Chapter Text
When I was 5 years old, I watched my dad pass out after drinking 13 glasses of whiskey. At the time, I cried, because I had never seen my dad drunk before. He was screaming at us, and hit my mom. He yelled at my sisters. He grabbed my brother and held a knife to his throat. It left a mark on his neck for weeks. The yelling went on right until he passed out. Thank god for that. It wasn’t the last time I saw my dad drunk, either. From then on, it was every other day. I’m 18 now. It’s continued since then, and I’ve hated every minute of it. But really, I don’t love him enough to try to get him to stop.
I wake up with the sun this morning. I’m too nervous for anything else. My arm flops onto my sister’s face, and she groans in protest. Or, she would, if she was actually there. My eyes fly open, patting around the cold side of the bed, then I realize she’s standing off to the side, pulling on her Reaping dress.
“You nervous for Reaping Day?” She asks, and meets my eyes. “Of course. Weren’t you?” I respond, pulling my knees up to my chest. It’s July, but still chilly in the mornings. “I guess. But I was never reaped, and you’ll probably be fine too. It’s your next-to-last year. All you gotta do is make it through this year and the next.” “Aurie, don’t you jinx it.” She smiles. “No, I wouldn’t dare.” I shake my head, and climb out of bed.
Reaping Day, as any other sanctioned Capitol “holiday” meant we had to wear our best. I dig through our shared drawer of clothes, the 12 by 20 box creaking. “Aurora, where’d you put my Reaping dress?” I ask, lowering my voice as not to wake anyone else. “How should I know?” She rebuffs, and sits down. “Just look in the bathroom. Maybe Mom hung it up with the wet laundry.” I shake my head. That doesn’t sound like Mom, not washing our Reaping clothes until the day before. She might be kind of a deadbeat, but she’s never late for anything. It strikes a spark of worry in my chest, but I decide to ignore it for now.
My feet pad down the cold hallway flooring, and I open the door to the bathroom. We don’t have running water half the time, but I’m just happy it’s not an outhouse. Sure enough, as Aurora said, my red dress is hanging from the shower rod. I take it down. It’s not quite damp, so I figure it’s fine to put on now. I take it back to our room, and start stripping off my pajamas. This is before I realize that my brother, Beech, is sitting on our bed. I screech in mock surprise. “Beech! Out!” I wave my hand at him, but he just laughs.
“Not a chance, kiddo.”
I roll my eyes, and pull on my dress.
The old thing is a bit tight now, so it takes a bit of tugging to get it on. But it fits, and that’s what matters. I pull the cap sleeves over my shoulders. The neckline comes closer to my actual neck than ever, but this is the last time I’ll ever have to wear this god-awful dress, so I decide to deal with it. I pull my hair out of the back, and sit down on our mattress. At least the bottom is loose, so I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel. I sit in front of Aurora, and she takes the hint.
A brush rakes through my hair. “Aurie! Ow!” “Calm down, little bug. It’s tangled.” For some reason, the nickname rubs me the wrong way this morning. Maybe it’s the nerves. “Don’t call me little bug. I’m 17.” I snap as she brushes through my hair a few more times. I hear her sigh softly, and ignore the interaction. That pisses me off even more, but it’s Reaping Day. I’ll cut her slack. Maybe I should cut myself some too. Even though it’s one of my last years, I’m still filled to the brim with the nerves I’ve always had, combustible as the fizzy drinks me and my siblings get if special occasions.
Aurora finishes slicking my hair back into a braided ponytail, a fishtail for good luck. I’m not sure why we do it, we’re District 7, not 4. But luck is luck, and I’ll need all I can get. “Are you gonna wake up Daisy and Hickory?” I ask, lying down. Beech and Aurora ponder this for a second, before announcing at the same time, “As long as I don’t have to get Daisy.” There’s some merit, as our second-oldest sister can be a terror when she has to wake up early, but they’re also being wimps. “Wimps.” I confirm. Beech laughs and Aurie shakes her head, yet neither of them make a move to stand. Beech lays down next to me.
