Chapter Text
Todd woke up cold, which he still hadn’t gotten used to after four years. His hands stretched around the mattress until it hit — again — that his older brother, Jeffrey, was dead. It always hurt, but today particularly stung deeper in Todd’s stomach. After all, today was the day of the Reaping.
Todd groaned drowsily as he rolled over on his side, facing his parents. His mom and dad’s bed was shoved into the opposite other corner of the room, collecting dust. The bed’s usual substitute was across from Todd’s bed — two identical, flimsy cots just inches apart from another. That’s what they’d been using since Todd’s father’s legs shattered in the mines— preserve what was left. But on special occasions, his parents would carefully curl up onto their shared mattress and doze off. And boy, was today special.
Todd turned over to the clock on the wall. 6:02. He reluctantly sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. His worn-down hunting boots sat right next to his feet, waiting. One by one, he slipped his feet in and pulled the already ripping laces into something resembling a knot. He was nowhere near the headspace for hunting, but food wouldn’t come home unless it was dead over his shoulders.
Todd hated hunting. He hated the idea of entering the forest with the sole instinct to kill what was just peacefully existing. Jeffrey used to drag him into the forbidden woods for lessons around when Jeff was 14, and Todd was nine. He’d told Todd it was good for him since he basically trembled at the mere sight of a dagger.
“C’mon, Todd,” he’d tell him, “it doesn’t hurt ‘em. They’re dead before they feel a thing.”
“How would you feel if you were in your home and someone came out of nowhere to kill you?” Todd would ask. Jeffrey eventually came to learn exactly how that felt.
Todd carefully pulled on a ratty shirt and pants several sizes too large, not wanting to wake his parents. He’d just slung his patched-up bag when something caught his eye in the kitchen. There was a large, carefully designed roll sitting above a chipped plate on the cracked table. A reaping day present, courtesy of his mother.
Todd lifted the roll, examining it closely. It was in a shape resembling a swirl, dusted with brown sugar. Brown, shriveled lumps poked out at the sides, which Todd identified as raisins. Raisins! This was a luxury. Todd would have to sell, what, three to five squirrels to buy it himself. He looked over at his still-dozing parents, wondering what his mother had to give up for it.
He didn’t spend a lot of the time near the bakery. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid it. The sight of fresh, warm, piles of dough made his stomach churn so loudly it sounded like it was ripping itself apart. Holding one of the dreaded delicacies in his palm offered a very strange feeling, though he welcomed the gift wholeheartedly.
Todd carefully tucked the roll into his bag and slipped outside.
At the Seam — where Todd lived – this time of day was normally bustling. Dozens upon dozens of hunched-over miners would be trudging down the street to work. Thin parents would be walking their even thinner children to school, worn-down pencils clutched in their fists. Others would be wheeling very obviously custom made wheelbarrows full of various clothes, dishes, and other scattered objects to sell at (legal) market. But today, the Seam was at standstill. Next to no one worked on Reaping Day. Everyone was sleeping, praying, or spending time with family while they still could. The silence that ran down the Seam left a shudder in Todd’s bones. It didn’t need to be like this.
It wasn’t always like this, either. Todd didn’t hear much about how everything was before, but he clung onto what he could pick up. He heard from older people about things called libraries and movies. Libraries were buildings — large buildings — dedicated entirely to books. Todd owned only four battered paperbacks, counting his mother’s cookbook. He’d read them countless times — to him, there was no other literature outside of them. To have a building, let alone a shelf of books was mind blowing to him. Movies were something like books turned visual that they’d project onto televisions. Did the Capitol have either of those? Todd didn’t know, but he couldn’t imagine they didn’t. There wasn’t anything the Capitol didn’t have. Food, warmth, the space Jeffrey Anderson took his last breath — they had it all.
