Chapter Text
Sixteenth birthday
Before the 74th Hunger Games
“Happy birthday, Katniss!” My sister’s voice and the patter of raindrops on the roof woke me up this Monday morning. It’s early May and summer is just around the corner, so small spring storms are common this time of the year.
I stretch lazily and slowly open my eyes, trying to get used to the dim light in the room.
In front of me there's Prim, with her hair loose and still dressed in her nightclothes; on her left arm she holds Buttercup, who looks at me with something akin to contempt, and in her free hand she holds a plate with some goat cheese, courtesy of her goat Lady, and a cookie decorated simply with a small orange flower.
My sister had saved up some coins to get this last one from the bakery, or she would have made some kind of trade with the old baker. All for me. It makes me a little uncomfortable, but I hide it well because I know Prim did it with the best of intentions for me.
Then I smile, genuinely, pull my little sister towards me, and wrap her in a hug. Of course, Buttercup escapes before he can be trapped between our chests.
“Thank you, Prim.” I stroke her hair and she smiles at me with her blue eyes.
“I also got you a couple of T-shirts for this summer!” Prim hurries to pull the shirts, wrapped in old brown paper, out from under the bed. She has tied one of her hair ribbons in a bow to decorate it.
She hands me the package, and I try not to think about how much effort she might have put into getting these gifts for me. So I give her a kiss on the cheek and accept the package.
“Come on, we have to get ready to go to school,” I tell Prim. “The drizzle is almost over.”
While we're getting ready, my mother comes in and wishes me a happy birthday. She doesn't hug me, but with a small, nervous smile, she hands me some medicinal concoctions she's prepared, which she probably thinks I can trade at the Hob. I thank her, but I'm not friendly or particularly warm.
Yes, she's not the same woman who abandoned us when my father died. But the eleven-year-old girl inside me can't and doesn't want to forgive. Not after all the pain she had to bear.
I wish my father were here. Today I turn sixteen, but he'll never be here to see me grow up. So there's no point in crying over something that can't be changed.
The rain had stopped completely by the time we left the house, but the sky remained gray and the dirt roads were muddy underfoot. My mother said she would prepare something special for dinner, which meant there would be some mint tea, the meat I hunted with Gale yesterday, grains, and perhaps some stale bread.
“Are you going to the woods with Gale after school?” Prim asks, occasionally jumping in puddles with her rubber boots.
“Sure, but just for a little while. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.” I say, as the happiness of imagining myself hidden among the green of the forest lifts my spirits a little on this day.
We passed the Seam, the town center, and arrived at school. The other students shuffled along, engaged in lively conversation, some carrying umbrellas or wearing dirty, old-fashioned raincoats.
“Shall we go home together?” I asked Prim, before we parted ways.
She nods.
“I’ll see you after class, Katniss.” Some of her friends greet her and she starts to walk away, but not before shouting, rather loudly for my taste, “Have a great birthday!”
I look around and am a little relieved to see no one from my class nearby. Usually, people sing a birthday song in class for their friends, whether they're from Seam or the merchants. It's embarrassing, and the mere thought of someone making a joke about my birthday puts me in a bad mood.
I walk with my head down to the classroom. The hallway is covered in wet footprints and mud stains, and a few of my classmates are already in the classroom talking before the bell rings to signal the start of class.
Madge, with her blonde hair and a pretty purple rain jacket, is already at the table we share.
At first, I feared Madge was just another stuck-up, arrogant shop girl, the only difference being that she talked less than the others. But the truth is, she's reserved, like me, which suits me perfectly. Our conversations revolve around class topics and the occasional chat about our weekends. Neither of us talks much, but we're both quite comfortable in each other's company.
I slump down beside her and start pulling a notebook with loose sheets of paper out of my backpack. Madge stares at me intently, so she easily catches my attention.
“Happy birthday, Katniss.” Madge says very quietly, almost in a whisper. She pushes a small bag full with candies across the table in my direction. She’s incredibly discreet. She knows me very well. I don’t want to attract unwanted attention, not today, not ever.
I'm about to refuse the gift, but she immediately silences me.
“It’s a gift, Katniss. You don’t owe me anything, okay? Besides, you’re the only certified wild strawberry picker in Twelve. The mayor can’t afford to neglect his business relationship with you.” She winks at me, and I have no choice but to accept. Madge’s father is a good customer who’s always willing to pay in cash so I guess this can be part of our business.
Just then, the bell rings, the teacher enters, and another long lesson on the history of the Hunger Games begins.
The Games.
We're two months away from the Reaping. The truth is, when hunger isn't making my nerves and stomach churn, the looming reality of the Games weighs heavily on my shoulders and threatens to break me.
Two more years and you'll be free. I try to cheer myself up, but then I remember that this will be Prim's first Reaping and all trace of hope disappears.
