Chapter Text
I wander over to the meadow, leaving Merilee with closing the storefront. Mama’s words hang over my head: “Don’t go too long. You don’t want to be late for the reaping.” I grip the paper bag of sweets tightly on my fingers—colorful gumdrops—Lenore Dove’s favorite.
When I reach the path, that familiar reddish hair and ear-worm teases me. My rangy lips can’t help but smile—one that always comes when Lenore Dove’s into view. Her geese spots me and hiss. The gaggle don’t like me that’s for sure. I don’t like them either but only willing to tolerate them because Lenore Dove says that they’re both our children. Perhaps in this scenario, I’m the absent mother who’s only sticking around for the other ever-so caring parent.
Some gander greet me, nipping at the ends of my purple reaping dress. I want to swat them away or send them running but I remember the first time I did that. Lenore Dove gasped in hurt, saying that I had abused our children. It was all exaggerated and I did feel bad. But it’s hard to play nice with these geese when they’re eating my skin.
I think she set me up though. They’re only close to the face they’ll see first when they hatch—surely Lenore Dove’s. I feel like an outsider of my own family. This makes me wonder if Lenore Dove only says the geese are our children to make up for the fact that we will never have ones of our own. Because for one, we’re both girls and most likely to die in the arena.
With a hush, I try to gently move them away before Lenore Dove notices I’m around and ruins the surprise. “Get away you,” the one honking only pecks its head more onto my leg.
“Maysilee? Is that you?” I hear her call out and my shoulders automatically drop in defeat. “You caught me!” My feet hurriedly crosses to her, latching on to attack her neck with kisses.
”Hard not to! Our children have announced you’re here.” Lenore Dove says through laughter, trying to move me away in fear of peeing on her skirt from joy.
“They always do that. Is it too late to ask you to bring them back?” I break away and sit down next to her. Lenore Dove tries to reprimand my jokes with a slap but I only shoot her a smile. “It’s just a joke. I would never do that to our children.”
Her eyes catches the bag of gumdrops in my hand and shoots giddy, discarding her instrument to the grassy bed. I hand it to her and Lenore Dove brings it up to her chest—“My favorite!”
Always have been her favorite. Although, I remember being the one to introduce her to it a few weeks into our relationship.
We met when we were 12. Burdock introduced Lenore Dove to my group—Merilee, Asterid, and I. It was way over after school when he came trotting around with a girl behind him. Burdock introduced her as a cousin and how he’s afraid to leave her alone for the day so might as well go social. I later then learned that Lenore Dove’s recently been released from the peacekeeper’s base—that’s why Burdock was determined to not keep her out of sight.
Her name was unusual, insisting us on calling her the color too. It took me awhile to be accustomed. Why do I need to call you your second name when Lenore works just as fine?
She waves me over behind the school the following day—shows me apples in her bag instead of papers. I was hesitant to eat it but looking at the expecting look on her face, I had no choice. Lenore Dove then explains why calling her Lenore Dove is a form of accepting their tradition. A way to honor their musical roots and keep their history alive. She then proceeded to give me a color to my own name—Maysilee Plum—a shade of purple.
And I haven’t been able to drift away from her ever since.
“I’m shaking you see? I haven’t been able to eat anything all day!” She exclaims as her fingers pop two in her mouth. “Why? Are you sick?” I frown, my palms went to feel her forehead. Lenore Dove keeps the rest in her pockets and lays her head on my shoulder.
“Because of nervousness of course! It’s the reaping again and I’m worried.” Lenore Dove doesn’t mean being chosen out of all probabilities. She’s worried to have already been singled out because of her rebellious tapestries.
We have a secret. More like her secret and I managed to find out one day. There were several walls spray-painted orange, spamming anti-capitol messages that sent shivers down District 12. We were already in heat with the Capitol and having a silent rebel among us made it even more terrifying. I found out because of her fingernails—orange tint that never seemed to go away as the day passes by. It was hard to ignore because of how much we held hands, then the truth came all tumbling down when I asked her about it.