Every year, two kids from the 12 Districts were chosen to die. No matter how much padding the Capitol offered that statement, it was true. They were chosen on annually Reaping Day, which fell on July 4th, a former American holiday — back when Panem was called America. One week later, the 24 children would be cast into the infamous Hunger games. Only one would survive — Todd didn’t think of it as winning — and be crowned Victor.
Todd Anderson was reaped for the games to fight for his district—District 12– exactly four years ago today. It was also the anniversary of the last time he’d seen his brother. He’d remembered that day vividly, it was like he was still there. It was funny, really. Out of all the memories he’d held in his mind, his brain chose to perfectly remember the one he’d most wanted to forget.
“Todd Anderson!” the advisor, Alouette Dankworth, called out.
If you’d been watching Todd — which the cameras immediately did — you could pinpoint the exact second the realization hit. He started to stagger mindlessly to the stage, skin pale (more than usual) and lips parted.
“Todd?” Jeffrey called out. Todd couldn’t help but turn around, immediately searching for his brother. He was near the back of the crowd, sandwiched between other kids his age.
“Todd!” It took one push from Jeffrey to kids to start parting, giving him a clear path to his brother. The Peacekeepers nudged Todd forward and he reluctantly continued walking. Jeffrey had already made it through the crowd by then and shoved one of the Peacekeepers aside. They quickly grabbed onto him, others creating a human barricade in front of him. Todd could hear him struggling against them as he approached the steps to the stage. He’d wanted to whip around and help, but he didn’t feel capable of even talking then. The way he was moving was almost robotic as his foot landed on the first step.
“I vol — I volunteer!” his brother called out behind the wall of Peacekeepers.
Todd finally turned around. The ones restraining him seemed to have let go in shock, allowing Jeffrey to shove the others aside as he stepped forward.
“I volunteer as tribute,” he stated again. Todd picked up the slight quiver in his voice as he talked, though no one else seemed to notice.
Todd hadn’t even processed the fact when they started leading Jeffrey up to the stage.
“No,” he murmured, barely audible. His legs were rushing him over to Jeffrey before he could think.
“Jeffrey, no! Stop!” He wrapped himself around Jeffrey, attempting to use himself as an anchor. Not you, please not you…
“Todd, let go,” Jeffrey stated firmly. His tone was a clear contrast to his face, which looked to be void of blood.
“You can’t go! You can’t — ” Todd went on, clinging even tighter onto Jeffrey’s shirt. His fancy shirt, the one their father wore when he was their age. He’d proudly presented it to Jeffrey that morning, claiming he’d been waiting for Jeffrey to grow into it.
“Todd, let go!” Jeffrey repeated, harsher this time. The Peacekeeper easily ripped Todd off his brother and flung him onto the ground on his back. Jeffrey had been pushed onstage before Todd could even get back on his feet. Alouette was babbling about Jeffrey’s “heroic display of bravery” as the Peacekeepers led — no, dragged — a writhing Todd back to his place in the crowd.
“And what’s your name, young man?” Alouette asked, batting her bright purple eyelashes. She shoved the microphone into Jeffrey’s face.
“… Jeffrey Anderson,” he mumbled numbly. The announcer pulled the microphone back to her glittery lips.
“Anderson? Oh, that wasn’t your brother, was it?”
Jeffrey cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said simply.
“Well, isn’t that just so beautiful?” Alouette asked the audience. They remained still as statues. The Announcer swallowed behind a strained smile, clearly used to receiving the same insensitive enthusiasm she was giving.
“Now let’s give our first tribute a big round of applause, shall we?”
Alouette clapped her gloved hands against the microphone, alone. The rest of the crowd kissed three fingers and raised them against the breeze.
If there’s one thing Todd liked about the woods, it’s that it was quiet. Besides the gentle crunch of leaves beneath his boots or the song of a bird, it was about completely silent. It had the type of peacefulness one would write songs about. Todd actually did from time to time, but he couldn’t read music, so there was no way to capture them. They would eventually fade into his mind quicker than they came into it.
But though the silence was enjoyable, the reasons for it weren’t too great.
