Chapter Text
When I wake up this morning, it’s just a few minutes before Bran’s alarm goes off, calling us to our duty in the bakery beneath our room. For a moment, I panic, it’s not usual for me to wake up alone in the bed I share with my brothers. But then I remember: it’s the 4th of July.
I’m surprised by the lack of nightmares. Last year, I woke up drenched in sweat, and Rye had to calm me down.
I climb out of bed and spot a blue shirt, the grey one I usually wear with just one patch on its sleeve, and some nice long trousers with a few more. This past winter was brutal, we had to sell or trade most of our best clothes. My collarbones are still visible from every angle, but at least my ribs are finally getting harder to count.
When I put on the shirt, I notice it’s in surprisingly better shape than my pants. It looks almost new. Maybe Mom didn’t want others to see us as broken after the winter. We are, but things are getting better, so I’m glad to have something new. Still, I take it off, it’s probably meant for the reaping, and I don’t want to ruin it. I grab the grey one instead.
The second I finish dressing, the door bursts open.
“Peeta Mellark!” my mother yells, and a shiver runs down my spine. She grabs me by the ear and yanks me toward her face, hissing, “If I don’t see you down by the counter, you won’t eat for another three days!”
“Ow, that hurts, Mom!” As many times as she’s done that in my thirteen years, it still hurts like hell. “Besides, I’m already dressed.”
She just grumbles and stomps off to help the customers.
I rub my ear, still sore, and make my way downstairs. The smell of fresh bread and cookies, the ones Dad bakes especially for today, almost makes me forget about the anxiety hanging over us.
Bran is out of reaping age, but he’ll still come with us, for our sake… and for his girlfriend, Willow Everly, a nice girl that always sings to me when I’m tired or scared. Her father is a shoemaker and her mother has been singing to the flowers from below the earth for a good four years.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Rye’s not there. Instead, Bran is behind the counter, saying goodbye to Mr. Woodbury, a total idiot who is dating his wife’s sister, but no one knows just me. After a moment, he notices me and smiles, but his eyes ask the real question: Are you okay?
I nod. It’s Reaping Day, I have to be okay. Even though my name is already in there six times.
“Peeta! Can you come here, please?” Dad calls. He’s nicer, so I never get scared when he raises his voice. He’d never hurt me.
He’s in the bakery, standing by the stove. I bet he didn’t close an eye all night, probably stressing on our behalf. He’s been baking since at least dawn, stuff for the poor families whose kids might be taken. Mom hates that, says it’s pointless and stupid, but thankfully, Dad doesn’t listen to her.
After a few seconds, I’m finally in the bakery. He turns to me and says, “My boy, you look so nice.” He cups my face in his hands. “Your mother went to visit her friends and left us a list of things to get done. Not much for you, so if you finish quickly, you can take the cinnamon rolls I’m baking to the mayor and hang out with Madge for a while.”
As he says it, I glance at the table and spot the list. Surprisingly, I don’t have as much to do as the others. Mom probably thinks I’ll mess everything up if I’m too stressed and she has all rights to think that. Thankfully It’s just a few tasks:
- Sweep and mop the floor
- Clean the tables
- Decorate 3 cakes
- Work the counter for 45 minutes
- Make 3 loaves of bread (if you ruin them, no food until further notice)
- Deliver the cinnamon rolls to the mayor
- Don’t let me see you again until 12:30!
Like I said, not much work. Just 3 or 4 hours. I might actually have time to see Madge and Delly after all.
As soon as Dad leaves the room to rinse the dough off his hands, someone’s hand appears through the window, then a whole head. It’s Rye, his face all dirty. He looks like he just got back from the Hob, the black market that’s more used than the official one, but I’m not entirely sure.
“Where have you been?” I ask him, and the look of pure terror he gives me makes me burst out laughing.
“Nowhere…” he says. Him being two years older is kind of surprising sometimes, because he absolutely cannot lie.
“Bullshit. You look like you’ve just been to the Hob.”
“Well, maybe I was there. But I got you and me new jackets!” That takes me by surprise. New jackets? They must’ve been hella expensive.
“How did you afford them?” I ask.
He smirks and says, “True magician never reveals his tricks…”
I roll my eyes. Loser.
Then he runs up to our room to hide the jackets. If Mom found them, she’d beat Rye with the first thing she got her hands on.
I head back to my chores and start sweeping the floor like my life depends on it. It almost does, I really don’t want to relive the kind of hunger that eats your thoughts before your stomach. Mom says I never do it properly and that if I want to act like a lazy pig, I can go live outside with them.
After decorating cakes for the merchant families, who smile because their kids won’t be reaped, after grinning too much at every person who even glances at our display, and after my face starts hurting from all of that, I finally finish sweeping, mopping, cleaning the tables… and, thank God, not burning any of the bread!
