Chapter Text
“Johanna Mason.”
It took a couple of anxious, thudding heartbeats for Johanna to even register it: she was hearing her own name booming through the loudspeakers.
In that first instant, she didn’t believe it. There had already been so much misfortune upon her family over the past year and a half. Surely, it couldn’t have been her name clawing its way to her ears?
How could it be me, after everything with Uncle John’s mistaken arrest?
How could it be me, after Justin almost died of flu twice this winter?
How could it be me, after Dad’s accident last year?
Bad luck wasn’t real. And yet, somehow, it had to be.
“No!”
A dismayed wail snapped Johanna out of her desperate disbelief. She knew the voice on an instinctive, primal level: Jay. Across the crowded square, she looked directly into the horrified eyes of her youngest brother. His tears were already welling, ready to roll down his cheeks-
Just like hers were supposed to be.
From the age of fourteen, Johanna had had a plan; a plan for what to do, just in case this happened.
Coming up with a plan had hadn’t been her idea. Linden, her best friend at the time, had suggested it. On account of Linden’s mother, Yvie, being District 7’s only female victor, Linden had always had a plan for reaping day. Since before they had even turned twelve, Yvie had drilled each of her children in exactly what to do, if their names were ever plucked from the bowls. Naturally, her children had asked her to help many of their friends to come up with plans, too.
Luckily for Johanna, Yvie had always agreed.
When Linden and Johanna had first asked their parents about devising a reaping plan, the main purpose had been to alleviate some of Johanna’s anxiety. She had never expected to actually have to use the plan.
Johanna wrestled some control back from her adrenaline, pushed aside all her jumbled thoughts, and concentrated on enacting the first step.
All she needed to do was to look shocked and scared. She could even cry, if she was able to.
When they had first devised the plan, Johanna had been worried that she wouldn’t be a good enough actress to make it work.
As it turned out, she didn’t need to act at all.
She was absolutely terrified.
“Sorry, Johanna.”
A comforting, sympathetic hand landed on Johanna’s shoulder, from behind.
They weren’t close friends; not after Olivia had spent half of middle school bullying Johanna. But discovering a mutual secret a couple of summers ago had brought them together, and they socialised in the same wider friendship groups nowadays. Most importantly, in this moment, Olivia was the friend physically closest to Johanna. Her hand, reaching out over the rope that separated the section between the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, was the only thing keeping Johanna grounded enough to stay standing.
As the girls in Johanna’s section realised who she was, they shuffled away from her. Perhaps it was purely a practical measure; perhaps they were just making space for her to move through the crowd. But in the moment, it seemed like they were withdrawing from her, as if her misfortune could be contagious.
It was the most isolating feeling in the world.
Johanna looked back over her shoulder, to where the rest of her group of friends were standing. If she’d been a couple of weeks older, there wouldn’t be a rope separating her from them. Maybe, if she’d been surrounded by her friends instead of strangers, then they wouldn’t have slipped away from her.
Or, then again, maybe they would.
She was met with several pairs of eyes just as horrified as Jay’s, barely able to cope with looking back at her.
Not Linden, though. In the few seconds since Johanna’s name had been called, her best friend-turned-girlfriend had gathered herself. Of course, Johanna knew Linden well enough to recognise the shock and sadness in her eyes. But she was keeping calm, resisting the obvious temptation to volunteer in her girlfriend’s place, doing exactly what she needed to do. Johanna had never considered it before, but Yvie had clearly coached Linden through what to do if Johanna’s name was ever called, too.
“You’ve got this,” Linden mouthed at Johanna, with a small, encouraging nod of her head.
The first part of the plan was easy, sure; for the next few minutes, all Johanna had to do was look as terrified as she felt. It wasn’t going to be anywhere near as difficult as she had initially worried it might.
But the rest? The actual Hunger Games?
No. Johanna didn’t ‘got this’ at all.
With a sudden, jarring clarity, Johanna realised she had no chance of winning. She was an average-sized, not-quite-seventeen year old girl, from a district that hadn’t had a female victor for decades. The three years she had spent climbing and fighting in the woods with Linden was virtually worthless, compared to all the expert training the career tributes would have. Her simple reaping plan, her scraps of training, her basic skills – they were all a poor substitute for the real thing.