First was because the woods were technically illegal. It was all in their leaders — the Capitol’s — attempt to make them feel small and controlled. Being caught trespassing in the woods was punishable by public poaching or whipping. Hunting was impossible if you didn’t know how not to get caught.
Second was that there weren’t many larger animals in the woods, which spoke for itself. Todd couldn’t make a living primarily off of rabbits, squirrels, and birds. He needed the occasional deer to properly satisfy a stomach or wallet — though he doubted either was possible at this point.
Todd crept throughout the woods, dagger drawn. Jeffrey had saved up and bought him a few from the Perrys in the Hob when he was younger. Though he still hated hunting, daggers were the easiest and fastest way to kill. It was the least painful way to kill if you threw right, which Todd seldom didn’t.
Todd settled his eye on a fox across a patch of grass, lapping at a stream. It was a beautiful, lively creature. Its fur illuminated in the sun, brightening its already brilliant orange shade. It had a unique birthmark as well — a dark, tiny splotch that spread out between its eyes. Its ears twitched as it licked mouthful after mouthful from the stream, like it would never eat again — Todd knew how that felt. It was such a beautiful, content creature.
This was going to hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Todd whispered under his breath. He adjusted his hold on the knife to a throwing grip. He stepped back with one foot, preparing to take the shot. The dagger had almost left his hand when —
A hand clamped over Todd’s eyes. “Guess who!”
Well, the woods weren’t all that quiet.
Todd quickly yanked the hand off his face, but it was too late. The fox had scampered off into the trees.
Todd whipped around. “Knox, what the hell?!”
The boy held his hands up in mock surrender. “What? S’just a joke.”
Todd had been friends with Knox for four years. He initially met him during school, but once he started hunting, he’d meet him in the woods. Knox took a big part in feeding his family. His mother’s job as a miner couldn’t account for a family of four. Since neither of Knox’s siblings were even 10 yet, he took on the role of feeding his family. That was the first thing that they’d discovered they had in common— quite literally being the breadwinners of their family.
“Your joke just cost me a fox pelt. Do you know how much those are worth at the Hob?” Todd asked, frustrated. Though he was exasperated, he couldn’t help feeling relieved at not having to kill that fox.
Knox’s hands dropped back against his sides. He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, no, it’s not like I’ve ever tried to buy one. Furs aren’t my thing.”
Todd shoved the dagger into his pocket. He always tried to spend the smallest amount of time possible holding any hunting weapon. “Enough to feed my parents for more than one day is what! That was the first one I’d seen in months!” Todd walked further down the forest, looking for another target.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Knox admitted as he walked alongside Todd. “Someone’s aunt won’t get her fur scarf today.”
Todd swallowed a chuckle. They’d spotted one particular recurring woman in the market. She’d flounce around wearing their more rare kills draped around her neck like it was some kind of fashion statement rather than a waste of precious money. She’d become an inside joke of sorts, they’d refer to her as “Auntie.” Whenever either of them caught a coyote or wolf, they’d say something along the lines of “Auntie’s gonna love this one.”
“I doubt anyone’s in the mood for shopping right now,” Todd muttered as his eyes darted around the forest. He looked thoroughly for any movement, but could only find twitching leaves.
“The Hob’s still open.”
Todd scoffed. “Well they’re always open.” He couldn’t entirely blame them. He seizes any opportunity for food and money as well himself.
Knox nodded. “Even the Perrys are selling. Like their kid’s name isn’t in the bowl, too.”
Todd swallowed. “Their son, yeah.” They’d met once, after Jeff died. It wasn’t anything he’d ever want to talk about, even to Knox.
“It’s crazy. Everyone always thinks they’re exempt from getting drawn until they are.”
“Heard that,” Todd added solemnly. He didn’t mean to make it sound self-pitying as it came out.
Knox looked down at his boots, which were nearly identical to Todd’s. They weren’t as worn down as Todd’s, but they were getting pretty close. “Yeah … sorry.”