“Still nervous this year?” He asks quietly. I hesitate, then nod. As far as brothers go, since I only got two, I’m glad one was Beech. He knows what he’s doing. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes, just like they do every year, and I ignore them. Just like I do every year. But, this year is the only exception. A tear falls down my face, and once that one’s out, they all are. I roll over and sob into his chest, whispering over and over, “what if it’s this year?” To his credit, he tries to soothe me. It makes me feel pathetic enough to be crying about the Reaping at 17, but I don’t know what else to do.
We stay there for a few minutes until someone knocks on the door. They don’t wait for a respond, meaning it could only be Daisy. She’s dragging Aurora’s twin, Hickory, by the arm. When she sees me crying, she drops his arm and sits down next to me. “Welcome to the bedroom club,” Aurie whispers, trying to lighten the mood. Hickory follows Daisy, and sits down beside his twin. Much like common myth, the two have always shared a connection.
When they were in grade school, and the Mason siblings were all being bullied for our family’s various failings, they always had some way to tell when the other needed help. The worst times were after our oldest sister, Lainey, had gotten pregnant with my nephew, Liam, at 18. “Lainey the whore”, they had called her. Not the most creative, but it did its damage. Aurora and Hickory were the ones who knew when one of us was going to get beat up, and it was Daisy who did her best to protect all of us. The most loving middle child to ever exist.
My siblings curl around me, all doing their best in various ways to soothe me. It doesn’t work. It takes me a few more minutes to cry the rest of it out. I shake my head, and wipe my face. “No more crying today,” I mumble. Slowly, my siblings all nod, and stand. We move on as if it never happened.
“Jo, do my braid, would you?” Daisy asks. I nod, and plait her blonde hair, the thing that used to make kids question if she was really a Mason, down her back.
We all get each other ready, then move to the kitchen, where Lainey’s already frying eggs. Liam and Lainey’s other child, Belle, sit at the table, eager for breakfast. I race into the kitchen and scoop up Belle in my arms. “How’s my favorite angel?” I ask, moving my voice to a higher pitch. She giggles, and grabs at my face. “Auntie Jo!” Liam says, raising his arms for me to pick him up too. “Liam, buddy, you’re too big for me to hold you now!” I laugh, and ruffle his hair. Lainey smiles, and slides a plate of eggs across the counter to me. We all eat up, and start to head out the door, when Lainey stops us.
“We still need Mom and Dad.” We all groan.
“Do we?” Hickory asks, whining like a teenager. Lainey nods. We all oblige her, because Lainey can be scary when she wants to. “Well, wake them up,” says Aurora. “There‘ll be hell to pay if we’re late for the Reaping.” I nod grimly, fiddling with the lace ends of my dress that fall at my knees. I sit at the counter, and wait. I think my parents would be the least likely of any of us to care if I got Reaped. My siblings have been barraging me with promises that I won’t get Reaped, I’ve put in for the least number of tesserae after all. But not the past few years. I’ve been taking 8 out for my family since I was 15, which means today, I’m in… a lot of times. I could never keep count. But one thing is clear. No odds are in my favor.
As I contemplate this, Mom and Dad finally arise from their room. As always, Dad is drunk already, but Mom’s got such a tight grip on his arm that he can’t even yell at us. It only grows my disdain for the woman. Why now? Why wait to protect us from him until your youngest daughter is 17? Maybe it was easier for her when there wasn’t 6 of us, but I don’t think that should be an excuse. She doesn’t deserve it, with how often she’s out late at night, gambling on fate she couldn’t change with all the power in the world. She bets on the Reaping.
Finally, after discussing something in hushed tones with Lainey, we all walk out the door. All 10 of us. Living in the farthest quadrant of District 7, Ginko, our town is called, we have to take a train the the place where the Reaping happens. I take Aurora’s hand as we step on, and she squeezes it once.
The sticky heat of the train car seems to press against every side of my body, but I try not to sweat for hope of preserving my dress. Aurora leans down to whisper to me, “It won’t be you. There are thousands of other names.” She does little to convince me, but I appreciate it. She pats the top of my head, a gesture that she’s made a habit since I was even smaller than I am now. I’ve always been the smallest of my siblings, probably because Dad’s worst drinking and Mom’s worst gambling was when I was 10-14. The tesserae was less from when I was 9-14, because there was such a large increase of kids in District 7. It’s embarrassing, but the only time attention is drawn to it is when I’m in school. I’m not there now.