Dad sets the cinnamon rolls down on the table in front of me. They smell incredible. He ruffles my hair, and I catch that look in his eyes, pride.
“You did the bread very well, son. You can take these rolls to the Undersees. It’s already 11:30.”
I wrap the cinnamon rolls in a nice clean towel and head out. The sun is shining, and the square is full of people already dressed like they hope nice clothes will stop them from getting picked. I keep my head down as I pass my classmates. They started making fun of us, saying that if we’re so broken we can’t afford food, we should just move to the Seam. Idiots, who do they think makes their daily bread?
After a few minutes, I start to see Madge’s house. It’s the nicest one in District 12, and every time Madge invites me there, I’m scared as heck I’ll break something. I knock, and after a minute, the door opens, it’s Mayor Undersee.
“Oh, hello, Peeta. Are those cinnamon rolls?” he asks.
I smile at him and answer, “Yes, sir. Is Madge home? I was thinking we could go for a walk.”
“Of course she is. Madge has been excited to see you, come inside.” he tells me. But I don’t think excited is the right word, maybe she just didn’t want to worry all alone. As I come inside the astonishment never leaves whenever I see this place. It’s so huge and so… Fancy. The mayor tells me to go to the kitchen and to sit down. After five minutes Madge comes down the stairs and to the kitchen. Already dressed in nice blue dresses with flowers on them.
The second she sees me her eyes start glowing. “Hey, Peeta,” she says. “Are those the Famous Mellark cinnamon rolls?” And she smirks.
I hold out the towel like it’s some kind of jewellery Delly’s parents sell. “Fresh from the oven, as perfect as you are.” I say and we both burst out laughing.
“Oh, leave this for your girl.” She punches me a little to my arm. “Do you want to hang out there or outside?”
“Outside, I don’t want to get your room dirty.” I answer. “Have you asked Delly if she can hang out too?”
“I did, but she can’t, apparently their sheep is giving birth…”
I think she sees me being a little sad, Delly is my best friend ever since, Madge has been just for three years, but she doesn’t make anything from that.
She links her hand with mine as we step off the porch.
“Guess you’re stuck with me today,” she teases.
“Oh no, what a horror,” I say in a frightened voice. “By the way, we can hang out only until 12:30.”
She frowns a little, we agreed it would be until 13:00—but we both know that what Mom says is the only way.
The air smells like summer, bread, and trees. People are still rushing around the square, but I don’t pay much attention to them.
Then she comes. Katniss Everdeen. She looks much healthier than she did two years ago. She’s with Gale Hawthorne, and my stomach tightens with jealousy.
Madge doesn’t seem to notice her and hums a song I don’t know. Maybe it’s one her mother used to play on the piano, before she was tied to her bed.
“You nervous?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Six times in there.”
Her face goes pale, and I realize I haven’t told her that yet.
“What?” she shrieks. “Peeta! Why? What? Since when? And why haven’t you told me?”
“Since this winter. You remember.”
Madge nods, of course she remembers. Almost everybody does. It was the worst winter for us.
In Nine, something happened with the grain, and when there’s no grain, there’s no flour, and with no flour, no bread, which means no money for us. We got out of it, but it was a terrible time.
“And I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I’m really sorry, Madge.”
She doesn’t look mad, but it doesn’t help the tight feeling in my chest.
“It’s okay. I just wish you told me, you know?” she says, and gently presses her shoulder against mine.
“Well, I really hope the hopes will be in your favour,” Madge says, imitating a perfect Capitol accent. It makes us both burst out laughing.
As we walk toward the meadow, we talk and talk about the stupidest things our classmates have done. Like when Joseph, a kid from the Seam, dared our English teacher that if he got all the points on an exam, the teacher would have to come to school dressed like a bird. And guess what? He got all the points.
We talk and talk, hoping it’ll stop 12:30 from getting closer, but nothing does.
“Peeta, in five minutes it’s twelve-thirty,” Madge tells me, and I know it’s bad. From the meadow to town it’s fifteen minutes. If I run, maybe seven.
Oh shit. Mom is going to be mad.
I hug her and start running.
“Bye, Madge! I have to go, see you after the reaping!” I wave at her as I sprint off.
When I finally get home, only three minutes late, mom is standing on the porch looking angry. “You are late, young man.” She says and I’m truly scared. “Sorry mom.”
“Whatever.” She says as she turns back. Thanks to everything dear to me , she isn’t that mad.
As I get inside, all of my family is sitting around the table waiting for me. They aren’t dressed yet for the Reaping, but after lunch, we’ll get ready.
I sit next to Rye and he whispers, “Has she bitten your arm off?”
“Nearly,” I say, and he chuckles.
Dad slides a bowl in front of me. It smells really good, he probably used the squirrel meat he trades for with Katniss or Gale. As we eat, no one talks. All of us are nervous. Bran twice as much, since it’s his girlfriend’s last year of being eligible.
