There's Nothing More Important than Family, chapter 2

I wake up early the next morning when Alex decides to start jumping on my bed. I sigh as I sit up, and see that Louisia isn’t in her bed. I think she’s probably be making breakfast, and I am right. Her hair is wet, so she must have been the first to use the bath water this morning. I eat quickly. I know the Reaping will be sometime around eleven. They try to synchronize all of the Reapings in the districts so they’re one after another. They do that because the people from the Capitol always want to watch all of the Reapings, one after the other.

I use the bathwater next, after David. It’s still slightly warm, and not yet dirty. After I’m done, I grab a towel, and go to my room with it wrapped around me. While I was washing, my mother had taking out my Reaping clothes and had set them on my bed with my token. All of my brothers and sisters have tokens too, except Louisia. My mother made them from dried wheat stalks and ribbon. She gave mine to me on my twelfth birthday and when I turn eighteen, I get to burn it.  Louisia has already burnt hers, since she’s now twenty-three. If I get chosen for the Hunger Games, that is what I am to bring as my token. If I win the Games, when I come home I get to burn it. If I die, then it comes home with my body and my family keeps it in memory of me. All the families in District 9 do this. My token is a circlet of braided wheat and silver ribbon, to be worn like a halo around my skull. It’s very pretty, but I can’t wait to burn it when I get older.

I get dressed. This year, my Reaping clothes are a sleeveless yellow blouse and a black skirt. I wear decorated sandals on my feet. Louisia comes in quietly, dressed in her formal attire, to do my hair. It only got a little damp from my bath, so she doesn’t have to wait until it dries. She pins some of it up at the sides and delicately positions the circlet on my head. Then she leaves, without a word.

I return to the kitchen, and see Nathan and David. They’re wearing their tokens; matching bracelets. Nathan looks rather dashing in his baby blue dress shirt, but David is too scrawny to look very good in his. My dad’s eating the toast Louisia made for him. He’s staring at the table. He does this every year. I don’t know what he’d do if one of us were chosen for the Games.

We spend the rest of the morning before the Reaping in eerie silence. We’re all scared; for ourselves, for our family, for our friends. At ten-thirty, Dad loads us up into our old wagon, and takes the reins. Our land is one of the properties closest to the village so it only takes about twenty minutes to get there. We get out, and Father ties up the horses. We make our way to the square, and the Peacekeepers herd Nathan, David and I into our age groups. I stand near the stage with all of the other twelve-year-olds.

I look up at the stage, directly in front of the Justice Building. It’s fairly large, and there’s a microphone at centre stage. On either side of the microphone is a glass bowl full of paper slips. I know my name is in there nine times. My parents had me take tesserae, but not much. I know one boy from the Community Home whose name is in thirty-four times, and he’s only thirteen.

 

It is quieter here in the square than it was at home. You can feel the tension build up as we stand there for longer and longer. Finally, Palana Savandi, the official Capitol escort, makes her way on to the stage. She looks ridiculous. She has a bright purple wig on (I know it’s a wig because it’s crooked), and a giant matching hoop skirt with ugly frills. Her collar is popped high above the tops of her ears. Her heels have to be at least six inches high.

She taps delicately on the microphone with one of her grotesque, long, blue nails. The speakers screech, and I fling my hands over my ears. “Well, well, well! Welcome to yet another Hunger Games!” It’s difficult to understand what she’s saying through her silly Capitol accent. She starts talking about how we came to be here; about the rebellion, the Dark Days, and the obliteration of District 13. Then the mayor, an old woman with a heavily wrinkled face, takes the stage and explains about the Capitols mercy, and gibberish like that. I don’t pay attention; it’s the same every year. Finally, she’s done, and Palana steals back the microphone. “Now that that’s over, let me just say: May the odds be ever in your favor!” I roll my eyes. “Here we go, no for the fun part! Ladies first!” she reaches into one of the glass bowls and chooses a slip. She comes back to the microphone, and says in a clear voice:

“Zania Roberts.”

My heart skips a beat, and then beats faster, as if to make up for lost time. I’m sure I heard Palana wrong; it can’t really be me, can it? But I know it is me, because everyone is looking my way. I take a deep breath, and follow the Peacekeepers to the stage. I stand beside Palana. “And how old are you?” she asks me.

I swallow hard. “T-twelve.” I whisper into the microphone. My eyes are stinging, and I know tears will come soon.

“Wonderful!” gushes Palana. “And do we have any volunteers?” I look around desperately, but no one speaks up. “Ok. Well, thank you, and now on to the boys!” Palana fishes out a name from the boys’ bowl. She reads it out loud:

“Nathan Roberts.”

I hear the crowd gasp, and that’s when the tears really start. In no time they are dripping down my face. I look over to where my parents and Louisia are standing. My mother is sobbing uncontrollably into my father’s chest. Louisia, who is holding Katie, is frozen in shock. Alex seems oblivious to what is happening.

I’m sure this is unheard of; siblings being reaped at the same Hunger Games! When Nathan reaches the stage, I throw myself into his arms and don’t let go. Out of all my siblings, Nathan and I are closest. I can’t believe this is happening. He awkwardly tells Palana his age. Palana asks for volunteers, but none step up.

Palana smiles into the crowd. “This Hunger Games is bound to be exciting! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!”