Chapter Text
Emotions were still vivid after the last Victory Tour. Especially here, in the District Twelve. Finally, after so many years of defeats and humiliations, it had its first Victor. He was reaped unfairly, he went through hell – both throughout and after the Games – but since he brought bigger food rations with him, nobody cared. People simultaneously grieved for fallen tributes and celebrated their first victor. It was the most twisted period District Twelve has ever known.
It was also one of the busiest time in the history of Donner’s sweet shop. People got bigger rations, so they could spend more on the goods usually unavailable to them. Cookies, chocolate, jellies were disappearing from the shelves so quickly that shop owners could barely keep up with adding them.
‘Maysilee, bring these new red jellies!’ shouted the younger twin to her sister, who was arranging cardboards in the back room. Maysilee rolled her eyes. Seriously, what was with people and these red jellies? They weren’t even that tasty.
‘Just a minute!’ she shouted back and climbed up a small ladder to get jellies from the taller shelf. She was so done already and her shift hasn’t even started yet. Soon she was supposed to take her sister’s place and waste her time serving people so blinded by their temporary luck that they were willing to throw their money on stupid sweets instead of saving them for the harder times.
Bunch of idiots.
Holding the box, she walked into the actual part of the shop. Upon seeing a long line of clients, she simply sighed. She hoped maybe at least today traffic would be small enough to let her finish braided bracelet she wanted to give Asterid. Seemed the odds weren’t in her favour.
‘I’ll just unpack these jellies’ she informed Merrilee in hushed tone. Her sister simply nodded, maintaining her perfectly encouraging smile. With her melodic voice, endless patience and love for sweets Merrilee was cut out to be a shop assistant. She got along with everybody, didn’t matter if they were from the Seam or merchant part of the district. Sometimes Maysilee thought she would charm president Snow himself if she had to.
Meanwhile she would rather stab him if she were given a chance. When she pondered over this, she came to conclusion her hit list was pretty long. It included people, fashion trends and sweets altogether. Even her own, miserable district. Entire Panem with the Capitol on top.
‘May.’
Sister’s whisper snapped her back to the reality. Jellies. Line of clients. Unfinished bracelet.
‘Sorry.’ She closed the jar full of jellies and took pink apron with white polka dots from her twin. Then she turned to the woman waiting for her turn to waste money. ‘What can I do for you?’
This question echoed for the next two hours. At a certain point, Maysilee stopped asking it, she just took orders one after another. Bag of peppermint and bar of chocolate. Dozens of jellies and box of biscuits. Three waffles and bunch of salted caramel grains. Every order was done automatically, without much thought and even less attempt to engage into any kind of small talk. Useless pleasantries were yet another thing Maysilee would place on her hit list. She just wanted to be finished as soon as possible. To finally savour the silence and peace of her room. To her people’s voices were equally annoying as mosquitos’ buzzing and just as meaningless. Most of the time.
‘…he lost it, he barely leaves his house’ said a woman second in line. Maysilee glanced at her and nearly flinched when she noticed her black nails.
‘No wonder, poor thing has nothing. No family, no girlfriend. And I heard he’ll have to go back to Capitol to train the next tributes’ answered her companion, around the same age, but at least with cleaner nails.
‘Can’t they just leave him be? After everything he had to go through?’
‘They won’t. He belongs to them now.’
Maysilee’s hurt shrunk. The client was right. Haymitch belonged to the Capital, as a symbol of the fiftieth Hunger Games and the sole victor from District Twelve. He would never be free.
‘Well, at least they gave him house and money.’ Shrugged the first woman. ‘He doesn’t need to worry about surviving like the rest of us.’
‘Would you prefer going to the arena instead of your kitchen work, Greta?’ sarcastically asked the second woman. Maysilee’s lips twitched. ‘No money is worth it. And to think they show it as an entertainment. Who in his right mind would enjoy it?’
Her voice was full of disgust. Greta the Black Nails instantly picked up the topic.
‘We don’t have to look too far. I heard Booker Boys got tons of money after Games. Their youngest bet on Haymitch. You know my daughter helps in the Hob and she told me…’
‘That’s enough.’ Man’s voice interrupted Maysilee’s eavesdropping. She barely stopped herself from glaring at him. She laid a pouch full of chocolate-covered sultans before annoying client and started calculating his order. However, her thoughts kept drifting away to the Hunger Games. Even after talkative women left the shop, Maysille was thinking about their conversation.
She knew Haymitch. They were the same age. More than once she made fun of him and his cringy relationship with Lenore Dove. But she didn’t hate him. He was good brother, always taking care of his younger sibling. Fought few times when older boys were trying to pick on him. It was still weird going to school and never meet any one of them there – nor Haymitch, nor his brother, nor Lenore Dove. Haymitch didn’t really have to and nobody was surprised when he never came back after the Games, but the other two’s sudden death… Even though Maysilee didn’t really believe in such things, she had to admit it looked like everybody close to her ex-classmate was doomed. Or he was cursed.
