The Boy with the Bread

Chapter 2

I honestly cannot say how I manage to make my way up to where Effie and Katniss are standing because as I walk, my mind is reeling. I hear a rushing sound in my ears and have to keep reminding myself that my name is indeed Peeta Mellark. How I wish it wasn't at the moment.

I have been reaped for the Games. I am going to be shipped off to the Capitol, miles away from home, to be put on display before being sent to my death. I am going to be expected to kill and I most likely will be killed in return, while thousands watch on a live broadcast. I try to tell myself that this is a dream, but I know that's a lie. This is all one hundred percent real, and I am terrified.

I step up to the platform soon enough and Effie is putting her arm around my shoulders, giving me a hearty congratulations. I can see her garish makeup and hair up close now. It's not helping the way my head is spinning.

"Well now! Are there any volunteers?" She asks the crowd.

I know there won't be. Volunteering for the Games is something that never happens here, at least, before today. I see Roy looking upset, and can tell he wants to do something, but holds back. My parents look angry and grim. Cain won't look at me, and I know he must feel guilty that he doesn't volunteer. I don't blame him, though. What Katniss did what unexpected and exceptional. It makes me admire her even more.

"All right, you two. Shake hands."

Mayor Undersee orders us to exchange a sporting handshake, like one would do before a wrestling match or a kickball game. But this is not just any kind of sport or game. These people now expect me and Katniss to kill others - and each other - to win. They're going to bet on each of us, and cheer us on to kill each other. This brutal fact makes my blood run cold. We slowly turn to face each other and I look into the face of the girl I've never had the courage to talk to, despite crushing on her, since I was five years old. Funny how it's now, when we have to see each other as a potential enemy, that the chance is basically forced upon me. Fate can be cruel, indeed.

She's looking through me, more than looking at me. What I mean is, her eyes meet mine, but she's not seeing me. It's like I am a window. We offer each other a hand to shake, and hers is limp and cold. I can tell just how bewildered and lost she feels, probably wondering just how it all came to this. I feel a similar way. I decide to squeeze her hand ever so slightly, just to let her know that this is really happening. I don't know if it will comfort her, or just bring her back to reality, but at least she is looking at me now.

The moment passes quickly and we drop our hands, turning away from each other to face the crowd again. I am able to catch a glimpse of her, though, to the side. She's standing stiffly and more alert. I take a deep breath and do the same, staring straight ahead to the faraway trees that I wish I could disappear into.

This is really happening and you had better just accept it, I tell myself. We are proclaimed as the two tributes of District Twelve for the 74th Hunger Games, and our hands are raised in faked triumph. I see my face as well as Katniss's on the big screen. They have caught everything on video.

I don't remember anyone applauding, just the sound of Panem's anthem booming in my ears.

Now that the reaping is finished, Peacekeepers guide us by the arm into the Justice Building, where we are told we get a few minutes to say our goodbyes to our loved ones. I am led into what appears to be a meeting room of sorts. Filling up most of the room is a long table surrounded by leather chairs, a fine layer of dust coating practically everything. File cabinets with metal handles colored red from rust are sitting against the walls. The windows are also dirty and I catch sight of a cobweb or two in the reflecting light. It has certainly been quite a while since this room saw any use.