My mothers emotions continue to spiral out of control, and I am speechless. What does she mean I can't volunteer? I have practically been training my whole life to volunteer. There are so many things that don't feel right about this conversation, and one of them is that my father isn't a part of it.
"Sit, sit," I respond, gently guiding her by her forearm to my bed. I take a seat beside her, and then turn so that I can see her face. I am not sure what to say, so in the meantime, I brush her hair back out of her eyes with my fingers. She is still worked up but not as bad as she was when she originally came into my room. Once she has completely calmed down and began to breathe in normal increments, I begin to speak.
"Why don't you want me to volunteer, Mom?" I calmly ask, rubbing my thumb across the side of her hand that I have found myself holding. She takes a few moments to gather her thoughts, or at least that's what I think she is doing.
"That arena- It's-It's- dangerous, you can't. You can't.." She spits out, starting to get upset again. All of that calming down for nothing, because she couldn't even get one sentence out without going back to the hyperventilating. She stands up and starts to cover her face with both of her hands, "You can't! You just can't! Please, no. You're going to die! I know you are, you're not ready!"
I feel a pit in my stomach, wondering what to think of everything. There is something about hearing my mother say that I am going to die that makes it set in. I really could die. In fact, there is only a 1/24 shot at me living, but I thought everyone understood that and was okay with the odds. I have a blank face, finding a place on the floor to stare at, holding that stance. My mind is boggled with all the different possibilities of death in the arena, and for a moment I begin to see where my mother is coming from. It takes my father barging into the room to snap me out of whatever trance I was in.
"What in the hell is going on?" He blurts out, with hand motions. He walks over to me and my mother and then gives her a hug, I can tell it's a firm one.
"She doesn't want me to volunteer," I say, filling my dad in. I know he is not going to approve as he has been the main reason I even got involved in training. I had originally just wanted to go to the standard school and take basic academics, but he was the one who swayed me to the AOW. He is the one who took me to The Fray growing up. He has always been the one.
"Are you being serious, Marcelina?" He turns to her, with an appalled look on his face. He huffs, "You can not say things like that, are you insane?"
He starts to lecture her, and this does not help because she starts to get even louder. She yells about how I could die, and how a girl my size has no chance against someone like Martial Marx. I roll my eyes because Martial is one of my peers at the Academy of Warriors and ever since Recor left, he has risen from the ashes and became the golden boy of District Two. He is tall, dark, handsome, and extremely good with his words even though they have never phased me. All the boys want to be his friend, and all the girls want to be his newest one and only. Not me, though.
The back and forth between my parents continue to unfold as I stand back watching. I'm not listening though. My mind is too fixated on the fact that my mother has a very valid point. I don't have to go into the Hunger Games. I could stay in the district and continue to train and eventually become a professor at the AOW. None of this has to be this way, at all.
My parents are both looking at me almost as if they are waiting for a response.
"Carmen?" My dad spits out, his anger at the situation can easily be heard in his tone.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, getting pulled out of my thoughts and into reality.
With a tone just as serious as before, he asks, "You want to play, right?"
I don't respond immediately, because I don't want to lie. If I'm being honest, I never have thought about this question. Growing up I have always just thought that I was going to play, almost like my destiny was pre-determined. In the moments while I consider the question my eyes shuffle between my parents. I know no matter what I say that someone is going to be upset.
"Are you kidding me? You're actually considering this? You were made for this, I was made for this!" He blurts out as he throws his hands up in the air.
"Let her think, Slate!" My mother bursts out.
"I don't know," I admit.
My father's facial expression draws dull, and I can see the gears turning in his head. He starts off calmly, "Carmen... You have been training for this moment your entire life. I-I don't understand." He starts to stutter as he walks closer to me, placing both of his hands on each cheek.
My father is right. I was accepted into the Academy of Warriors and have been working towards this goal for as long as I can remember. If I were to drop the ball now there is no telling what would happen. I would probably be kicked out of school, my family would be shamed and my father might even lose his job at the Academy. There is way too much on the line for me to impulsively drop out simply because of my mother's random revaluation.
"You're right," I say, forcing a smile, receiving a genuine smile from him in return.
"No-no. My baby!" My mother cries out, and it pains me to see her like this. I walk towards her, leaving my father's hands levitating in the air.
"Mom, I'm going to be okay," I explain, as I open up my arms to hold her. She walks into them without hesitation and I can feel her teardrops penetrating the fabric of my shirt that covers my shoulder.
