Chapter Text
“Maysilee, come on!”
I don’t want to answer my sister. Answering means accepting what day it is, and I have no interest in doing that. I would very much like to pretend there’s nothing special about today, nothing different, nothing waiting for us – but that isn’t how it works. So, I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as reality settles in against my will.
It’s not that I’m worried about myself. There isn’t a reason to be, not really. I know that.
There’s not a reason to by worried about Merrilee or Asterid, either.
But there’s definitely a reason to be worried about Audra Jade.
And I am.
A moment later, Merrilee drifts into the room the way she often does; light and airy, soft in a way I’ve never been. She’s already dressed, her pink dress perfectly pressed, ribbons tide neatly into her hair. I already know there’ll be one laid out for me too, only that it will most likely be in another colour.
Matching, but not identical.
She looks at me, and I’m almost certain it’s pity in her eyes. That alone is enough to make something sharp twist in my chest, irritation bubbling up before I can stop it. She means well, I know she does. For the past week she’s been looking at me like this, like I’m something fragile, like I might shatter if she says the wrong thing. Like I’m something that needs to be handled carefully.
Like she’s trying to understand.
But she can’t.
And that isn’t her fault. I know that. I’ve never once wished that she would go through anything like this. But it still doesn’t seem fair.
I force a smile onto my face – one I’m sure looks about as convincing as a cracked mirror – and hold it there until she nods, satisfied enough, and turns to leave. The second I hear her footsteps disappear down the hall, the expression drops, and I let out a long breath, finally pushing myself out of bed.
Just as I expected, a lavender dress that is otherwise identical to Merrilee’s hangs for me, matching ribbons and shoes to complete it. I told my mother once, years ago, that I didn’t want to match with her all the time anymore. I remember the way she looked at me like I’d said something completely incomprehensible before she replied,
“But you’re sisters?”
And that had been the end of it.
It’s not that I don’t love my sister. I do. She’s my best friend. I tell her everything. I know I can trust her, and there hasn’t been a day in my life I’ve wished she wasn’t my sister.
But that doesn’t mean I want us to be one person.
It doesn’t mean I want to do to everything together, all the time.
And I know she doesn’t want that either.
Our mother, however, has never been able to reconcile that idea.
She’s always talked about how she wished she had a sister growing up, how she can’t understand why we don’t appreciate what we have. It’s never made much sense to me. But then again, such is the same for most of what she tells me.
I take a long time to get ready – longer than I already normally do, which is saying something. I fix my hair over and over until every strand sits exactly where it should. I adjust the ribbons until they’re perfectly even. Smooth the fabric of my dress again and again.
Making sure I look neat. Polished.
Making sure I look perfect.
By the time I step into the kitchen, more than a half hour has passed, and I’m hit immediately by the smell of food. Sweet fruit, warm bread, eggs, and some kind of meat. My mother’s doing.
She doesn’t this every single reaping day. Prepares a bigger breakfast then necessary, like it can somehow fix things. Like food will somehow make any of this better.
Just like every year, though, there’s no coffee.
I’d be annoyed about that on any other day. Today, it doesn’t seem worth it.
I nod briefly at my mother, not bothering with anything more, and move straight past her to make my own coffee in silence. Feel her watching me, and right on cue, I hear the disapproving click of her tongue.
I mouth the words along with her as she says them.
“Maysilee, you really should eat something.”
I don’t say anything back, just drink my coffee slowly, savouring the taste, savouring the way it burns my tongue and makes me feel alive. Footsteps sound behind me, and when my father walks in, something genuine finally breaks through. I turn, smiling properly for the first time all morning.
He smiles, the same smile I’ve seen all my life, kisses my mother on the cheek the way he always does, and then pulls me into a brief hug. I lean into it without thinking. He’s solid and warm, safe in a way nothing else really is.
“Where’s Merrilee?”
“The shop,” I answer immediately, the image of our candy store flashing through my mind. The reminder of why my she’s there instead of me today makes my smile grow further, makes my eyes brighten slightly. Despite all the sorrow this day brings, I can’t wait.