After a 45 minute ride on this clunky sweat box, we step out. We walk to the registration tables. Oldest to youngest get marked, even if they’re not in the Reaping.
“Marcus Mason” the woman calls. My father steps forward. Really, he’s the reason that the Mason name is so tarnished. All our money goes toward booze for him. Everyone knows it. “Aspen Mason.” My mother steps forward. The second most prominent reason the Mason name is in the shitter. Her gambling has gotten all of us arrested on multiple occasions. Mostly me. It’s where I got my school nickname, Jailbird. “Lainey Mason.” My sister steps forward. She’s been the only saving grace in our family. She’s really been a second mom to all of us. Even after she had Liam and Belle against her will, she still wanted to help us the most. I love her so much. We all do. “Beech Mason.” He walks up. Our lovable annoyance of a brother. For years, he’s been trying to become a Peacekeeper. Mostly, they’re only from the Capitol, but District people are sometimes allowed. It’s good pay, and it would keep us a little safer. “Daisy Mason.” A step forward. She’s the one who always protected us when the bullying and teasing was really bad. Individually, she had no tarnish to her name, so she would defend all of us. “Aurora and Hickory Mason.” They step forward in sync. The twins. Aurora’s always been my best friend of my siblings. Only a 2 year age difference, so we’ve been close. Really close. As for Hickory, he’s about as insightful as you can make a 20 year old guy. He’s and Aurora are the only ones who have seen through the many masks I wear on the daily. “Johanna Mason.” I step forward.
As I’m the only one in the Reaping, they prick my finger and smudge my blood on the page. It’s kinda creepy, but I don’t resist. I’ve historically been the most bullied of my siblings, but I don’t think it was unwarranted. I’ve been loud, brash, and generally a pain in 98% of the school’s ass. It’s just a front, but they can’t tell that. So I’ve ended up in the principal’s office more times than I can count, always retrieved but a disappointed Lainey, who would kiss my forehead and beg me to let it roll off my back. It never did. I’m spiked, like some sort of fucked-up lizard. But she really does love us almost like children. I don’t know the limit of the things she would do.
This is where I diverge from my family. It’s time for the Reaping. According to the rules, my siblings, parents, and niece and nephew go to stand in the back rows, as they’re not in the Reaping. I have to stand with the other 17 year old girls.
I slide in next to my best friend, Maple Bronswyn.
“Hey, Johanna,” she whispers, tucking a strand of red hair back into its style. Her hair is tediously pinned into an elaborate updo. Braids pinned into other braids, and so on. She might be more nervous than I am, even though her name’s only in 6 times. Her parents own the grocery, so they don’t have to take out tesserae. But Maple’s scared of everything. I squeeze her hand, trying to pass on some reassurance from my siblings. “It won’t be us,” I whisper. She smiles half heartedly, and squeezes my hand back.
She tilts her head in the direction of the 17 year old boys, where Birch Garrisson stands, rounding out our trio. I wave slightly, and he smiles. Well, as best as he can with his name in the Reaping as many times as it is.
Like every year, our Capitol representative, Marella Sinks, takes to the stage.
“Oh, hello District 7!” She exclaims, smiling with the poise of an elephant. Maple and I roll our eyes. She looks even worse this year than last year. Giant leaf shoulder pads, and horrible green jumpsuit. Marella adjusts some great purple mass atop her head; I can’t tell whether it’s a hat or her hair. But putting it together with her jumpsuit, she looked like a massive grape. Not the thing you wanted to see when you were potentially being led to your death. Fun times. “Now, let’s tune into the Reaping of the other Districts, then we’ll do our own, yes?” She continues, her practiced saccharine smile dropping as soon as she turns around. Maple and I snicker at it, and I just know Birch is laughing too.
The footage begins to play from District 12, which reminds me why we had to get here so early. 15 minutes of footage from each District is ridiculous, but it’s the law. I don’t really pay attention to the names, but the girl is built. There’s soot on her hands, so she must work at the mines. If I’m being honest, she’s pretty. The boy isn’t anything special. We move onto 11, and it’s nothing remarkable. The boy from 10 is strong. The kids from 9 are tiny as hell. But when we get to District 8, this is where the scary tributes begin. They’re both strong, and the boy looks like he terrorizes children for fun. Then it’s our turn.