Too Clever

Chapter 1

     I sit on my rickety, wooden rocking chair, the only piece of furniture in my tiny bedroom apart from my bed and dresser, trembling and biting my nails. It's the day of the reaping. The day that will decide the fate of two unlucky children of each district to compete in the Hunger Games.
     The question that has lingered in my head for the past month surfaces for the hundredth time—What if me or Nora gets picked?
     Nora is my little sister. She's twelve years old and is shorter than me by just an inch, giving the illusion that we're closer in age, even though we are three years apart. Nora looks a lot like me. She has the same red hair, amber eyes, and slightly pointed face as me, but her personality is nothing like mine. Nora has always loved fashion since she was little. She used to put on our mother's old, worn-down dresses and strut down the hallway as if it were a runway.
     All the same, Nora and I are best friends. We can tell each other anything. When our father is at work, where he operates nuclear power plants to generate electricity, and our mother is out tending to the garden, Nora and I share opinions about everything, from school, to friends, to the weather—even the Capitol. If we were caught taunting the Capitol in public, we could be arrested by Peacekeepers on the spot, so we make sure that no one is within hearing range.
     The Capitol tells the citizens of the districts that the Hunger Games is supposed to prevent war. I'm too smart to believe something like that. I personally think that a fight to the death between districts would only provoke a war. It's irritating to me how much the Capitol can lie straight to our faces and we can do nothing about it.
     I sit there sulking for ten more minutes, unconsciously tapping my foot repeatedly on the hardwood floor of my room and constantly asking myself the same question over and over again. What if me or Nora gets picked? Honestly, I don't know what I would do if one of us was reaped. Especially if Nora was. Would I volunteer for her? No. I don't think I would. Most people wouldn't, even if it was a close family member.
     The thought of Nora being shipped off to the Capitol only to be landed in the arena to fight to the death overwhelms me, and I start to cry.
     Stop! I tell myself. I can't let this happen. I am already getting upset about the thought of Nora entering the Games and no one has even been chosen yet. The reaping hasn't even started!
     I get up and go downstairs for lunch. My mother has prepared onion and mushroom soup, something we normally only have on holidays, so it lightens my mood a little. She probably made this particular meal on purpose for this reason.
     Just then, my father walks into the kitchen, my sister right behind him.
     "Oh, I was just about to call you two down," my mother says as she places four napkins around the table. She picks up a towel and swiftly wipes off the little counter space she has.
     Nora doesn't say anything. She just walks slowly to her chair and sits down, leaning on the table with both her elbows. I want to say something to lighten her spirits, but nothing comes to mind. What can I say? It's not like I can tell her that she doesn't have to go. Everyone has to attend the reaping.
     I look at my father, who mouths something to my mother. I can't make out what they're saying, so I just look down at the table, feeling a little awkward.
     Finally, my parents sit down and we all eat our soup in silence. I try to start up a conversation about school, but it dies down after a few passing comments. Nora still doesn't speak, and I can understand why. It's her first ever reaping. One of the absolute worst days anyone in the districts of Panem can remember.
     When lunch is finally over, Nora and I head upstairs to get dressed. My mother has laid out a pale cream-colored dress with matching flats. I hastily step into the dress and look in the mirror. The dress fits my slender form well, pronouncing just the right amount of my curves. I look quite good in this dress compared to my drab school cloths. Not that I consider myself to be exceptionally pretty.
     I step out into the hall and knock on my sister's door. She opens it with an odd expression on her face and red cheeks, and I realize she has been crying. I try my best to cheer her up and say, "You look really pretty." She's wearing a light champagne-colored dress, and her hair is up in an elegant twist.
     A slight, hesitant smile slowly crosses her face.
"Thanks. You do too," she says.
I smile back at her. Then she throws herself into my arms and we stay there for a while as tears stream down her face.
After a moment, I say to her, "Don't worry about getting reaped. It's not gonna happen. You only have your name in once. The odds of you or me being chosen are so slim that you don't even have to worry about it, okay?"
It wasn't the best advice I've ever given her, but I guess it helped a little. She nods her head and says, "Okay."
I turn to go back to my room to get my shoes on and my hair done. I have one foot through the threshold when I hear Nora again.
"Fleta?"
"Yeah?" I answer.