“For what?”
“I just know this is a harder time for you, and — ”
Todd’s eyes flew to something wriggling in the trees. Another leaf. Great. “It’s the Hunger Games, Knox. It’s a hard time for everyone.”
“Well, yeah, of course it is… but you’re — ”
Todd’s head snapped away from the trees. “Knox, I appreciate it, but not now. Please.” He tried to keep any underlying feelings of frustration from his tone. Knox was just trying to help, after all. That’s all he ever wanted to do.
Knox’s eyebrows furrowed, but he ultimately gave in. “Okay. F’course.” They ambled awkwardly through the woods, side by side.
“Where’d you say your snare was last time?” Todd asked, feeling guilty from their earlier interaction.
Knox could throw a knife every now and then, along with the occasional arrow. But his real expertise was in traps. Todd could understand why — it lacked the responsibility killers claimed.
“I only do half the job. I just set the snares. If any animals step into one, it’s not on me. It’s on them,” he’d told Todd before.
Knox turned his head and nodded forward. “‘Round here, close to the stump. You think it caught anything?”
Todd shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to check, right?”
They padded through paths of damp leaves and stepped over scrawny twigs. Sure enough, Knox’s snare had caught a fox around the neck. It was sprawled limply across the muddy path, staining its once brilliant orange mane. Its eyes were lifeless, but open, allowing Todd a glimpse of their faded gold.
“Shit, score!” Knox pulled a pocket knife out of his battered satchel. He knelt over and sliced through the wire restraining the fox to the tree to which he’d tethered the snare.
“Auntie’s getting her scarf after all, huh?” Knox cut the wire around the fox’s neck. Todd couldn’t respond yet, still fixated on the fox. It was the same one that had been spared earlier — he could tell by the splotch between its eyes.
Todd didn’t believe in fate. The idea of the universe having plans ruined the whole thing for him. Life was beautiful because it could go anywhere, right? You never really knew what would happen next, and that gave you a reason to keep going. But if fate was real — this was definitely a sign.
“Next,” Mrs. Perry called out from her holy table of trinkets. Todd came forward, coins clutched in his hand.
Five rabbits, nine squirrels, and two geese later, Todd and Knox called it a day. They’d eaten their Reaping gifts together in the meadow and split the catches unevenly in Knox’s favor due to his family. He was currently in line for Perry’s table at the Hob, having just sold some of his catches.
Todd plucked a spool of dark thread from the assortment in front of him. He’d torn another hole in Jeffrey’s old jacket, and it was big enough to force him to care this time.
Todd handed the coins to Mrs. Perry. “Thank you, son.” He nodded, turning to leave until something gold on the table caught his eye. It looked like a teeny-tiny wreath of sorts, made up of tiny golden sticks. On closer examination, Todd could see the more intricate details, like the stick’s jagged edges and the tiny berries that accompanied them. A tiny needle stretched across the circle.
“What’s that?” he jutted his chin over to the pin. Mrs. Perry glanced over to it.
She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “I think it’s supposed to be a crown of sorts … we’ve had it for quite a while.”
Todd shifted so his body was facing the table again. Something about that pin seemed to reasonate with him somehow. “How much for it?”
“The pin? It’s on the house,” she decided.
Todd’s eyebrows heightened on his forehead. “Really?” Nothing was free in the Seam, especially at the Hob. People were desperate all around in District 12. Even Peacekeepers
She nodded. “It’s been here forever. Take it.” Todd took the pin off the table, closely inspecting each rusted crevice. He tucked it into one of his jacket pockets.
“Thank you, ma’am … ”
She smiled at him. “May the odds be in your favor, dear.” Todd offered back a tired, closed-mouth beam and left, allowing the next customer to step forward.
“Next!”
Todd had to dodge past heaps upon heaps of people to make it to the door. At least the rest of the Seam had the decency to stay silent on Reaping Day. The Hob, however, had two constant modes: swarming, and swarming at a slightly lower level. Today was luckily relatively lower.
