Callie Hadley: Catching Fire

The Reaping

For the next year I waited diligently. I trained hard, ate well, slept long hours. I let my grades slip and got a few calls home for behavior, but none of that would matter soon. I was going to be reaped, I was going to be a tribute, and I was going to protect my family. Or I would die trying.

Cato and I had a rocky relationship-fighting, stressing, making up, fighting again. I hoped Katniss and Peeta were doing better.

Today was the day. My stylists came into my house, clearly not trusting my judgment of style and decided they would specially dress me. Even Cato's stylists didn't come. Just mine.

"We can do the style you did last year. That was cute and innocent," Orius said.

"Oh yes!" Brandy squealed at the thought. Ever since the incident with Glimmer, I had kept my hair in short layers, as a sort of tribute to her. She was a bitch, but man, sometimes it pained me to think about the fact that she was gone. I wasn't even sure if my hair would fit into the style, but yet again, my stylists triumphed, making me look like a star. I stared at myself in the body length mirror of my room for the first time in a long time. Wow, when did her muscles become more defined? When did the bags under her eyes go away? When did the blonde peek out from everywhere on her head, not just under her ears? I was wearing a yellow dress, not similar to last year, but enough to jog a memory of my brothers for him to call me daisy as I walked down the spiral stairs of the Victors home. As a family, the number of us walked side by side, and we got many bows of respect from the other Victors not from our family, like Wade Rankine, Brutus, and Enobaria.

We approach the massive town square and the surreal feeling I had felt in my gut vanishes. This is real. You will do you best to protect your family from being reaped, and if you are reaped, then you better fucking win.

I see the barriers where the pool of Victors will stand is much smaller than last year. Of course. As well as a flow of people who are forced to stand and watch while our lives are on the line once again.

Mayor Heights stood beaming on the stage. He scanned his crowd of victors to see if anyone was reciprocating the smile, however when he scanned over my family's solemn look, his smile faltered. He cleared his throat and began with the national speech. This year, there were only two chairs on the stage, because it was unclear who would be made mentor this year.

Suddenly, I hear Fifi's pitchy voice pipe up at the mic. "Okay, Ladies and Gentlemen! As usual, we will be reaping the ladies first. Now, who will be the lucky lady for this years Quarter Quell?" She hops over to the girls bowl, and I wonder how she doesn't fall in her ten inch heels.

The people watching cheer and stomp their feet, and a few of the victors clap, but not us. The Hadleys and Heaths stand tall as rocks, with face like stone.

"And for the third Quarter Quell, and the 75th Hunger Games, the female tribute isssss..." She opens the slip and her mouth drops open. She shakes her head and turns to the mayor, but Heights' face is emotionless, and he refuses to look at Fifi.

This is it, I think. It's my name. I begin to move past Cato and Carter but its not my name.

"Rosier Hadley," Fifi chokes.

My mom looks up, her blue eyes brimming with tears. When she doesn't move, the Peacekeepers take her by the arms and drag her to the stage. That's when she can't hold her sobs back anymore.

"No!" I cried and stepped forward, toward her. Cato grabs my arm and forcefully pulls me back.

"Trust me, you don't want to do this in front of the whole country," he says in a low voice.

"You don't know what I want," I say coldly and shrug his grip from my arm. "I need you to trust me. Whatever you do, don't volunteer."

"Callie, if you do-"

"You once told me that you would come back at all costs. Please. I can do this. I can't let them slaughter my mother, that isn't what the Hunger Games are for. This is to watch children die. If I can give Snow the illusion that I will die, it'll be enough to please him. So let me do this. And whoever the guy is, I have a feeling someone will volunteer. These victors have too much ego." I turn to see my mom being dragged up the stage and I feel a shout rise in my throat. "Stop this! She's sick, can't you tell? Are you going to put a sick woman in the arena? What kind of people are you?" I cried looking to the cameras. "Mom!" I walk forward more, but two Peacekeepers stop me. Her grunts of pain make me sad. "Mom! Stop, please!" I shriek. "Please!" One last sob from her mouth is what confirms my idea. "I volunteer!" I sob. "I volunteer." The Peacekeepers let go of my mom and make way for me to walk up the stairs. I see her sprinting down and Mom encases me in a bone-crushing hug. I feel another sob come up my throat but I hold it down. My mother hasn't hugged me since I was eight. This is what it took?

And in the most normal voice I had heard her speak in, she whispers into my ear, "Make them pay." She straightens her back in an eerily composure, brushes the sticky tears and hair away from my face, and walks away. Her words give me a newfound strength, and I walk to the stage with my head held high.

"And now, for the boys," Fifi walks sullenly over to the other bowl. Her bony fingers plucks another paper from the shallow bowl, and when she opens the paper, even she looks like she will cry. I brace myself for the worst. It's Cato. We're back in. We're back in the arena like old times. Tears fall aimlessly over my face no matter how hard I try to hide it. Crying on national television like an idiot. Great. But the name read isn't Cato, not even my uncle, it's-

"Carter Hadley."