“Eat fast,” Mom says sharply. “We have to look the same as we did last year.”
Bran rolls his eyes and mutters something like, “As if the Capitol only picks the ugly ones,” but thankfully, Mom doesn’t hear him. He’s already wearing a nice white short-sleeved shirt, the same one as last year. Mom likes him most, so selling his clothes isn’t something she’d ever do.
Rye eats faster than usual. When Mom says faster, she means it. He looks like he’s actually hungry. I’m not. The thoughts about the Reaping fill up my whole stomach, and besides, I had that cinnamon roll Madge gave me.
As soon as we finish, Mom sends us to our room to get dressed while she cleans the dishes. I put on the nice blue shirt I saw for the first time this morning.
“That shirt is nice,” Rye says.
“Yeah, it is.”
And then we’re quiet again.
A few minutes later, Mom comes into the room with a hairbrush in one hand and hair gel in the other. Hell is starting, and for Rye, it starts sooner than for me.
After about seven minutes and a lot of painful grimacing from Rye, he’s done. Then it’s my turn. It hurts. A lot. But not like that one time she hit me three times in the ribs with a rolling pin.
When we get done, it’s 13:20. The right time to get into the square. The air smells worse than when I was with Madge it’s almost like all the good got away from us, and only the sun shines on the unlucky ones.
I put my name into the bowl, so now it’s not there just six times, it’s there seven. And poor Rye, his name is there about twenty times. It’s not as bad as for those from the Seam, but for merchants it’s a hella lot. I say bye to Rye and go stand next to my classmates. I stand next to my really good friend, his name is Jaqob, and his dad sells things made out of glass.
I start looking for Delly. After a few seconds of searching, I finally see her. She’s wearing a nice pink lace dress with pretty blue and yellow ribbons. I think it was her mother’s, but I’m not sure. Madge is next to her, and they both wave at me.
On two of the three chairs sit Mayor Undersee and our district escort, with a face whiter than when you stare at the sun and bright red lips. She’s wearing a dress that looks like it’s made out of water, with some weird kind of fish, and her hair is that ugly kind of blue. On the seat next to them should sit Haymitch Abernathy, our last living winner, but he’s always drunk. They seem concerned that he’s not there.
When the clock strikes two o’clock, the mayor starts reading the same story that’s been told, I guess, forever. About Panem, about the 13 districts, about the Dark Days, and finally about those stupid Games, how they remind us to never stand against them. Every year, one girl and one boy from each district, aged twelve to eighteen, are reaped and sent to die.
Rye told me that every year, what Madge’s dad says changes a little, just what the Capitol tells him to say. But whatever they say, the real message is always the same: act like stupid dogs, only obeying their rules.
After this, he says the names of our victors. Haymitch, a drunk, but he probably has a reason. And some girl whose name starts with an L, nothing more. We don’t know anything else about her. A poor girl whose name was erased from history. Then Haymitch shows up, drinking more than my mother before winter. He gives Effie, our escort, a kiss on the cheek. She looks disgusted as hell.
The mayor tries to cover this up by introducing Effie Trinket. She steps up to the microphone and gives us her typical signature line: “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” She says it in that typical stupid Capitol accent my brothers and I always make fun of. Then she talks about what an honor it is to be here, although she looks like she wants to throw up just thinking about District Twelve. Her wigged hair looks like it belongs in District Four, where they’re all fishers.
It’s time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says, like every year, “Ladies first!” and crosses to the glass bowl with the girls’ names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the bowl, and pulls out a slip of paper. All of us go quiet—even the birds. It’s almost magical. I feel nauseous and hope it’s not her. Please don’t let Katniss Everdeen be reaped. Please don’t let the girl who sings so well the birds listen to her be reaped.
Effie crosses back to the podium, smooths the slip of paper just like last year, and reads out the name of the tribute in her perfect Capitol accent. Katniss Everdeen is not the tribute.
It’s Willow Everly.
She is eighteen and Bran’s girlfriend. The girl who sings me to sleep when I’m really tired. It’s Willow Everly, and as I search for my brother, I see the tears in his eyes. Willow holds her face straight and doesn’t show any fear as she looks directly into the camera with a challenging look in her eyes that I bet the Capitol people won’t understand.
Willow Everly walks to the stage and stands next to Effie Trinket. Bran says that when he was younger, she used to call for volunteers, but she stopped, because it’s useless.
“Oh, aren’t you a pretty girl?” Effie says to Willow and I know she’s doing everything she can not roll her eyes. “Now let’s choose our boy tribute!”
She digs her hand the same way into the bowl, this time with the boys’ names. After five seconds, she pulls out the paper, goes back to the podium, and smooths it out. We are all still quiet. I’m scared for me and my brother. I hope neither of us gets picked. That would be hell for Bran.
It’s not Rye. But the name takes all the air from my lungs.
It’s Peeta Mellark…