My father seems to accept this as an answer, nodding easily and reaching for a piece of toast, but my mother’s eyes narrow.
“I thought it was your day,” she says, her voice sweet enough to pass for pleasant, but I can hear the undertone beneath it. She’s wondering why her darling daughter is working in my place, and the judgement in her voice and face is abundantly clear.
“She swapped with me,” I reply evenly.
Her head tilts. “Why?”
“I made plans with Asterid to help her count her supplies,” I say smoothly, the lie rolling off my tongue as easy as breathing. Anyone else would see through it – my father clearly does, raising his eyebrow but saying nothing – but my mother doesn’t know me well enough to notice anything different.
She just nods.
I leave a few minutes later, beyond excited to finally be out of that house.
The posters in our shop window make me cringe – NO PEACEKEEPRS, NO PEACE – big and unavoidable.
Posters like this are supposed to try and show us that the Peacekeepers are necessary, and are therefore supposed to be up all year, but they’re only really up on reaping day, and even then, some places refuse.
I hate them.
But we can’t refuse, because we’re one of the richest families in district twelve, and it could put is in danger to look like we’re rebelling in any way.
I glance around as I walk, catching the sight of Peacekeepers in their stark white uniforms, weapons head casually like they’re part of them. My stomach tightens, and I pick up my pace, heels clicking against the pavement until it gives way to dirt, soft and uneven beneath my feet. I pointedly avoid looking at any of the people in the Seam.
Even the Covey.
The Covey aren’t technically district citizens – they used to be a group of travelling performers, back in the day, going from place to place to put on shows – but after the war, they got stuck here. They tend to stick to themselves, but they’re very friendly.
Except with me.
I know it’s not just me; they’re not very fond of us ‘townies’ as a whole, but they seem to have an extra amount of hatred reserved for me. Which isn’t really all that surprising.
I finally reach the fence that separates the shabby houses and the sprawling meadow behind them, ducking as elegantly as I can under it. It’s an electric fence, designed to keep our district contained, as if there’s anywhere we could run off to. But it’s never turned on, because no one really bothers thinking or worrying about District 12.
We’re the lowest of the low.
I thought it might’ve been on because today, though, considering it’s the reaping. Security around the district is usually stricter today – the normally sullen and uninterested Peacekeepers suddenly snap into focus, monitoring us more closely. It always enrages me to see the same people who are usually passed out drunk from buying bootleg liquor suddenly arresting others for doing the same thing on the most painful day of the year.
Around fifty years ago, the districts all rose up against our Capitol’s oppression, kickstarting an awful civil war across our country. Unsurprisingly, we lost, and since then, every July 4th, all twelve sends two tributes – one boy and one girl – to fight to death in an arena the Capitol designs. The last person standing is crowned the victor.
This is known across our country as the Hunger Games, and reaping day is the day the children’s names are drawn. People, especially those who have lost family members to the Capitol, tend to drown their sorrows in liquor, but the Peacekeepers are far more focused on keeping up appearances today, since Capitol citizens will be here.
I hear her before I see her, her voice filling the air, as beautiful and melodic as the sun itself as she sings a melody she made herself. I smile, walking further into the meadow, rolling my eyes slightly when I feel geese pick at my ankles.
They’re Lenore Dove’s, and they hate everybody but her.
Lenore Dove is a member of the Covey, just like Audra Jade. She’s with a boy from the Seam – Haymitch Abernathy – and she’s never liked me. It’s alright, though, because I can’t stand her either, much to Audra Jade’s irritation.
I turn my head slightly, my eyes falling on her, and I laugh. She’s right at the edge of the open meadow and the forest beyond it, what I’m assuming is a wild rabbit in her arms, her back pressed against the same tree she was in the day I met her.
We were nine.
I’d had a huge fight with my mother, run out of the house, and ran too far. I’d never really gone to the Seam before, let alone the meadow, and it was dark. Any sense of direction I’d had was completely eliminated, and I got scared, for a second, but then I heard her voice.
“You lost?”
I’d flinched back, squinting in the dark, unable to see her properly. Instead of answering her, I’d crossed my arms stubbornly. I didn’t want help.