However, no matter how crowded the Hob was, it was most people’s only source of income — for those buying and selling. Todd sold a hefty amount of his catches there himself. If it wasn’t for the Hob, he most certainly would’ve been dead.
The townspeople weren’t the only ones who were desperate. Even the Peacekeepers found themselves stooping down to their level. They would turn blind eyes to the Hob’s blunt defiance of the law if it meant they could score a squirrel or two off of it. Todd once caught a group of them filing out of the warehouse still in uniform, his dead rabbits in their arms. It took him a while to realize it, but right then it truly struck him that they were all in the same boat.
Todd left the Hob and trudged his way back to his house near the edge of the Seam. His parents probably weren’t up yet. It was only, what, 9:00 in the morning? They already had a difficult time getting out of bed on the regular — they’d be insufferable today. They always were; not speaking a single word except to each other. Barely picking at Todd’s catches. Examining him closely, digging for any resemblance of his brother. It was rough all around, but they didn’t have the same motivations Todd did. He couldn’t afford to go dark. He tried sitting alongside them in the backseat before and they just about starved. He’d love to lose it for a second, but he’d love to not watch his parents turn into bones in front of him even more.
Todd carefully unlatched the door. Sure enough, his parents were lying in the exact same position he’d left them in. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. 9:13. They had time. He’d wake them later.
Todd stepped into their kitchen and pulled the food he’d retrieved from his bag. Catches he’d saved, stale Hob bread, and plants from the woods he’d learned were safe to eat. He successfully and quietly prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner as they snored away. Portions were always the hardest to deal with for Todd. On one hand, they should be eating as much as possible so their stomachs wouldn’t rip themselves apart. On the other hand, they should preserve anything they could eat as long as they could to save money. Todd had found his way onto some sort of middle ground. It seemed to have worked — he hadn’t heard any complaints. He hadn’t heard much of anything from his parents.
Todd sorted their breakfasts onto three separate plates. He set aside three glasses and filled them with milk as a Reaping day treat — fuck, the milk would go bad soon. Todd quietly reminded himself to use more of it before it went to waste.
He cast another glance at the clock. 11:46. Todd shook his parents awake. They weren’t in the state to go anyway, but attendance to the Reaping was mandatory.
“Hey, hey …” his mom groaned as she began to sit up. His father laid back in the bed, barely able to move. “Time to eat, guys, okay … ?”
“W’time izzit, baby?” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes.
“11:46. C’mon.” Todd circled the bed to her side, helping her off the springy mattress. They both dragged his father into his makeshift, rusty wheelchair Jeffrey had made after the accident. He was handy, like Knox. They most definitely would’ve been friends.
Todd wasted 10 minutes coaxing his parents into eating before he could get ready for the Reaping.
“C’mon, guys. Y’know the rabbit will go bad if you don’t eat it now,” he said. That was a lie. Rabbits could last up to a day before spoiling. But it motivated them to choke down a couple more forkfuls before staring back into space.
Todd gave up on trying to get them to finish their plates and started to get ready. He scrubbed himself clean of hunting grime with his trusted rag and bucket and washed his hair. He and his mother then washed his father up afterwards and gently changed the bandages around the jagged stumps that were previously limbs. It was after he’d changed his father’s clothes and laid out his mother’s that he could get ready himself.
He’d chosen the same clothes he’d worn every year — a previously white button-up that grime had tinted into a light beige and a particular pair of trousers that didn’t have pockets. They were the fanciest clothes he had, and he could count on the hunger to ensure he’d never get too big for them.
“Your buttons are off.”
Todd turned over to the entry of the bedroom. His father was watching him from the cracked frame, crooked wheels resting against the wood. He had a dark blue bundle of crumpled-up wool in his lap that Todd didn’t recognize.