And that meant, she was going to die.
The next hour was the last she would ever spend with her friends, her girlfriend and her family.
That hadn’t featured in her planning, at all.
Her expression crumpled, and her tears began. She replied to Linden’s encouragement with a tiny, defeated shake of her head.
“Come on up!” the escort chirped from the stage.
Suddenly, every screen around the square was blasting Johanna’s face right back at her. There was no escape – not from the cameras, nor the stage, nor the Games. Somehow, Johanna convinced her legs to move, walking herself towards the centre aisle. The screens displayed her movements, playing them back to her on a disorientating delay. It almost seemed like she was already watching The Games.
No, not ‘already’. She would never be watching them from a screen again.
‘Stick to the plan,’ she tried to remind herself, as fresh tears turned her vision liquid.
There wasn’t much else she needed to do, to stick to the plan. She didn’t need to act scared and sad; she was genuinely terrified.
Crossing the line that separated the group of children from the wide, bare centre aisle, made it all seem more real. Every last glimpse of her loved ones suddenly seemed precious. She glanced back over her shoulder for a moment, at Linden, who trying so hard to be brave. Further behind, right at the back of the square, her parents weren’t visible. She didn’t waste time trying to look for them in the dense crowd. Instead, as she passed by the sixteen year olds, she began to scour the section for fourteen year old boys. She couldn’t see Justin, her other brother, at all. Within a few, shaky seconds, she had passed his section, without even a suggestion of where he was standing. So, for the rest of her walk to the front, she focussed on the lanky, sobbing form of her youngest brother, gripping the rope of the twelve-year-olds’ section.
This wasn’t the memory she wanted of him – he was usually a happy, playful child, with a smile that overtook his whole body. Nevertheless, she didn’t have a moment to lose. She kept her eyes on him, as she dragged herself towards the stage.
“It’ll be okay, Jay,” she said as she approached his section.
He probably couldn’t hear it. She hoped it might somehow help him, regardless.
Just moments ago, Jay had been so confident – possibly the least nervous kid in the whole square. Partially, that’s just the kind of person he was; much less anxious or serious than either of his siblings. It also helped that, in his whole lifetime, no one from their hometown of Weston had ever become a tribute in the games. He truly hadn’t been worried for himself or his family at all.
The shock of hearing his sister’s name had hit him hard.
A couple of his friends were clinging on to him, trying to offer him support. Johanna tried to take a little comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone. It was something, at least.
When she had passed Jay, Johanna tore her eyes away from him, and finally looked up to the stage. Even just the height and size of it were daunting, without everything else it represented. On the approach, Johanna’s eyes landed on Yvie. She didn’t know the woman well; Linden lived in Weston with her uncles, whereas Yvie lived in the victors village in the centre of the district. Johanna had only met the victor a handful of times, since becoming friends with Linden. Regardless, Yvie offered the only shred of comfort in the scene before her.
Flanked on either side by the other two victors, Yvie was standing strong, stoic, unmoved. But Johanna could just about recognise something else in her expression, too. She was doing a good job of hiding it. But it was definitely there, under the surface. Sadness? Surprise? No. The best word for it was dread.
And if Yvie was struggling with seeing Johanna make her way towards the stage, then how were Johanna’s own parents handling this?
More tears flooded Johanna’s eyes at the thought, making it hard to see where she was going.
Peacekeepers directed her to the stairs that led up to the stage. Their blank masks and cold movements made her feel even more alone.
A deep instinct for self-preservation made her want to run. But, if she ran, she would be caught. Then, she would be escorted to the stage, which wouldn’t do at all. Her plan was to look as weak and forgettable as possible. An attempted escape would be too exciting; too memorable.
With no other available options, she began to climb the stairs. She let her strong legs shake with nerves as she moved. Weak, and forgettable.
The huge screen looming above the top step was unavoidable. It was incredibly unnerving to realise that her quivering, weeping body, in its borrowed dress and strategically cutesy hair ribbon, was visible to the whole country.
And, she realised with a new wave of horror, that meant it was also visible to all the people waiting outside.
Her uncle John, who was only here to catch the bus to a new logging project. And her grandmother, who had only come along because she hadn’t wanted to stay in Weston all alone.