Six more years. Six long years. If we're lucky, Prim's name will never be chosen. She'll be eighteen, and I'll manage to convince some merchant to take her on for outside work in some business. I might even save up some money to get her a spot as an apothecary in the Hob. Anything but the mines.
Six more years and I'll be able to breathe without fearing that the Games, and not hunger, will take her away.
I manage not to dwell on that fear for the rest of the day. Lessons end, the bell rings forthe break, and Madge and I head to one of the still-damp metal tables in the courtyard. Madge takes a rag from her pocket and dries the surface a little before sitting down.
We're eating strawberries and goat cheese. Nearby, a group of young merchants are laughing and talking loudly. My gaze is fixed on the food in my hands, but I feel the weight of eyes upon me.
I unconsciously looked up and met the gaze of the baker's youngest son. But he was fast; he was the first to look away, seemingly embarrassed, and returned his attention to a joke a girl in the group was telling.
I would like to thank him for the bread right now. Because the truth is, without that bread, I would never be sixteen years old today.
But I can't do it. I can't just walk up and interrupt his group of friends to thank him for saving my life. Something so intimate shouldn't belong to anyone else. But I've never found the right moment. After all these years, it's even embarrassing. My way of atoning a little for my apparent ingratitude is to save the fattest squirrels I hunt for his father.
If I can repay him with food in some way, then great. That should be enough for now.
When classes end, I say goodbye to Madge at the exit and meet Prim, who's already waiting for me. She asks about my day, and I share the sweets Madge gave me with her. We pop the sweets in our mouths and try not to swallow them accidentally as we chat on the way home.
When I arrived, I dropped Prim off at the door and promised to come back in a couple of hours, before dinner, with some berries and fresh meat. Although, more likely, we'll just check the traps with Gale and sit in our usual spot and chat.
I walk until I reach the fence, stop to listen for the electrified wire, just out of habit, and cross. Gale is waiting for me at the edge of the woods and smiles when he sees me.
“Hey, Catnip. Happy birthday.” In a split second, Gale throws me a small leather bundle, and I catch it in midair. I check it, and it’s a small pocketknife. Another birthday present.
“I’ll pay you with a nice plucked turkey,” I tell him.
Gale shrugs. “Consider it a deal,” he says, and we start checking the traps, gathering berries, and sitting down to watch the valley stretch out into the distance. The far-off hills promise mysteries, and the sky remains overcast above us. Not a single drop of rain has fallen since this morning.
Sitting in the shade of a tree, we chatted for a while.
“You’re lucky, Katniss. Not every child in Twelve turns sixteen.” Gale has been sharpening the knife he gave me for a while now.
I've been distracted watching some dandelions a few steps from where we're resting. I hum to show I'm listening.
“Two more years and your name will be off the Reaping.” Gale continues. “What do you plan to do after that?”
I look away from the yellow and answer him. “I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that Prim’s name doesn’t appear in those urns.”
Gale frowned.
“Yes, but what about after that, Catnip?” Gale persists. “When you’re twenty-two…”
“If I live to be twenty-two,” I correct him.
Anything could happen. Hunger is the lifeblood of this place. But also, what if I can no longer hunt for some horrible reason? I could end up underground, in the mines, and die in an explosion like my father. So many possibilities and terrors. If I manage to survive this summer away from the Games, that will be enough.
“Whatever you say, Catnip.” Gale drops the subject, and I sense he’s somewhat annoyed, though I can’t understand why. When we return to the fence, he’s in a good mood again and he says goodbye to me, promising to look for me tomorrow during the only free period we both have at school.
When I get home, my mother and Prim are waiting for me. Dinner isn't ready yet, so I try to fix some of the dusty steps in the entryway, but Prim stops me. She insists that since it's my birthday, I should relax and just enjoy myself. Where did she get such a naive idea? But, as always, I decide to please her, and the three of us Everdeen women sit down in the kitchen. Prim and I do our homework, and my mother finishes cooking the meat.
During dinner, the two of them sing me the little birthday song. I blow out a candle, reused from all past birthdays, that was delicately placed on a piece of food, which is clearly not a cake, and my mother and Prim applaud when I’m done.
Most of my birthdays have been like this since my father died. Small things, going to school if it's a weekday, the woods, and that's it. Nothing more. One less year in the Reaping, but one more year to fight against any adversity that comes my way.
I wish things would get easier someday. No fear of famine, the Games, or the mines. And if that life is impossible for me, I'll do whatever it takes to make Prim's life easier than mine.
At night, after eating and washing our faces and hands with the bucket of water, my mother goes to sleep first, but Prim and I sit a little longer by candlelight while she braids my hair to sleep.
“I hope you had a good birthday, Katniss.” Her small fingers tie the end with an elastic band.
I look back on the day and I have to admit it was pretty good. So I nod.
If every day were like today, life would be perfect.
But there is no such thing.