The second thought seemed ridiculous. How can the sole survivor of forty eight tributes from the poorest, lamest district be cursed? He survived poisonous arena, all sorts of natural disasters and even that final fight that left him so grievously wounded. And now he never had to worry about money, thing that loomed large District Twelve’s population, particularly the Seam he used to live in. He could begin again if only his loved ones wouldn’t have died so tragically. What were the odds that he would lose them all on his return?
The bell rang and soon after it footsteps followed. Maysilee looked above the queue now consisting of only two kids from neighbourhood and nearly gasped when she saw her new client.
Booker Boys’ youngest, the one that Greta from before was talking about. Wyatt Callow. Maysilee remembered him from school. Back then he used to be tall kid in oversized clothes and forever absent face. Most of the time he kept to himself, probably because the rest of the kids didn’t want to associate with someone from his family. Maysilee even had felt sorry for him – after all he didn’t choose his relatives. However, after the bits of conversation she heard about Booker Boys profiting from the correct odds he made, the only emotion stirring inside her was anger. Nearly fifty kids were sent to their slaughter for the Capitol’s entertainment and Callows were betting on them as if they were racing pigs.
And now one of them dared to come to Donner’s candy shop, so that he could spend his dirty money on sweets. Under the counter Maysilee’s right hand slowly clenched into fist. She was perfectly aware that for the sake of family business she shouldn’t provoke her clients. Just like she was perfectly aware it wouldn’t stop her from doing so.
‘Bye.’ She waved to kids and then turned to Wyatt Callow with her most Merrilee-type-of smile. ‘Hi, how can I help you?’
Her honey-sweet voice must have confused young man a lot. He blinked a few times, as if he forgot how to talk. It was rather embarrassing reaction. Made him look stupid. Exactly what Maysilee was counting on.
‘Hi’ he finally said after few seconds. His voice was low, but quiet. Weak. ‘I wanted to buy something with marzipan.’
Maysilee’s insides twisted. Not only he dared to come to her family’s shop, but he wanted to buy the most disgusting, uneatable thing humanity has ever created. Only liquorice was worst.
‘You sure?’ Question slipped from her mouth before she could stop her tongue. She grunted. ‘What I meant is that we have tastier things’ she added kindly.
‘It’s not for me, my Ma likes it’ Wyatt explained, but Maysilee wasn’t inclined to believe him. He avoided her eyes, looking somewhere above. She wondered if he had the same look when he was counting tributes’ odds. As if he didn’t care in the slightest. Just another day spent in the Hob, counting who will die and who won’t.
‘Well then, we have marzipan in chocolate, marzipan truffles…’ She crouched to look at the bottom shelf. Of course they placed marzipan there, hidden from human view. ‘There is also kind of cake with marzipan, but…’
‘Cake is good.’
‘It’s more expensive’ she finished and threw questioning glance at Wyatt. ‘Sure you can afford it?’
‘I’m sure’ he answered. This time he was looking lower, but still not at her. As if he talked with air. It really got on Maysilee’s nerves. She was used to causing people’s anger, shame or even hate, but indifference wasn’t something she could stomach. It was time to put an end to her act and hit enemy where it hurts.
She grabbed the box with cake and straightened up.
‘I guess being part of Booker’s family has its perks.’ She smiled with malice. Wyatt blinked again, this time confused by her anger. He finally looked at her. ‘Must be nice not worrying about the money for the first time, right?’ she continued, using to the fullest Wyatt’s attention. He parted lips, but Maysilee didn’t let him say anything. ‘Your family must be happy to have a son so clever he predicted his neighbour’s win.’
‘We’re not neighbours’ he muttered.
‘Oh, my bad.’ She placed a left hand on her heart. ‘That changes everything and allows you to bet on people’s lives. Tell me, did you also predict Louella McCoy will sniff that poisonous flower? Or that boy from the District Three will be eaten by squirrel mutts?’ She leaned on the counter, just to get closer to Wyatt. He once again proofed his weakness and averted her eyes. ‘How much you gained from them dying, Wyatt?’ her voice was dead serious. ‘Enough for this cake? Or two?’
‘That will be everything.’
Wyatt took the money from his pocket and laid it on the counter.
‘Oh, come on. Don’t leave me hanging like that!’ She feigned disappointment and pouted. ‘I really want to know whose blood smeared the money you want to pay with. Does it belong to this little girl from District Six…’
Without waiting for the change, Wyatt snatched the box from Maysilee’s hands and left the shop. Doorbell was still moving when his silhouette disappeared in the evening fog. Something painful panged in the Maysilee’s chest, but she decided to ignore it. She didn’t even try that hard to be mean. She could be so much worse. Actually, Wyatt got off easy.
‘He even gave me tip.’
She chuckled, but soon smile faded from her lips. In the silence that finally loomed over candy shop, she could focus on her thoughts at last. None of them brought her any comfort.