"What if one of us really does get picked?" she asks. I guess I'm not the only one who has asked myself this question. It seems that it has been tugging at the back of Nora's mind for a while as well.
"You won't. And neither will I," I reply, because I really don't think it will happen. The chances of it being one of the two of us out of all the kids in District 5 are minute. But still, someone has to get picked...
"Okay," she says again, and she shuffles back into her bedroom. I enter my own room and quickly shove on my flats. They don't fit very well; they're a bit small, but they'll have to do. I brush out my hair and pin it back with quite a large clip that my mother lent me. I look in the mirror again, and suddenly it hits me like a bullet through the heart. This may be the last time I am ever in my house. The last time I will ever sit in my tiny, dusty old bedroom with my favorite rickety rocking chair in the corner. The last time I ever see my parents or my little sister again.
No! I can't let this happen! I think. This has gone too far. Now I'm just getting myself worked up for nothing. I won't get reaped today.
     I can't get reaped today.
At quarter to two, Nora and I go downstairs where our parents wait for us by the door. Without a word, all of us hug, as we've done on every reaping since my first. I feel the heat emanating from our bodies' touch, and I let go before I can let a tear fall. I give one more look at the house and head out the door after my mother.
On the way to the square, everyone's faces are blank as they walk slowly, almost robotically, to the reaping. Oddly, no one has an expression that reflects their worry and fear of the upcoming event. It's so quiet; it feels like a ghost town.
After what felt like an eternity, we finally arrive in the square. My parents kiss both me and Nora and then take their places in the crowd. Nora and I get in line to have our blood scanned so they can be sure that it's definitely us. Then, I take Nora to the roped-off section in the back of the Square where all the twelve-year-olds stand. This is where Nora losses it.
"Fleta, don't leave!" she cries.
"Shhhhh! I have to! I have to stand with the other fifteen-year-olds, Nora!" I hiss. I don't want to cause a commotion. Especially not now, where the mayor, previous victors, and rows of peacekeepers are lined up in front of the Justice Building. "Just go find your friends! You'll be fine. Look, they're right over there." I point to a group of Nora's friends. She turns around to find them, and I scamper off unnoticed.
I scan the crowd for my own friends. I spot them towards the front of the group and head over.
"Hi," I say, flattening out the top of my dress
"Oh, hey Fleta," my best friend Calla says. Calla and I have been best friends since first grade. The two of us can get away with just about anything, whether we're at school or just somewhere in the district. One time a few years ago, I snuck out of my house in the middle of the night and went to Calla's house. I spent the whole night there, and at the crack of dawn, I crept out of her house and went straight to the garden, where it would look like I'd been up getting ready to plant our vegetables. We actually got away with it, too. My mother still doesn't know to this day.
"How's Andrew?" I say. Andrew is Calla's little brother. Today is his second reaping.
"Well, no one's really at their highest point today," she replies.
"Yeah, Nora was really nervous this morning. She didn't want me to leave when we got to the square," I say.
"I didn't want my brother to leave me at the reaping when I was twelve either. I still don't," our friend Aster chimes in.
"It's normal, though," Calla says. "Nobody does."
Just then, the mayor stands up, welcomes us to the square, and reads his speech, as he does every reaping. I've stopped paying attention to this a while ago. It's the same thing every year.
Finally, he finishes speaking and sits back down. Our district's escort, Cordelia Delphias, walks—or should I say struts—to center stage. She is wearing the most bizarre outfit I've ever seen her in yet. She's sporting a gold, one-strap dress that goes down to about the middle of her thighs, black sequenced, arms length gloves, six-inch gold heels—how is she not tripping at every step?—and her face is covered completely in metallic gold makeup. To top it all off, on her head is a jet black wig streaked with gold and a giant, fanlike headpiece on top.
"Welcome everyone! Welcome to the seventy fourth annual reaping! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Now, shall we begin?" she says in a voice so inhuman and high pitched it hurts my ears. Ugh, as if anybody's going to answer to that question. She chuckles at herself and says, "As always, of course, ladies first."
She walks across the stage to the girls' reaping ball and plunges her hand inside. She shuffles the names around for a dramatic affect, chooses a slip of paper, and heads back to the microphone.
As she opens the paper, I feel everyone around me tense. The crowd draws in a sharp, anxious breath in unison. Then Cordelia calls out the name.
"Fleta Riverwood!"