A recent memory of Granny suddenly exploded, uninvited, into Johanna’s mind.
“What if you get reaped, because of this?”
Granny had been distraught upon discovering that her eldest two grandchildren had secretly taken out extra tesserae, in her name. For almost a year, they had got away with hiding their extra portions among the other sacks.
“How will I ever be able to live with myself then?”
By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Johanna was sobbing even harder. Her poor grandmother’s worst fear had come true. It might have been Johanna’s fault. The guilt weighed heavy on her mind and heart, and she let it leak into her tears.
“Come, come! We don’t have all day!” the escort almost seemed oblivious to all the fear, regret, and grief Johanna was experiencing.
Numb to whatever the escort was doing and saying, Johanna walked to the front of the stage.
Through all her distress, she managed to remember fragments of the plan. She deliberately pushed her shoulders a little further forward, shrinking in on herself, to make herself appear smaller.
“Congratulations-” the escort lifted the slip of paper to read the name again, “Johanna Mason!”
A microphone appeared in front of Johanna’s mouth.
What was she supposed to say to that? She couldn’t very well thank the escort for her death sentence. She wasn’t even sure she would be able to speak, given how tight her throat had become, while thinking of Granny.
Johanna scanned the section for fourteen year old boys again. She saw a cluster of Justin’s friends, but her brother wasn’t with them. Even the reaping hadn’t been enough to help them make up from their fight a few days ago.
“Okay, dear,” the escort gave up on waiting for her to speak, “You just wait here,” his demeanour rapidly changed, returning to full energy as he continued, “while we move on to the boys!”
It had always been silly to watch the escort attempt to put on a show, to such a despondent crowd. Somehow, from Johanna’s position up on the stage, it was even worse. She could see the terrified, disgusted, dazed expressions of the five thousand children at District Seven’s reaping. Why did the escort bother with all the showmanship, when he could clearly see for himself it was never going to be received well by the crowd?
“Conifer Green.”
The relief among the boys – and most of the girls, too, no doubt worried for their male friends and family – was visible. Virtually the whole square relaxed within the same second.
Then, there was movement right at the back of the crowd.
A well-dressed eighteen-year-old emerged into the aisle. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t dithering. He wasn’t quite swaggering down the aisle, but he was certainly more confident than most tributes. He was infinitely more confident than Johanna had been.
‘I’m a tribute,’ Johanna realised, properly, for the first time.
Conifer strode up the stairs, and directly over to the escort. His face was set, in an almost authoritative expression.
“Congratulations, Conifer Green,” said the escort.
He hadn’t needed to check the paper again, for Conifer’s name. Johanna considered the difference in their presentations, for a moment. Perhaps it meant nothing. But, perhaps it was a sign that her plan to make herself forgettable was working.
“Thank you, Escort Fairfax,” Conifer graciously accepted, his voice quiet, but strong.
“Oh, so polite! But, call me Emillius.”
“Then, thank you, Emillius,” Conifer corrected, then added, “I hope to do my District proud, in service to my country.”
The only tribute Johanna had ever seen speak so confidently on the stage was Daisy, a couple of years ago. And Daisy hadn’t been reaped; she had volunteered, hoping for access to life-saving capitol medicine. No other reaped tribute from District 7 had ever managed to deliver a polite, professional speech like Conifer.
“I’m sure you will,” Emillius beamed, clearly pleased with one of his tributes this year.
The Mayor was brought back up, to close the ceremony. Johanna – whose name had to be read from the slip of paper again – shook hands with Conifer. Of course, he had a gentle but firm grip, and a confident shake. His palm was sweaty, though. She was glad he wasn’t quite as calm and collected as he appeared.
As the anthem played, Johanna finally found Justin at the far edge of the crowd. He was all alone, weeping. She could feel anger bubbling up inside her. Apparently, not a single one of his friends had been able to overlook his drunken attempted first kiss a couple of days ago – not even to comfort him after his sister had been reaped.
Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him, at such a difficult time. But there was nothing she could do to help him, now – not with every eye in Panem watching her on the stage.
Fresh tears filled her eyes, full of worry for her brother.
She let them fall, for the cameras.