"Everything's going to be okay," I remind her.
My father eventually comes over and inserts himself, joining the hug. We console her because she is still sobbing and every time she makes a sound of despair, it feels like a knife to my chest. I hate seeing my mother like this, especially because I could end this right now by not volunteering. But this is bigger than my mother, this is for my District.
Once everything calms down, it is so quiet that all you can hear is the soft humming sound of the ventilation. I take the initiative to break the tension simply by leaving my own room and into to the living area. I find myself fighting back tears that eventually escape, but I immediately wipe them away. I feel disgusted with myself because true careers don't show emotion, it's a weakness. I simply cannot contain them though, this is not how I wanted to spend the last morning with my family.
After about an hour my parents come into the living room with soft smiles that seem forced. It doesn't take them long to commence another group hug between the three of us. I would feel good about the attempt at affection if they didn't just finish talking about my possible death in the arena after I left, which I overheard. Whatever, I hug them anyway.
"It's almost time, honey." My father says, as my mother rubs my back up and down. I nod.
"You look beautiful, so beautiful." My mother adds. I can tell she is still emotional by the way her voice cracked while speaking.
"I'd rather not waste time. If I'm going to be on TV, I want to get a good spot at the end of the row so I don't look dumb as I shuffle through the entire crowd when I volunteer." I say with a lack of enthusiasm.
I can't even pretend to be in a good mood after everything that has happened in the past hour and a half. I wish I could jolt out the door right now, run to The Fray, and sling some knives to release the tension that has built up inside of me. I don't want to let this get under my skin anymore, and I don't even know why it bothers me so much. My mother has never been the biggest fan of the games and my father has, so nothing that has unfolded today is extremely surprising. I guess it's just the lack of unity within my support system as I possibly go into one of the riskiest and most dangerous experiences of my life. But who cares, the odds are I won't even get drawn anyways.
The time has come, and I've never been more ready to leave my house. It is about a 15-minute walk to the Justice Building, but today it will take a tad longer due to the number of people on the streets. A part of me is wondering about what Katrina Castoff will be wearing at the Reaping. I hope it's something outlandish and unforgettable so that it draws more attention to District Two.
Upon arriving, I stand in a long line of girls my age that seems to diminish in numbers rather quickly. Every few seconds you hear a variety of different peacekeepers order the next in line to move up. Once it is my turn, I hold out my hand, giving them full access to my fingertip. A small prick shoots minor pain through my veins which makes the hair on my body stand up. The next girl in line is ordered to move up, which I'm assuming means I am done here. As I'm walking towards the roped-off section of girls my age, I examine the prick on my finger that has produced a stagnant bubble of blood. I don't hesitate to rub it into my fingers causing it to burst, leaving a glimmering shade of dark red.
It takes about forty more minutes of standing in the gleaming sun until Katrina's voice echoes throughout the district, "What a lovely day that we have today!"
This year she is wearing a bright yellow get-up with sparkling pearl beads that dangle all around her. She has a headpiece that resembles the sun, with rays of light escaping from it. Her excitement and passion is dominant in her voice as she prances around the stage. I, along with everyone else, gives her the attention she deserves. She is a big ball of energy that nobody takes extremely serious, which is nice. She lightens the mood with her thick Capitol accent and abundance of joy that never seems to tone down.
"Isn't everyone excited to see who will be representing District Two this year in the 72nd Annual Hunger Games?" She asks, beginning to clap her hands as everyone in the District follows.
"But... you know the drill. First, the Capitol has a wonderful presentation for you all!" She exclaims and we all know what's about to happen.
"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard-fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone champion, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."
The same slideshow plays that is played every year at the Reaping, also occasionally used as a televised commercial to remind us of the rebellion. The rebellion is not something I am extremely knowledgeable on, however, I do know that District Two was instrumental in the Capitol's victory during the war. We get rationed more food and luxury than a lot of the other districts due to our loyalty during that time, or so I'm told. Nonetheless, by the end of the presentation, the whole crowd is cheering like they've never seen the video before. Katrina shares a few words about how much she loves the Capitol, and how she can't wait to show two of us around later today.
Once everything quiets down Katrina moves in close to the microphone and says, "The time has come to figure out who will be reaped to represent District Two in this year of the Hunger Games!"