She’d jumped down from the tree she was in, the noise startling me further, before walking up to me. I still couldn’t see her properly, but she seemed to be able to see every single thing about me.
“You’re a townie,” she’d said, and I couldn’t tell if she was insulting me, or just stating a fact, but I’d nodded anyway.
She’d sighed before saying, “If you need help getting home, I can help you.”
I hadn’t answered her, just continued to cross my arms, and turned away. She’d laughed. Actually laughed at me, and I’d decided right then that I hated her.
“Fine. Suit yourself,” she’d said after a while, and I’d heard her climb back up into her tree. For a full half hour I’d stood there, before I finally gave in and asked her for help, my voice thin and strained. She’d laughed again, climbed back down from her tree, and walked me home.
When we’d reached my front door, she’d turned to me, stuck out her hand, and said,
“I’m Audra Jade.”
“That’s a stupid name,” I’d said, and I’d meant it. Now, I hear her name, and it makes me smile.
“I’d like to hear yours,” she’d scoffed, and I’d said, with the uttermost pride, “Maysilee.”
She’d nodded, said it was nice to meet me, and left.
I’d pretended I wasn’t slightly disappointed.
For a while, I didn’t see her. Not walking around, not in school, not anywhere. Then almost a year later, I saw her in school for the first time. She was wearing a bright, rainbow dress, with matching shoes she’d clearly painted herself. I’d stood frozen for a moment, unable to stop staring at her.
Not even at her outfit. Just at her.
Since I hadn’t been able to see her properly that night, I’d had no idea what she looked like.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was a colour I’d never seen on anyone before – something between red and brown which she later told me is called Auburn – and bright green eyes to match her name. She was about my height, maybe a little taller, and she had so many freckles dusting her cheeks they nearly covered her whole face. They’ve mostly faded now, with only a few remaining, but that image is forever in my mind.
I remember my face going red before I turned away quickly. I ignored her that day. And the next.
It took another month before I finally spoke to her, and we slowly became friends, I guess is the word. But whenever anyone had called us friends, it had felt weird and wrong in my chest, and I remember hating it. One day, she came to school with a small bag in her hand. She walked up to me, placed the bag in my hand, kissed my cheek and said,
“These are for you.”
It was a bag of my favourite candy, something I’d never even mentioned to her I liked. I realised then why the word “friend” felt wrong.
And that had been that.
She glances up from the rabbit, her eyes falling on me, and she gives me a smile so wide I almost forget it’s reaping day.
Almost.
I walk over to her quickly, and she puts the rabbit down gently, standing up to meet me. When I finally reach her, she pulls me in close, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.
Normally, I’d pull away.
The meadow isn’t a well-travelled place; the only people who really come out here are the Covey, but it’s still public. There’s still a chance someone could see us.
A relationship like ours can get you into serious trouble with the peacekeepers, which is why we’ve kept it hidden for more than five years. The only person who knows is Merrilee, because she can see straight through me, and lying to her would be pointless. I’ve thought a few times that Lenore Dove might have picked up on it, but she hasn’t said anything.
Today, though, I can’t make myself pull away.
I know I should, I know that security is amped up and we’re much more likely to get caught, but I can say with all honesty that I don’t care.
I kiss her back, hard, wrapping an arm around her neck, and she makes a small, startled noise before she leans into it, her hand coming to rest on my hip. We stand there for a few moments, intertwined, before she finally pulls away, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide.
“Hi,” she breaths, and I laugh slightly.
“Hi.”
“How are you?” she asks, and I can tell instantly the question is loaded.
“Fine,” I say, even though I’m not. Then, a moment later, “worried about you.”
That much, at least, is true.
Her smile softens, her brow furrowing slightly.
“I’ll be fine,” she says quietly, and I shake my head in response.
“You don’t know that,” I insist, because it’s true. There’s no guarantee that this won’t be the year she’s reaped, the year I lose her.
“You don’t know that you’ll be fine, either,” she responds, and I shake my head immediately. There’s a much more likely chance of her getting reaped than me. She has more slips in the bowl.