“Hm?” Todd hummed. His father pointed forward at his chest with shaky hands.
“Your shirt … ” he croaked. “Oh, I’ll fix it.” He wheeled himself over to Todd. One by one, he unbuttoned the disks and lined them up again.
“There you go.” He adjusted it, pulled the shirt by the hem. Todd ran his hands over its wrinkles and gave him a tired smile.
“Thanks, Dad.”
His dad gave an attempt at a smile back. It used to reach all the way up to his eyes. Todd could find the whole picture if he dug far enough into his brain.
He rolled himself backwards a few feet and glanced up and down at Todd’s clothes. “You wear this every year, don’t you?”
Todd looked down at his shirt and trousers. “ … Well, yeah.” Is he noticing just now?
“I’ve got something else you could wear, y’know.” Todd’s father lifted the bundle of wool off his lap and handed it over to Todd. Todd let it dangle in front of them, revealing its full form as a battered sweater.
“I used to wear it at the Reaping at your age. I’ve been wanting to give it to you for a while, but … ” he shrugged, “y’know…”
“Yeah, I do.” It took one look at his parents’ faces to tell that nothing was going on behind their void eyes.
Todd pulled the ratty blue sweater over his head and through his arms. It was too big, hanging loosely around his neck and billowing at his torso. There were several holes that would’ve shown a decent amount of skin, had it not been for the button-up underneath — though he still felt a slight breeze. It was itchy enough that he felt the burn through his undershirt. He felt the strong urge to rip the sweater off himself faster than it had come on.
“How does it feel?” his father asked, trying to hide the eagerness in his voice. Todd knew the effort it took his parents to be present on Reaping Day. The gift of overlooking didn’t come as easy to them as it did to Todd. They didn’t have any way to distract themselves, after all. Todd had plenty of things on his mind — all they had was waiting for food and thinking about their dead son. Any visible effort they presented was thoroughly appreciated in Todd’s eyes, he needed to act like it.
“Great.” Todd pushed through a strained beam. “Thanks, Dad.”
His father smiled. This time it nearly reached the upper half of his cheeks.
Close enough, Todd thought.
Todd winced as the needle entered and left his pointer finger. The Peacekeeper pulled his hand onto a page dotted with bloody fingerprints, each above their owners' names in text. Todd's splotch was pressed over Anderson and the Peacekeeper let him go without another word.
“Next,” they said stiffly. Todd stalked away from the table and wiped the excess blood on his trousers. The fresh smear fit right alongside the faded smudges from all the past reapings. At least his pants were dark.
Todd walked to the square alongside clusters of children, their shoulders all grazing against each other. Todd was suddenly glad his father had given him that sweater, the claustrophobia of the square always made him sweat through his shirt. They all shuffled into their rows — youngest in front, oldest in back, like always. Todd nudged and dodged his way to Knox, who was biting at his fingernails.
“Did you sell all your catches this morning?” Todd asked.
“No, I split them.”
Todd pulled Knox’s fist away from his mouth. “Then why are you eating your nails?”
“I can’t help it! Don’t like you’re not feeling it either.”
“I’m not.” Todd doubted anyone was unlucky enough to be reaped twice.
Knox shifted, gripping his fist in front of his legs. “Anyway, I heard they finally got a new advisor this year.”
Todd perked up. They’d been using Alouette Dankworth since before Todd or his brother were even born, so this was news. “Yeah?”
“Josh saw ‘er in the Seam early this morning walking to the square in, like, foot-high heels.”
“So they finally got rid of Alouette.”
“Guess they can only make you look so young in the Capitol.” The people from the Capitol had the weirdest technology dedicated to looking young. One technique was a treatment that involved pinning their skin back to smooth their wrinkles. Todd saw glimpses of people with said procedure on television. They all perceived it as beautiful— but it just reminded Todd of dough.
“You think that’s why they replaced her?”
“Why else? She was extremely insensitive, loud, and obnoxious. Perfect for the job.”
