Chapter Text
As she walks toward the microphone, Effie Trinket’s metallic gold wig ignites. The sun doesn’t just reflect off her perfect curls; it fractures, scattering tiny flashes of light throughout the square. I have to squint my eyes.
The square is quieter this year. Fear always hangs over us on reaping day, but this year it feels heavier. A gust of wind moves through the crowd like a warning, whipping a Capitol banner that hangs from the Justice Building. It snaps back down, and the sound makes me flinch. My arms hang down at my sides; my hands are fisted. I squeeze hard enough to feel my fingernails dig into the palms of my hands. I need a distraction.
I’ve known this day was coming for three months; you’d think that I’d be able to cope with it by now. At first, the dread settled in slowly, like coal dust creeping into the cracks of a house. I tried to ignore it, but it followed me everywhere. Every day, it got harder to breathe, like a constant weight sitting on my chest.
Even the woods, the one place that makes me smile, can’t chase it away. But I haven’t been able to hunt very often in the last few months. After the 74th Hunger Games, the power to the electric fence has been turned on a lot more, preventing me from leaving the confines of District 12. It was the first time that the youngest of tributes, a twelve-year-old, had won the Games, and without killing anyone at that. A girl named Rue from District 11 hid out in the trees, strategically destroyed the Careers' supplies, dropped tracker jacker nests to cause chaos, and then waited it out until she was the last one alive. Gale says that the power is on to show that the Capitol still has control. He’s heard talk in the mines about unrest in some of the districts. I guess when a twelve-year-old girl wins the Games without blood on her hands, it inspires others to rebel. I haven’t noticed anything here in District 12, except for the fence being on and more peacekeepers mulling about.
Gale used to insist that we could run off and live in the woods, escape this once and for all. I grit my teeth at the thought of leaving because my sister Prim would never survive in the woods. The only thing I care about is protecting her, keeping her safe and fed. I’ll live my life here in Panem and deal with it, as long as I can do that for her. A chill runs through my veins because I can’t protect her. President Snow made sure of that on that awful day back in April.
“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell,” he said as the little boy in white stepped forward and held out the box full of yellowed envelopes. The president removed the one clearly marked with a 75, then read the words that shook me to my core.
“As a reminder that the consequences of the rebellion cannot be outrun or borne by another, those who have aged beyond eligibility since the previous Hunger Games shall return to the reaping pool, and no volunteer may take the place of the chosen.”
My stomach sinks again at the memory. Those in the career districts are probably upset that they won’t get to volunteer for The Hunger Games for very different reasons. They train year-round for the chance to go into the arena and kill children for the glory of Panem to become the victor. For me, it's a knife to the chest, my worst nightmare realized. I know Prim will have to face these reapings alone when I age out, but I had two more years of protecting her. Volunteering for her has always been my plan, and that option has been ripped away from me.
That alone was enough to turn my blood to ice, but then I realized that Gale would be back in the reaping bowl.
“Cannot be outrun or borne by another.” Leave it to the Capitol to use both hope and sacrifice as tools of punishment.
The front row is full of miners, young mothers, and newly married couples. People who aged out at eighteen last year. They left the last reaping believing they had escaped this day forever.
I remember how different Gale was after the reaping last year. Fear had followed him around every summer, like a constant shadow. His name was in the reaping bowl 42 times; the odds were not in his favor. But his name wasn’t pulled from that bowl. He wouldn't be leaving his family behind with no one to provide for them; he had finally aged out. The fear was finally gone and replaced by hope for a future, albeit one in the mines, but a future nonetheless. The next day in the woods, he couldn’t hide his smile. He said that the air felt easier to breathe, and everything felt lighter. Of course, I couldn’t relate to him at all. I was still in the clutches of terror until Prim turned eighteen. So, when he reached for my hand, stepped close, and kissed me, my reaction wasn’t the one he was expecting.
I froze before I gathered my wits and smacked him across the cheek.
He recoiled in shock. “What was that for?”
“I could ask you the same question.” I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled at him.
“I thought…” He started to say as the color drained from his cheeks.
“I never gave you a reason to think I wanted that.” It came out harsher than I intended.
The hurt on his face was immediate, but I couldn’t let him think that I was okay with him kissing me.
“We’re friends.” I had to make him understand. “Just… friends.”
“Just friends?” He laughed bitterly. “After all these years?”
I didn’t want to hurt him, but it was the truth. “Yes.”
He looked away from me and took a deep breath. “Right. Sorry.”
Things were strained between us after that. He started working in the mines, and we only saw each other on Sundays, but when we hunted together in the woods, he had his guard up. I know I hurt him when I rejected him, but did he expect me to forget that I still have a very real chance at getting reaped? He hasn’t tried to kiss me again, and he even stopped using my nickname, Catnip. It stung at first, but I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it when feeding my family was my priority. But after President Snow read that card…
He ran to my house in the Seam. He caught me as I came flying through the front door, ready to run to the woods and hide. Without conscious thought, I threw myself into his arms.
“I really thought I was done,” he whispered against my head. “I let myself believe it.”
I pulled away to look up at him, and he met my eyes. “Can we just forget what happened last year?”
“Gale…” I started, but he cut me off.
“Listen, compared to this, it doesn’t matter. I know things haven’t been right between us. Maybe they never will be.” His gaze drifted away from me. “But if my name gets called, I don’t want that to be the last thing between us.”
On the rare occasion that the power to the fence is off, we still hunt together. Sundays in the woods with him are more subdued, but the tension between us is finally gone. He’s still one of the few people I can be myself around.