How the reaping works, it that the names of all the twelve to eighteens year olds are on paper slips that are placed into a bowl, one bowl for the girls, one bowl for the boys, and an escort from the Capitol picks one from each bowl to send to the arena. Every year, as you get older, an extra slip with your name is added into the bowl, so I have five.
But you can take out tesserae, a small amount of government provided food, each year as well, for you and your family members, which most kids in the Seam do. Every tessera you take out adds your name to the bowl another time, and there are kids in the Seam who have as many as forty slips.
This year, though, the odds are even worse.
Every twenty-five years, there’s a Quarter Quell, and something about the games is different. Special, the Capitol says. For the first Quarter Quell, the districts got to pick who they sent in. This year, it’s double the tributes. Which means that I may as well have ten slips, and she may as well have forty.
And I don’t like those odds.
“Auds, you know there’s more of a chance that it’ll be you.”
She nods, and I can’t tell whether it’s to pacify me, or if she’s actually processing it.
“I know,” she whispers, after a while, stepping closer until our foreheads our touching. She laces her fingers with mine, and I squeeze back instantly, reminding myself that she’s here. She’s warm and safe and in my arms. For now, she’s okay.
When she kisses me again a second later, I don’t need to question why I’m tasting salt. Her tears are wet against my face, and I’m sure I’m crying as well, which is something I never do.
When we pull apart again, I blink rapidly, rubbing at my cheeks. I finally look at what she’s wearing, and I smile again. Just like almost every day I’ve known her, she’s covered in colour, wearing a rainbow dress I think she made. She has ribbons tied all throughout her hair, and buttons dotting the tops of her shoes.
If I saw this outfit on anybody else, I would roll my eyes so hard they’d get stuck at the back of my head, but on her, it’s gorgeous.
“You look lovely,” I tell her, and she blinks, straightening slightly, a devious smirk crossing her face.
“Why, Maysilee Donner, was that a compliment?”
I flush slightly and she laughs, leaning back in for a moment before turning back to the tree, where the rabbit still sits. She leans down, picking the creature up and cradling it in her arms. She turns back to me, almost sheepish, because she knows what I’m going to say.
“Look at her! She’s adorable!” she defends before I even say anything, leaning down to press her face against the animal.
“She’s a wild creature,” I correct, and she furrows her brow.
“So? She’s tiny, and she must’ve been hungry,” she responds, her face buried in the rabbit’s fur. The rabbit itself is indeed tiny, and from the looks of it, shivering slightly as it’s nose twitches. Audra Jade looks back up at me, see, I told you so written all over her face.
I can’t hold back my smile.
When I finally, after far more hesitation than I’d ever admit aloud, make my way home, my mother is waiting for me.
Of course she is.
Her eyes drag slowly over me the second I step through the door, taking in every detail, every crease in my dress, every hair out of place, every flaw. They stop, predictably, on the faint smudges of mud along the edges of my shoes, and she clicks her tongue sharply.
“Maysilee, what were you doing?”
“I told you, helping Asterid. I went outside to grab something, and my shoes got a bit muddy. Big deal,” I say, gritting my teeth, ignoring how her face tightens. I don’t give her time to respond, brushing past her and heading straight for my room.
I can feel her disapproval following me the whole way there.
When I finally reach the room, I see Merrilee. She’s sprawled across her bed when I walk in, one arm tucked under her head, the other tracing absent patterns into the fabric of her dress as she stares at the ceiling. She glances at me the moment I enter, her expression shifting almost instantly.
“How’s Audra Jade?” she asks.
I flush before I can stop myself, crossing the room and sitting down on my bed, smoothing my dress unnecessarily.
“Fine. She found a wild rabbit and wouldn’t let it go.”
She snorts softly, pushing herself up onto her elbows and turning towards me.
“Not surprised.”
An hour later, we’re walking down to the Townsquare for the reaping, my shoes now spotless, pausing to get our names marked off. I look up at the Justice Building, which is where those reaped stand while they wait to be escorted away. The building isn’t nice by any means – nothing here really is – but it’s the nicest building in town.