Todd snorted just as the door opened to the podium. The new advisor filed onstage alongside Mayor Mcallister and John Keating, the sole winner from District 12.
She really is young, Todd thought. She couldn’t be older than him or Knox’s age. She also didn’t look too artificial either, surprisingly. She still had the Capitol’s tall shoes, striking eye makeup, and general getup, but… softer, if that made sense. Something about her made Todd want to trust her.
“She’s pretty…” Knox whispered next to him.
“She’s also in charge of who will die in front of the whole country,” Todd whispered right back. He wasn’t going to like her, he simply refused. Nothing good could ever come from the Capitol after the Hunger Games— not even people.
Mayor Mcallister shuffled up to the podium and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. The sunlight shone right through it, giving everyone a nice view of the scrambled handwriting. Todd didn’t know why he’d still needed the paper— he’d been reciting the origin of the Hunger Games long enough that he shouldn’t need the battered thing. There were even permanent creases engraved sloppily into the paper, demonstrating its age.
He raised it just under the microphone and listed the disasters that led to Panem’s beginning. Todd can practically feel Knox roll his eyes next to him.
“There’s no way he needs to read that every single year,” Knox muttered to him. A kid in front of them whipped around and held his pointer finger to his lips.
“Shhh!”
Knox raised his hands in mock surrender. “Jesus,” he mouthed, tucking his hands into his pockets. The kid whipped back around as if the mayor was reciting something actually important. Knox turned back over to Todd, who stuck out his tongue and wrapped his hands around his neck, feigning choking. He laughed, earning another Shhh.
Mayor Mcallister finally closed his mouth and folded the piece of paper back into its permanent creases. Faint, reluctant applause scattered throughout the square. He recoiled back over to his spot next to Keating, who glanced at him through the corner of his eye. He shuffled a few inches to the side, lengthening the distance between the two.
The new advisor trotted over to the podium, almost reluctant. The sounds of her heavy heels hitting the stage floor practically echoed against the wood. She looked down at her gloved hands and exhaled loud enough that the microphone caught it and threw it across the entire square. She didn’t seem to notice, as her head snapped back up with a smile she’d clearly practiced in the mirror before.
“Happy Hunger Games, everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor!” She flashed her altered teeth at the crowd. No one even coughed.
“I’m your new advisor, Chris Noel, and I’m thrilled to have the honor of selecting District 12’s competitors in the 74th Annual Hunger Games!”
Chris Noel. Well, Todd had to hand it to her— that was by far the least outrageous name he’d heard from the Capitol.
“I know we’re all eager to begin, so I’ll jump right into it!” She stuck her hand directly into the fishbowl, and Todd could practically hear the whole square hold their breath. He turned around to the ropes surrounding the square where everyone’s parents were gathered. They were all clutching at each other’s hands with white fists, eyes squinted shut. Some of their lips were moving in a silent prayer for their children’s lives, the others’ jaws tightened to the point that they looked like they’d snap in half down the middle. The children prayed alike, tiny fingers intertwined into a squeezed mitt. The Capitol was right. The Games really did bring people together, but not in the way that would ever be beneficial to anyone at all.
Chris was still dragging it on, whisking her hand dramatically around the bowl. Todd mentally pleaded with her to get it over with. Everyone in the stadium was miserable. He already knew that the worst of his Reapings were behind him, but he could remember exactly how it felt watching his brother walk up those stairs. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone in the entire universe, though his wishes were as good as dirt. Someone’s Jeffrey was going to get picked, fight, and die. That’s the way it went, that was the way it would always be. Todd at least got to take a bit of comfort in knowing that there had only ever been two names in the bowl he’d cared about and one was already gone. He was privileged enough to know that the worst was over.
Chris finally plucked a name from the bowl. She carefully unfolded it in front of the microphone, its soft crinkle sounding throughout the square.
“Knox Overstreet!”
Todd froze. He was wrong. He was so, very wrong.