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The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there.
No way to control the outcome of the reaping or what follows it. So don’t feed the nightmares. Don’t let yourself panic. Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.
She gives me her broken-toothed grin and says, “Happy birthday, Haymitch. I figure if you’re old enough to make it, you’re old enough to drink it.” I have to agree and, though I’m not a drinker myself, I’m glad to get the bottle.
You’d think the son of a washerwoman would be harmless enough, but we Abernathys were known rebels back in the day, and apparently we still carry the scent of sedition, scary and seductive in equal parts.
Well, whatever the reason, he rarely gives me more than a terse nod, and he once told Lenore Dove that I was the kind that died young, which I don’t think he meant as a recommendation.
She tends to take a dark view of things, but maybe that’s to be expected from someone named for a dead girl. Well, half for the dead girl called Lenore in this old poem and half for a shade of gray, which I found out the day I met her.
She wasn’t one of Burdock’s Everdeen cousins, but I knew he had some distant ones on his ma’s side.
“I’m Haymitch.” “I’m Lenore Dove.” “Dove like the bird?” “No. Dove like the color.” “What color’s that?” “Same as the bird.”
Dove color: Warm gray with a slight purplish or pinkish tint. Her color. Her bird. Her name.
Like all the Covey, music in her blood. But not like them, too. Less interested in pretty melodies, more in dangerous words. The kind that lead to rebel acts. The kind that got her arrested twice. She was only twelve then, and they let her go. Now it would be different.
Clerk Carmine and her other uncle, Tam Amber, have raised her since her ma died in childbirth, seeing her pa’s always been something of a mystery. They’re not blood kin, her being a Baird, but the Covey look out for their own.
Because the reaping’s going to happen no matter what I believe. Sure as the sun will rise tomorrow.”
“And that’s part of our trouble. Thinking things are inevitable. Not believing change is possible.”
Because while it’s a fine idea, thinking about a world with no reaping, I don’t really see it happening. The Capitol has all the power and that’s that.
“It takes a lot to break these two. They’re survivors.”
“I love it.” I give her a long, soft kiss. “And I love you like all-fire.”
And if Sid should ask, “But why do I have to do this?” We can only say, “Because this is the way things are.”
Maysilee, who’s the most stuck-up girl in town.
“And the lucky girl is . . .” She pauses for effect, twirling the name in her fingers, smirking before driving in the knife. “Louella McCoy!”
“And this year, ladies second as well! Joining Louella will be . . .” Drusilla’s hand stirs the slips in the ball and fishes out another name. “Maysilee Donner!”
“Well, I think we’ve just found our replacement.”
As Drusilla hurries up the steps, he takes my elbow and whispers, “Don’t be stupid, kid. She’ll kill you with a snap if you mess up again.”
I’m a tribute in the Hunger Games. In a few days, I’ll die in the arena. I know all this, but it’s like it’s happening to someone else while I watch from a distance.
I see them cut to Lenore Dove, who has a hand pressed against her mouth. She isn’t crying, so Plutarch won’t get his tearful good-bye. Not from her and not from me. They will not use our tears for their entertainment.
She lowers her hand and presses it to her heart as her lips form the words silently. I love you like all-fire. I mouth back, You, too.
Why didn’t I step in sooner? Why did I wait until I had no choice but to defy that soldier? Was I feeling afraid? Confused? Or just powerless in the face of those white uniforms?
Sid’s hanging on her hand, pulling her forward, as he hollers, “Haymitch! Haymitch!” I’m already so homesick I could die. I know I need to be strong, but the sight of them totals me. How will they manage without me?
“No good-byes for these people. They’ve lost that privilege after that outrageous display today.
for a moment the Donner twins become one, arms locked around each other’s necks, foreheads, noses pressed together. A mirror image that the Peacekeepers tear in two.
If anything, the McCoys are more stony-faced than before. It’s not confusion; it’s a blanket refusal to put on a show for the Capitol.
“Don’t let them use you, Sarshee. Don’t —”
That’s when I see Lenore Dove. She’s up on a ridge, her red dress plastered to her body, one hand clutching the bag of gumdrops. As the train passes, she tilts her head back and wails her loss and rage into the wind. And even though it guts me, even though I smash my fists into the glass until they bruise, I’m grateful for her final gift. That she’s denied Plutarch the chance to broadcast our farewell. The moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to us.
Plutarch was right. I did mess up. Big-time. And I will pay for it with my death and with the broken hearts and lives of everyone who loves me.
But Lenore Dove’s convinced there must be people outside of Panem, far to the north. Sometimes she takes to disappearing deep in the woods, and I worry she’s not coming back.
Woodbine no longer seems reckless since he got to die in 12 and not in some sadistic arena out west like I will.
Plenty of things are worse than a quick, clean death.
“So, are you going to be my ally or what, sweetheart?”
If I had a little sister her age, I’d want her to be just like Louella, and I’ve harbored the hope that she’d wait for Sid to grow up before settling on a real sweetheart.
In fifty years, we’ve only had one victor, and that was a long time ago. A girl who no one seems to know anything about. Back then, barely anyone in 12 had a television, so the Games were mostly hearsay. I’ve never seen her in the clips of the old shows, but then those early efforts are rarely featured, as they are said to be badly filmed and lacking in spectacle. My parents weren’t born yet, and even Mamaw couldn’t tell me much about the girl. I brought our victor up with Lenore Dove a few times, but she never wanted to discuss her.
“I didn’t attack anyone. They attacked my girl and I stepped in.”
“Instead of four violent district piglets who hate the Capitol —” Drusilla begins. “You’re a quartet of attractive kids who hop right up there on that stage to the cheers of your district, raring to go!” finishes Plutarch.
I’m entirely the Capitol’s plaything. They will use me for their entertainment and then kill me, and the truth will have no say in it.
happy playthings are easier to handle than raging ones.
“Don’t let them use you, Sarshee. Don’t let them paint their posters with your blood. Not if you can help it.”
“I will destroy you before you even make it to the arena.”
“In the old days, we used to put you in cattle cars,” the Peacekeeper replies, then locks us in.
We all stare at Wyatt, who keeps his eyes on the competition as he muses, “You might not want me, but it’s a sure bet you need me.”
NO PEACE, NO PROSPERITY! NO HUNGER GAMES, NO PEACE!
Seems the Capitol has to convince its own citizens, too.
That bird is who I want to be when I grow up. Someone who says whatever they think is right, no matter what.”