“Welcome!” Effie says, “As we celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary and the third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games!”
Sweat is dripping down my back. The hot air is so thick you could practically choke on it. I pull my lips into my mouth and let my gaze drift across the crowd. Faces blur together, a mix of frightened children and worried parents. Most of them are staring fixedly at the stage, waiting to find out who will be whisked away to the Capitol to kill or be killed. My eyes settle on a pair of piercing blue eyes that seemed to have been seeking me out.
Peeta Mellark.
He doesn’t smile; he looks as freighted as I feel. A quiet understanding passes between us, of what I have no idea. He gives me a slight nod of his head, and I jerk mine back to the stage. It’s not the first time I’ve caught his eyes trained on me, but he usually looks away quickly. He didn’t this time. What is it about him that throws me so off kilter? Why can’t I shake this connection with him? Last year, I thought he got reaped. Effie called out “Peter Maylord”, but in her Capitol accent, I heard his name, and I was not prepared for the way it made me feel. My stomach bottomed out, and my knees almost buckled. I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t stand letting him go off to be killed without ever giving him a proper thank you for saving my life. I’ve never forgotten that he threw me that bread when we were starving and gave me so much hope. Every time I see a dandelion, I think of him. I know that I owe him; I hate owing people.
I still haven’t said thank you, but over the last year, I have at least spoken to him. Gale isn’t with me to make trades during the week, and Peeta has started opening the back door of the bakery. I bring him the squirrels I shoot with my bow and arrows, and he gives me bread. He’s more generous than his father, but I’ve never told him that. We need the food. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I’m not sure that I have any friends besides Gale. There is Madge, who sits with me at lunch and partners with me at school if necessary. I'm not sure if that counts. Once at school, I dropped everything in my arms, and he came out of nowhere to help me. It seems he’s always helping me, and I’m not sure why. Quite frankly, his kindness toward me is confusing.
The butterflies attached to Effie’s dress flutter on her shoulder, and the same sensation happens inside me when she says, “As always, ladies first.”
She goes to the reaping bowl, puts her hand in, and flits it around the white pieces of paper before settling on one and returning to the microphone.
“Primrose Everdeen!” She calls out with a smile on her face.
For a moment, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just sound drifting across the square, carried by the microphone and the summer air.
I catch Haymitch Abernathy wince on stage out of the corner of my eye.
Then it hits me, and I lose the ability to breathe. A sharp ringing fills my ears, my heart pounds violently, and I have to smother the instinct within me that wants to shout, “I volunteer as tribute!”, but I can’t. I’m forced to stand here and watch. The peacekeepers standing with their machine guns trained on us are the only thing that keeps me from screaming. I’ve never felt so powerless.
My thirteen-year-old sister makes her way to the stage. Her golden hair is in one braid for the first time, making her look older than she is. I was so proud that she could keep her duck tail tucked in the back of her skirt this morning. My knees shake, and tears prick my eyes as I watch her slowly climb the steps. I can feel my whole body trembling; my heart is actively breaking. Effie looks satisfied as Prim takes her place on stage. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, but she has her chin lifted high. I look directly at her, but she avoids my eyes. Everything around me fades away as I concentrate on the face of my sister. I fight to stay in control of my body; it goes against everything that I am to stand by and allow this to happen.
I'm not paying attention to anything but Prim, but the words crash through my focus when Effie calls out “Gale Hawthorne”. I lose all feeling in my body, but I'm shaking. Involuntary tears slip down my cheeks as he takes his place on stage beside my sister. He looks stoic, defiant. Prim finally meets my stare and gives me a small, heartbreaking smile. I know what she’s doing; she’s trying to comfort me in this moment. I grab the arm of the girl standing next to me as I fight to stay upright. She doesn’t push me away; she must know how hard this is for me.
I watch the two people that I care the most about walk into the Justice Building as tributes for the 75th Hunger Games. My world implodes.
I don’t remember falling to the ground; the impact barely registers. I sit in stunned disbelief. All I can manage to do is cover my face with my hands.
I feel a hand on my arm. I start to fight them off, sure it's a peacekeeper that's come to remove me, but when I hear his familiar voice whisper, “Katniss,” I stop. He's kneeling beside me. I don’t know Peeta, not really, but when he offers me his hand, I take it.
I squint my eyes, trying to process what just happened. “Prim,” I choke out.
He swallows. “I know.”
I blink at him, dumbfounded, then realization hits, and I gasp. “And Gale.”
His grip on my hand tightens.
“I couldn’t volunteer.” Admitting it out loud is too much to bear. They are going into the arena, and I had to stand by and let it happen.
His face is pale. He looks devastated, too.
I don’t have time to question why he’s here. My mother approaches us, but I can barely hear her when she says, “We have to go say goodbye.” Her voice is broken. I look up and see that her face is drained of color; the light has gone out in her eyes. I’m going to lose her again, too. I’m not sure that I’ll get her back this time.
Peeta helps me stand up. Without words, he takes hold of my arm and helps me walk to the Justice Building, following my mother while she stumbles forward.
How am I supposed to say goodbye to Prim? The only person I’m positive that I love. I can’t possibly do it. Panic consumes me as we climb the steps of the Justice Building. My throat gets tight, my heart races, and I feel my legs give out. Peeta doesn’t lose his hold on me; he keeps me upright. Why is he helping me?
Prim and Gale are both inside. They're going into the arena together, and by the end of the Games, one of them will be dead.
Maybe both.