She claps, "Remember, volunteers wait until after the name is called and then I will ask for you all to come up. Now... let's begin with the ladies!" She waddles over to the big glass bowl containing slips with many, many names on them. She digs deep into the bowl and maneuvers her fingers through the names until she pulls one out in between her index and middle finger. She quickly finds herself back in front of the microphone and begins to open the slip.
"Quiver Farah." She says, and I let out a sigh of immediate relief. If my name was called then I would have not have been eligible to volunteer, so I'm thankful.
I notice a girl walking up to the stage from the corner of my eye. She has dark black hair and stands about my height, maybe she is seventeen like myself? I can't really tell. She eventually finds her way to the stage and Katrina gives her a big hug.
"Now, something tells me Quiver... that you are not going into the arena, but I love the necklace!" She says with a smile that is greater-than-life, as she scopes the crowd from the stage. "Can my female volunteers come to the stage!" She says as I begin to step out along with a few other girls. I am one of the last to get onto the stage and am completely surprised once I stand amongst the rest of the volunteers. There are eleven of us standing here, and I know a few of the girls.
Deco Talli, an 18-year-old girl who I train with at the Fray every weekend. Our friendship is strictly revolved around training, so I don't know too much about her personally. However, I do know that she really wants to play and even asked me to not volunteer to give her a better chance at getting in. Never in a million years would I obey, but I would feel bad for her because this is her last chance to play due to the age cap.
What surprises me though is that there is a girl that is extremely young, has to be twelve or thirteen. You hardly ever see anyone under sixteen volunteer, because at that age you are simply not prepared enough. I hope she doesn't get picked because there is no way in hell she could pull off a win, it would be such a waste. One of my knives could easily take her down, but to each their own I guess.
One by one, Katrina asks for each of our names and we tell her accordingly. It takes the Peacekeepers a few minutes until they come back with a smaller bowl with exactly eleven names in it. It sits on a smaller stand and Katrina has fun tracing her fingers around each slip until she eventually pulls one out. It is in this moment when I remember my mom's disapproval of me volunteering, and the guilt I had from earlier begins to resurface. She wants me to stay home where she knows I'm safe which is understandable. There is a part of me, deep down, that agrees with my mother because, in theory, this whole system is a tad corrupt. Maybe I don't want to go into the games after all?
"Carmen Delano!" Katrina shouts as she walks over to me with her arms out.
I can hear Deco swear as the peacekeepers gather the rest of the volunteers and escort them off stage.
"Oh my God, this is insane!" I say, letting it set in.
"Yes, you are, my dear! Me personally, I could never!" Katrina replies as the audience laughs at her remark, squeezing me in her arms. The crowd roars in support and I can hear my father yelling, "That's my girl!"
I am going into The Hunger Games, this is unreal. I am not even sure how to feel because for some reason I felt like I wasn't going to get picked. The odds were one in eleven which seems high but also you still have to be rather lucky. Apart of me wanted Deco to get in, and maybe I could just try for it next year. Do I even want to go in? I suddenly feel like maybe I had made the wrong decision and should have listened to my mother, but it's too late now. There is no going back.
I am so into my own thoughts that I don't even realize a male tribute has already been called and the volunteers have are already begun to line up. A few of them catch my attention and I can't help but focus on a good friend of mine, Damien Keller. He stands tall, strong, and alongside nine other young men. Damien and I had a fling a few summers ago and remained friends after the inevitable end to our juvenile relationship. I want him in the arena with me, bad. There is at least some sort of pre-established trust with him, and I bet the Capitol would love our dynamic.
I also see Martial Marx standing amongst the others and have no idea how I feel about him. He's the district favorite which makes me envy him for some reason? We have never had an actual conversation though, maybe he isn't that bad. He wants in the arena probably more than anyone else here though. I've just always found him a bit too cocky for my liking.
Katrina is building suspicion about the soon-to-be male representative of District Two until the peacekeepers return with the second bowl of names. My heart is beating fast as Katrina swoops down and pulls a slip up from the glass sphere. She takes a deep breath and looks over to the line of gentlemen before letting out a loud embrace, "Malo Revel."
"Let's do this thing," says the young man that steps forward.
He is tall with hair in dark brown waves that sweep off his forehead. His smile is inviting and his build is proportional to the larger-than-life persona that he is playing up for the cameras. Katrina grabs his hand and guides him to my side, and that's when he releases her hand and reaches for mine. I allow him to grasp it, as he raises both of our hands up at the same time causing Katrina to shout in support.
This boy is trouble.