Star Crossed Killers

2: The Reaping

At home, a tub of lukewarm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own dresses for me. A beautiful blue thing that reminds me of Peeta's eyes.

"Are you sure?" I ask. I'm trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn't accept a single thing from her, but I know my cold demeanor was beginning to fracture our family just as my mother's grief had.

"Of course. Let's put your hair up, too," she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I check my reflection in the mirror. I look far too nice. My hair too intricate. My dress too pretty. My body too clean.

"You look beautiful," giggles Prim, looking up at me as I tear my eyes away from my reflection.

"And nothing like myself," I say with a huff of a laugh before pulling her into a bear hug. I know she is terrified. Her first reaping. Of course, she is as safe as anyone, her name only being in one slip out of thousands. I wouldn't let her take out any tesserae. But she's worried for me. That the unthinkable might happen. And I'm worried for
her. And Peeta. And Gale.

I hate how powerless I am against the reaping. Trying not to let my fear or anguish show, I scan the room until I notice Prim's blouse is pulled out of her skirt in the back again and I find myself a tad bit calmer.

"Tuck your tail in, little duck," I say, smoothing the blouse back in place.

Prim giggles and gives me a small "Quack."

"Quack yourself," I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me. "Come on, let's eat," I say and plant a quick kiss on the top of her head.

My mother helped start on supper already. The fish and greens are already cooking in a stew. For a simple lunch, we drink milk from Prim's goat, Lady, and eat the rough bread made from the tessera grain, although no one has much appetite anyway. I do give Prim one of small chocolates from Gale. She smiles.

"Thank you," she breathes, taking a sniff of the chocolate before plopping it in her moth.

"I've heard chocolate is good luck," I say with a smile.

"I've heard that too," Prim says thickly, through a mouth of chocolate.

After lunch, we walk down to the town square.

Everyone in the district has to attend the reaping. They'll check tonight. Our peacekeepers might turn a blind eye to our hunting, but skipping the reaping is a different level of treason.

I search for Peeta as we sign in, knowing he's probably already in the square. He does live in it. I see that the bakery has been covered in a large banner for the occasion. A camera crew is perched on top of it. Another reminder of the lack of hope we all feel on Reaping day.

Prim and I find août spots in the roped off section for the possible tributes, and I find myself becoming anxious as more and more people arrive and populate the square. Then I feel his eyes on me. I turn to the boys' side of the square.

Peeta. I grant him a nervous smile. He, for once, doesn't smile back. Twenty slips, his grim stare reminds me. I look away, not wanting to deal with the fear in his eyes. Fear for me.

Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story every year. He tells of the history of Panem, which I don't pay much attention to. We hear the same story every year. Droughts, floods, and war destroyed the world. The result was Panem. Our country lived in peace until the rebels, led by obliterated District 13, brought war to them. What followed were the Dark Days. When the Capital gloriously triumphed over it's enemies, we got the Treaty of Treason, and the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts provide one girl and one boy, tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes are sent to fight to the death in an elaborate outdoor arena with all sorts of danger. Frozen wastelands, deserts, landslides and more all have been featured throughout my years of watching the games.

One of those tributes comes out alive, victorious amongst them, and is showered in fame and riches. They tell us it's an honor to be a tribute. Some believe it. I know what it really is. A warning. A warning not to even attempt to rebel, for look what happened last time.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Someone named Lucy Gray Baird, who is long dead, overall forgotten by our district, and Haymitch Abernathy, who makes his grand appearance drunk, hollering something unintelligible. He barely makes it across the stage, and falls into the third chair.

Effie Trinket barely manages to avoid Haymitch's attempts at a hug, and skitters toward the microphone center stage. She hates our district, aching to be moved somewhere "civilized." If only she knew what we thought of her.

Through the crowd, I spot Gale looking back at me with a ghost of a smile. As reapings go, this one at least has a slight entertainment factor. But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. Not compared to Peeta, with his five. And maybe he's thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away. I wish I didn't care so much. I hate that I do. Peeta and Gale. Both with slips, but Gale has so many. It makes my stomach hurt to think my cousin, one of my best, and honestly only, friends, might be called out, but first I have the girls to worry about.

Effie Trinket, reading my mind, chirps out, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and desperately hoping it's not me. Twenty slips out of thousands, I remind myself. It only takes one, I remind myself. Effie reads the slip out, and I'm right. It only takes one.

Because Prim only had one, yet her name is the one picked for certain death.