg Martin was our top prospect for almost three years until he had to be expelled," Trent says. "I never would've thought that kid would call an instructor a dirty whore."
"I guess people don't always show their true colors," I say.
"I guess not," Trent says. "And you know Seth Platte, right?"
"Yeah, I know him."
"Well, we had to cut him too," Trent says. "Turns out he's quite the misogynist. We can't have someone like that representing us."
"Oh wow," I mumble, still keeping up the act. Trent really doesn't suspect a thing. He thinks the rumors about Trigg and Seth are true. He has no idea who's actually responsible for their expulsions. I never thought the rumors would spread as quickly as they did, but I had to do something in order to secure my spot. The most plausible option was to eliminate the strongest competition, and that's the option I went with. I guess the stars aligned just right for me, because I don't think I would be here any other way.
"Our decision to go with you still wasn't an easy one, though," Trent says.
"And why is that?" I inquire.
"Well, you don't exactly fit the mold of what a typical Career would look like," he answers.
"Could you explain further?" I ask.
"Well, I hope I don't offend you by saying this," Trent says. "But you're a little on the short side."
"And why does that matter exactly?"
"Your lack of size would most likely mean that you'd be overlooked by sponsors," Trent says. "Less sponsors means a slimmer chance at survival."
The truth of the matter is that I already knew what my unassuming stature would bring about doubts. I just wanted to hear Trent say it. Even after the Academy's decision, I still don't really have their respect. They're looking at me like I'm a last resort; like they were just desperate to have someone to fill the spot. They would've never even given me a second look if Seth and Trigg weren't kicked out. All because I don't fit their narrow-minded stereotypical cookie cutter mold of what a Career should be. The level of disrespect is fucking ridiculous.
"Plus," Trent continues. "Your social skills are lacking. We still aren't sure how or even if you'll fit in with the rest of the Career alliance."
"I think what little social skills I have will be enough to get me through," I say.
"I sure hope so, Miura," Trent replies. "I sure hope so."
Really? Social skills? What will social skills do for me when everyone else is dead? I thought the Hunger Games were a fight to the death, not a competition to see who can make the most friends. It's not my fault that my dad wouldn't let me interact with any kids my age growing up. I couldn't help that my parents thought that I was better than everyone else and didn't need any other "grimy children" influencing my life.
"If you have all of these doubts, why didn't you pick someone else?"
"Quite frankly, you were the best option we had left," Trent says. There it is. Trent confirmed it. I was their last resort. If I hadn't started those rumors, I wouldn't be here right now. I would be at home with my parents angry that I didn't give the family name the recognition it deserves. I had to eliminate my biggest obstacles in achieving that goal. I knew there was no way that I would be the designated volunteer with Trigg and Seth in the picture, so they had to go. Even then, I still wasn't a lock for the position.
"I didn't upset you with this information, did I?" Trent asks.
"No, not really," I lie. "At the end of the day, I'm still the designated volunteer."
"I'm glad there are no hard feelings," Trent says. "I wouldn't want you to leave here unhappy."
I wouldn't say that I'm happy either. I sort of expected to have this kind of talk going into this meeting. I mean, I had always been the shortest male student in my class. Early on, other students used to single me out during sparring for an easy win. I had to learn how to fight with much more finesse and precision since I couldn't just throw my weight around. After a while I was able to hold my own against everyone else, but that still didn't earn me that much respect. I kept to myself most of the time, but that just led to people calling me weird and creepy. Then when final evaluations came around, it didn't even matter that I was ranked towards the top of the class. I wasn't even respected enough to be put in the conversation on who would be the designated volunteer.
That's when I knew that I wouldn't get what I wanted through any honest means. I had to resort to more underhanded methods. Little did I know that it would only take a few choice words in the right sets of ears to open the door to a whole new world that once seemed unreachable. I was chosen as the designated volunteer when no one expected me to be. Now they have to pay attention to me. Sure, that part is a little unnerving, but I'll make them do what I've always wanted them to do.
I'll make them respect me.
Whaddup Whaddup! I'm back again with the final Career district. Huge thank you to FlawlessCatastrophe for Miami and to jimster920 for Shizuka. These guys are so interesting and I had a lot of fun writing them.
Miami: Redbone by Childish Gambino
Shizuka: Wolf in Sheep's Clothing by Set It Off feat. William Beckett
See y'all in District 5!
Until next time,
Ty