Attendance at the reaping is mandatory for the whole district, but most people avoid coming until the last possible second. We walk into the section of the pen designed for us; twelve-year-olds always stand at the front, and eighteen-year-olds stand right at the back, so Merrilee and I are near the back at sixteen.
I don’t look for Audra Jade.
I know she won’t be here yet. She’ll wait as long as she possibly can, pushing every boundary she’s allowed to push.
Instead, I scan the crowd for Asterid.
It doesn’t take long.
“Hey, Asterid,” I say, stepping up beside her and bumping my shoulder lightly against her. She turns, offering me a smile, but it’s thin. Too thin.
She’s worried.
One look at her, as she glances slightly behind me to the other pen, can guarantee why.
She’s worried about Burdock.
Burdock’s a boy from the Seam who’s been trying it with her for a while now, persistent in a way that would be irritating if he wasn’t so earnest. She insists that she doesn’t like him like that, but anyone can see she does. People from the Seam are much more likely to be reaped.
Everyone knows that.
I can’t blame her for being worried.
I don’t mind Burdock, not really. He’s technically a member of the Covey, and one of Audra Jade’s cousins, but just like the rest of the Covey, we don’t speak much. He seems nice enough, though, and he actually has manners, which is more than can be said for most of his friends.
Especially Haymitch Abernathy.
I can’t stand Haymitch Abernathy.
“How are you?” I ask her, and she turns her gaze to me, cheeks bright red.
“Fine,” she answers, and I grasp her hand in mine for a moment. She gives me a small smile.
Right as the sound system booms to life, I see Audra Jade slide into the pen near us, her rainbow dress slightly stained at the bottom. I hold back a laugh. For someone who usually cares about appearances almost as much as I do, she certainly has no problem ruining it to make a point.
She makes brief eye contact with me, mouthing I love you, and I mouth it back without hesitation.
I don’t know what’s going to happen day, and with all the risk surrounding her, I need her to know how much I love her.
The anthem begins to play, loud and overbearing, and even though were supposed to sing along, everyone just mumbles whatever. Images of the Capitol’s power flash across the screen; fleets of hovercrafts, armies of marching Peacekeepers, and tans parading though the Capitol, all the way up to our dear President’s mansion.
When the anthem finally ends, our Mayor takes the stage and reads out the Treaty of Treason, which is basically just the terms we surrendered to after the war. Almost no one here was even alive for that, but the Capitol makes damn sure we make the price.
I sigh as her tone goes from moderate to disapproving, because I know that means she’ll be replaced soon. Anyone who shows that they actually have a heart usually is.
And then, our Capitol escort, Drusilla Sickle.
She steps onto the stage with all the confidence in the world, like she doesn’t look completely ridiculous. Bright yellow from head to toe, the material shining slightly in the light, feathers sticking out of her hat, her boots just a little too high for her to walk properly.
Her age has something to do with that as well, though, I’m sure.
She’s probably around sixty, but she thinks she’s hiding it well, with thumbtack type pins pulling back the skin on her face. In reality, she just looks older.
She looks like a bird.
A huge, ugly, bird.
It’s almost impressive, really.
How someone can have access to everything – and still choose that.
She stands at the podium, and two Peacekeepers roll the glass bowls containing our names up to either side of it.
“Ladies first,” she says, and I shudder at the pitch of her voice. She reaches into the bowl on the right, drawing out a single slip. “And the lucky girl is…” she draws it out for what I’m sure is supposed to be some sick kind of anticipation, but no one reacts. “Louella McCoy!”
A large ripple of anger rumbles through the crowd. Louella McCoy is a thirteen-year-old girl from the Seam, and everyone hates to see someone as young as her go. I don’t particularly like her, but I don’t dislike her either, and my chest still tightens as I watch her walk up on stage scowling, trying to seem tough.
“And this year, ladies second as well! Joining Louella will be…”
I close my eyes.
Not Audra Jade. Not Audra Jade. Please, please, please, not Audra Jade.
“Maysilee Donner!”