Albany Rosewood- District 2 Victor

Chapter 6

  I wake up the next morning to the sound of my aunt clattering around downstairs. I groan and rub my eyes. I don't feel rested at all. I had a terrible time getting to sleep and once I finally fell asleep, I had awful dreams about Maylee being killed in the Games and having to watch her die.
  I swing my legs out of bed and walk to the bathroom. I shiver a little as my bare feet touch the cold wooden floor. I stare into the mirror, and I look like I haven't slept in weeks. I have dark purple circles under my eyes, made more prominent by my sickly pale skin. My Capitol stylists would be horrified. I sigh and turn the water on for a shower. Maybe that will help to improve my ghastly appearance.
I stand in the shower for quite a while, just letting the hot water rush over me. I use my favorite shampoo, the one that smells like lavender. It's always relaxed me, and it works, even now. I come out of the shower feeling refreshed and a tiny bit better about the day ahead. I pull on my fluffy white robe and walk back into my room. I choose a maroon dress that comes to my knees. It has long sleeves and a small ruffle across the bottom. I also put on a pair of brown tights and black boots. I don't feel like wearing bright colors today.
I brush out my hair and put it into a French braid. Then, I go over to my vanity and get out a liquid foundation that my Capitol stylists gave me. I dab it under my eyes and the dark circles fade away. I also brush some blush over my cheeks to give my pale face some color. It works, and I finally feel like I look like I'm ready to face the world, even if I don't feel like on the inside.
  I walk downstairs and am greeted by my aunt.
  "Good morning, Albany," she says stiffly. She's still mad about my outburst last night.
  "Good morning," I say cordially.
  "I put breakfast on the table. Eat quickly; you have to be at the town square in half an hour," she says with a gesture to the table. On it is two pieces of toast with melted cheese on top and a glass of water. I thank her and sit down to eat.
  I scarf down my food quickly; there is an unbearable amount of tension in the room.
  "Well, I'll be going," I say after gulping down my water.
  My aunt nods curtly and says, "Your uncle and I will be along shortly." I nod and walk to the door.
I walk down the streets, which are starting to fill up with people. Everybody is dressed in their nicest clothes. The girls are wearing brightly colored dresses and the boys are wearing slacks and nice shirts. Everybody is excited for the Reaping. I try to avoid talking to anybody, but a few people say hello to me. I politely say it back, but I don't pursue a conversation. I'm not in the mood for talking to people today.
I quickly reach the town square, in the center of which is a large stage. There are banners with the District 2 emblem hanging on the wall behind it. The eligible kids are forming a line to get their fingers pricked, and then walking to their age groups. The pens are just staring to fill up, with a dozen or so people in each one. I make my way up to the stage, where the two massive glass bowls sit. In the center of the stage, there is a podium with a microphone. Along the back wall, under the banners, there is a row of wooden chairs with high backs. The mayor is seated in the center, with a row of town council members next to him. I find the last open seat, which is on the end of the row. My seat is next to Mr. Fieldcrest. He is a tall, rail-thin man with short silver hair. His eyes are black and cold. He turns his icy gaze to me.
  "Good morning, Miss Rosewood," he says with a nod.
  "Go-good morning, Mr. F-f-fieldcrest," I stutter. He has always scared me. I blush and look at the worn, wooden ground. Mr. Fieldcrest begins to talk to the councilman next to him, Mr. Salyer. I look out to the crowd. The pens have filled up, and the town square is loud with the excited chatter of the crowd. I look to the 17 year old pen, and find Maylee. She is looking determinedly at the bowl that holds the girls' names. Oh no. I had been clinging to the hope that she would change her mind, but that is obviously not the case. Her green eyes find mine, and I pleadingly shake my head at her. She nods somberly at me, and I can feel tears well up in my eyes. I quickly wipe my eyes; I don't want to appear weak in front of the entire district. Maylee turns away from me and tosses her silvery blonde hair, which is tightly curled and falls around her shoulders elegantly. Her dress is magenta and falls to just above her knees. It has a dark green sash that complements her eyes. She looks regal and beautiful. I can't believe my best friend, my beautiful Maylee, is volunteering. My stomach does a huge flip as I think of it.
  After a few minutes, everybody is in their places. Our escort, Viyla Sandy, walks onto the stage in her insanely high heels. She is wearing shockingly bright, violet, skin-right pants and a dark red fur coat. Her black hair is twisted up into what is supposed to be a bun, but it ended up looking like an absurd, black beehive.
  Viyla taps the microphone and says, "I'm so happy to be here in District 2 for the Reaping for the 62nd Hunger Games! I'm sure you're all excited, too, so let's get on with the video!" She gestures to the screen behind her, but there is also one across the square from me. I face that one. They show the same video every year, about the origin of the Games, and the rebellion, and the Capitol's generosity. Nobody really pays attention to it, everybody is just waiting for the Reaping. The video ends with the playing of the Capitol's anthem, and Viyla begins to speak once more.
"Now for the ladies!" she says as she prances over to the glass bowl with the girls' names. I find Maylee in the audience and try to give her one last pleading look, but she is focused on Viyla. Viyla dips her hand into the bowl and rustles it around, drawing out the moment. All eyes are on her. She smiles at the audience, and finally closes her fingers around a slip of paper. She draws it out and slowly unfolds it.
  "Bexley Merritt!" Bexley, a short, stocky girl with dark and frizzy hair, steps out of the crowd of 14 year olds. Before she can make it halfway to the stage, Maylee steps forward. She has a fierce look in her green eyes, and she looks regal and proud. And then she says the words that I had hoped I would never hear her say. I watch Maylee say the words that will shatter her world.
  "I volunteer as tribute!"