Game On

Chapter 1

“Wiress! I need your help, please.” My mom’s voice rings out as I lay in bed, not wanting to get up. Today could be the worst day of my life. Reaping day.

I finally relent, pushing myself up. “Be right there.” Down the hallway of our apartment, I find her in the kitchen, struggling with the computer. Again.  My tech skills obviously came from my dad, who oversees the exports we send to the other districts.  

“How do I move this file to my music database?” she asks.

I sigh in frustration. “Let me see. It’s so easy, I could do it in my sleep.”

“Don’t you give me that tone, missy.”

“It’s not my fault you’re not as tech-savvy as me,” I say matter-of-factly.

She breathes deeply, tapping her keyboard nervously. “Sorry. I’m just a little rattled because-”

“You don’t need to say it, mom. I couldn’t sleep all night, I’ve been so anxious. But I think of it this way: I’ve only got two more chances, and the probability of me being chosen is slim.”

“That’s true,” she agrees with a soft laugh. “You and your obsession with probabilities. Still... I don’t want to lose another child.”

I start tearing up at the thought of my older sister Joules, who lost her life in the arena two years ago. She’d managed to survive for more than a week, making it into the top five. Then she ran into some poison ivy. Turns out, she was deathly allergic to it. Every day since, I’ve wished that I had volunteered for her, but she’d made me promise not to if her name was called. I couldn’t break her promise, no matter how much it killed me.

“Good afternoon, my lovely ladies!” Dad strides into the kitchen, wearing a gigantic smile. He kisses Mom and then grabs me for a hug. “Wiress, where’s your reaping dress?”

“Oh. I haven’t put it on yet,” I say. “We’ve still got a few hours.” Dresses make me want to cringe, so I’m waiting until the last possible moment. Besides, I have better things to do than lounge around in it.

“Right.” He wipes his forehead. “Thank goodness. Ready to go?”

“Yes sir.” I’ve been working at his factory for about two weeks now. I’ll be packaging batteries, computers, television screens, and other electronics, for nearly four hours, until we’re called home to prepare for the reaping.

“Work hard!” Mom says in a cheery voice.

When we return home, I take a shower. Seriously, I’m sweating like a dog. The dress fits just right, as it does every year. I’m so petite, I barely gain weight even when I completely stuff myself with food. The fabric’s very comfortable, the only thing I like about it. I throw a belt around my waist, then I brush my hair into a ponytail. No need to be fancy. When I step out of my room, I stare back sadly, as if it might be the last time I ever see this place. For all I know, it could be.

“Goodbye,” I whisper.

We make our walk together to the district square, which is ten blocks away. Hordes of families join us, a sea of blue clothing. I’m actually very proud to live in District 3. It’s the most technologically-advanced district in Panem, second only to the Capitol. We’re not poor like the people in the lower districts, but we’re not rich, either.  The city life is all I know, so I guess I’d be in big trouble if I were reaped.

Standing on the town square platform is Mayor Lang, a few Peacekeepers, and a man with bright red, spiky hair. Ty Banks, our district escort.

“Welcome, citizens of District 3, to our fifty-fifth annual reaping,” he shouts. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!”

I know the drill too well by now. I’m seventeen, so my name is in there seven times. The girl’s going to be announced first.

Ty fishes his hand into the bowl, pulling out a name. “Our female tribute will be… Wiress Plummer.”

My stomach does a nasty turn. I’m barely aware of my surroundings as I fumble my way to the platform. From the corner of my eye, I see Mom and Dad, who can barely look at me. A boy with messy brown hair and glasses, probably a few years older than me, waits to greet me. Beetee Kurtz, the most recent victor from our district. He gives me an apologetic look. I think he’s already too used to watching his tributes die.

Ty reaches into the other bowl and walks over to the microphone. “And the male tribute is… Cameron Lang.”

There has to be some kind of mistake. Cameron is the son of our mayor. He also happens to be twelve years old. His voice hasn’t even started changing yet, but he’s allowed to be put into the arena? I’ll never get over this.

He steps onto the platform, shaking.  

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ty announces, “your District 3 tributes!”

I hear some clapping, but for the most part, nobody reacts happily. A Peacekeeper approaches us, gesturing to the Justice Building. “This way, Miss Plummer, Mr. Lang.”

Cameron nods to me casually as we walk there together, the first time he’s ever even acknowledged my existence.  

It’s very quiet as I wait in the Justice Building. Sure, there are people who care about me, but I know the only people who will visit are my family. Or, what’s left of it.

Mom and Dad stand at the doorway. They stare at me, unable to keep tears from falling. I just rush into their arms and cling to them like I did when I was little.  

“You’ve got so much going for you, Wiress,” my dad says. “You’re incredibly smart and stealthy. I think you really can win this.”

“But if you don’t,” Mom interjects, sniffling, “well… it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mom. You know I’ll do everything in my power to see you again. The key is to never count myself out. Every time I feel like giving up, I’ll remember you guys.”

“Not just that,” Dad says, his voice beginning to crack. “Win for your sister.”

“Yes. I’ll win for all of you.” Now I’m choking up, too. “G-good-bye.”

The Peacekeeper comes in to say that my time's up. Wordlessly, I let him take me to the train. Whether I like it or not, I'm now a tribute in the Hunger Games.