“Is it because of the spray-paint?” I tuck a loose curl behind her ear, willing to listen. “Maybe,” Lenore Dove mutters, “But we’re the only ones that know about it so I don’t know why I’m so wired!”. Despite my pleas to always be bright before the reaping, she snags me for the first time.
“We’re gonna be fine Lenore Dove. Think about all the times we could’ve been chosen and we weren’t,” I lose her for a moment, “Why choose us now? We’re only two years from being unbounded of the games forever!”
I hate talking about it. She hates it most.
“I know I’m sorry! it’s just–it’s just taking over my head.” The geese circles back to our feet, tooting aloud that ruins the sincerity of the moment. Lenore Dove laughs at them and looks up at me. I lean in for a kiss and I feel the warmth of her lips again and again. We stay pressed like this for a few minutes—hair tidal with the wind and shieling. Only then when Lenore Dove breaks into tiny laughs that I grumpily pull away.
“I love you like all-fire,” I say. She nods and presses one quick peck to the tip of my nose, “You too.”
Our date shortens when Clerk Carmine calls Lenore Dove back inside the house. We bid our goodbyes and promise to see each other in the meadow when the reaping is over—where we both won’t be chosen for. I can tell Lenore Dove’s still somber about everything but she’ll be better after.
I scurry back to the shop where Merilee and Asterid wait for me. “You’re dressed as me again,” I groan seeing Merilee’s pink dress. “Dressed like you. Not as you,” She says. “Thought you’d get used to it by now—this isn’t the first time after all,” Asterid chimes in, pulling me close to shoot a chamomile to the opening slit of my buttons. She says it’s for good luck. Asterid has been doing this ever since and I think it works. I’ve been spared from multiple games in a row and those chances got me back to Lenore Dove and her loveliness altogether.
“Mom wants to see us dress like this. You’ve seen our dresser it’s all the same.” Merilee laughs at my quip, linking her arms around mine. “We’re sisters after all. We have to have the same things of everything—we’ll never know when will be the last.”
Merilee’s always sentimental around these stuff. Call me the least affectionate or haughty—that’s where we differ from our clothes. Anything other than that is the same. We always had talked about what we’ll do if one of us was chosen for the past games—how one would mourn and how dawning it would be for the other twin left behind. I dread that thought. If she dies then I’d still see her every time I look at myself in the mirror. It’d be the same for her and that thought makes me want to hurl.
Then I’m remind that this is the 50th quarter quell; twice the number of tributes. What are the chances that me and Merilee occupy the two slots for the girls? Or me and Asterid? or her and Merilee? or me and Lenore Dove?
I shake that thought off and we parade to the square. There were already a lot of people lining up—kids younger and some older than me. My head whips around in search of Lenore Dove. She was always jammed during the reaping, always turning up late that gets me crept up. I spot Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber in a distance, her uncles, conversing within themselves but no sign of Lenore Dove.
Merilee jerks me to focus as we enter the line. “Looking for your girl?” I hear her say. “She’s probably with Burdock. I gave him a sprig to hand her one too,” Says Asterid in front of me.
“Lenore Dove’s been pecking me, says she has a chance to be picked today.” Merilee’s eyebrows furrow up close. Gosh, I always forget how we look the same. “Chances are she will be, I mean all of us have a chance so why would she single herself out?” My twin asks. “Is it because of her arrest? Wasn’t that too long ago?” Asterid follows. There were no instances where tributes were chosen because of certain crimes they’ve done in their Districts; not that I know of. For all my knowledge’s worth, all of us have circling tags on our heads and it’s up for the Capitol and fate to decide which unlucky boy or girl gets shot.
My head shake as I seemingly forgot about the secret—our secret. I wave my hand in front of them, ushering them to move a spot. “Lenore Dove’s just flushed for no reason.”
The three of us, arms linked together like bundles of flowers get pushed to where sixteen year olds should be. I disentangle myself from Merilee’s hold and began looking around once again. Everyone’s in their places, all with the same uneasiness. My eyes dart at the boy’s section where I meet Wyatt Callow—a booker boy. I know a lot of people that don’t fancy the Callow’s. Always betting on unfortunate deaths as if they’re not in the same bowl themselves. Wyatt also has the chance to get betted on—I wonder if his father think he has the odds to win.
I spot Lenore Dove near the fence with Burdock Everdeen. Her eyes sees me and I silently beckon her to hurry. They avoid the Peacekeeper’s graveness and separate, Lenore Dove scurrying to our group. She squeezes her body through the tight unmoving girls as I reached for her arm. Lenore Dove’s wearing her reaping formal—red dress that I’ve always adored. She really did take her time getting ready.
“Hey,” hails Merilee. “Did Burdock give you the chamomile?” Asterid asks. I look at Lenore Dove’s dress and don’t find the flower. She fishes in her pockets and takes out a now craggy bud, the petals have already come off. Lenore Dove shoots her an apologetic smile and feeds it back to her person. I look at my chamomile and take it off, pinning it to her own buttons.
“Maysilee! What about your luck?” Exclaims Asterid.
“It’ll be fine! What chances do I have with or without it?” I reply. She looked disappointed and perhaps felt disrespected of what I said. I do believe in her ideals over the good luck part—and I want Lenore Dove to have that luck today more than ever.
We straightened up good when the sound system sputter an uneven tune. Obliged to sing along to the anthem but never have I ever memorized or cared about it. Lenore Dove doesn’t like to sing other songs that aren’t hers anyways so we just moved our mouths in some parts. Mayor Allister then walks up to the podium and reads the Treaty of Treason—another reminder that our future deaths are the troubles of the past. And that there is nothing we can absolutely do about it.
My back’s lousy at this point. I look over to Lenore Dove and see her attention focused on the front. Half of me says to pull her in for a quick kiss and see what happens, but when she doesn’t notice me staring—I just look back at the stage.
The doors open and Drusilla Sickle strapped in what seems like a dolly gets wheeled out, men on her side as they escort her like some kind of antique. My face scowls at the sight of her yellow outfit, the pins on her face, and that hideous hair. I reach for Lenore Dove’s hand for solace and she squeezes it right back. “What’s wrong with her?” Merilee mutters. “What’s not wrong with her?” I say back.
She’s stiff as a board. Her face couldn’t even move properly even if it’s evident she’s struggling on how she’s lowered. I fight back a laugh as Merilee nudges my shoulder to keep me in check. Two Peacekeepers place two big bowls on either side of the podium. Our names are there and that’s when I’m slapped out of my chortling state.
“As always…ladies first,” says Drusilla as her hand dips inside the bowl and swirls around the papers. She chooses one and pulls it out, reading it with her eyes and a smile plasters on her face. I look at my side and see Asterid with her eyes closed, Merilee waiting eagerly and tightening her hold on my arm.
“And the lucky girl is…” Drusilla’s voice trickles down, full of evil. “Louella McCoy!”
My shoulders slump in relief and my fingers dig onto Lenore Dove’s skin. It’s not me. Not Merilee. Not Asterid. And especially not Lenore Dove.
Louella’s the unlucky one in this scenario. A lot of people in the crowd murmurs in anger since she was just a small girl. We watch her climb up the stage and Asterid comments on how weak she looks—not able to spend a minute into the games. My stomach churn at the image of possibly watching Louella die on television, how she’d be pawn to a bunch of other kids seeing her death as a win on their side.
Drusilla acknowledges Louella and focuses on her black pigtails. She then turns back and fishes out another slip from the bowl.
Just one more name that isn’t mine or Lenore Dove’s and we’ll be out of here. I thought.
“For the lucky spare of this year’s quarter quell, joining Louella McCoy is…” With the same dramatic effect that keeps us on our toes, Drusilla reads the paper once again.
Just spit it out you old rag.
“Maysilee Donner!”