2. The Tributes of District One

It was evident my emotions were high last night, because the dream I had was mainly a nightmare reflecting my fear about my mother. It was so vivid that I almost thought it was real. Thank God it hadn't been.

I had been in the Victor's Village, having won the Hunger Games. Or so I thought. The Games were still going on. I sat in an almost empty room except for two things: a torn couch and a small TV with fuzzy reception. I sat on the floor, ignoring the couch; it looked too disgusting to sit on.

On TV was my mother, and she was in a downward spiral. At least three empty wine bottles had surrounded her and she was working on her fourth. She had wailed so loudly that my insides had gone cold. It was obvious as to what was causing her despair: me.

I had pressed myself to the TV, screaming as if I could try and talk to her through the TV. I tried to tell her that I was okay, that she needed to stop her drinking. No matter how much I yelled, I could never get through to my mother. She continued drinking the wine she probably made, glass by glass, mumbling incoherent things and crying so much. Nobody could reach her.

The dream bothered me so much that I had to force myself awake.

Waking myself up and falling back asleep hadn't made my night any better. There were no dreams, all I saw was black. Black scared me. There was no scenery, no noise, no smells, nothing. In addition to the nightmare, I woke up two more times that night.

To make me even more alive during that night, ever since Mom's behavior last night, I reconsidered wanting to be in the Games. I didn't want to lose my mother. I knew I only had two more chances to get into the Games if I didn't get in this year. But when it came to losing my dream or losing my mother, I could sacrifice the dream. I couldn't lose Mom, she was too important to me. Still, the idea of giving up the dream annoyed me. Really, I didn't know what to do, because I certainly couldn't keep both my mother and my dream.

No matter what I'd choose, I'd give up the other one.

"Time to get up, Crystal," Dad whispered. I felt him nudging my shoulder. I groaned and hugged the pillow tighter. He flipped my blinds up on me, blinding my closed eyelids with sunlight. I made a noise of irritation again and threw the pillow over my head. "You have to be in the town square soon. The reaping is early for us."

Right, because the reaping was always early. We were the first district, so our reaping always happened in the morning.

I heard Dad clomp out of my bedroom. I snorted and pulled my droopy eyes open. I wiggled my legs out of my tangled, starry bed sheets. I was sure part of the reason why I felt so groggy was because of my tossing and turning. Today is going to be such a cheery day, I thought sarcastically.

It took me some time, but eventually I stretched and lugged myself into the bathroom to see the damage the dreams did to me. My hair looked perfectly fine, I rarely got bed head. My ice-blue eyes looked slightly bloodshot; I saw slight purpling under my eyes. Lovely, just what I needed.

I managed to dig out a nice outfit and shower. It was a simple, white sundress that I put myself into. For the reaping, it was like attending a religious gathering. You had to look your best. The shower had refreshed me, but it couldn't erase the damage a sleepless night had inflicted on me. Hopefully my hair dried quickly enough so Mom could do something with it. I figured if she got to mess with my hair, it might help her a little bit, but I was very doubtful about it.

Tiredly, I brought myself into the kitchen where Dad was getting coffee. Mom sat at the table, eating mechanically. She looked just as tired as I did, though she had been drinking a lot last night. I suffered from bad dreams and lack of sleep. Out of the two of us, my mother definitely had it worse.

I made myself some quick oatmeal and sat down at the table. Dad had the TV on, so we could hear it going.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Mom carefully.

She didn't meet my eyes, just like last night. "Not well," she mumbled. "I've got a raging headache."

"Do you need medicine for it?"

"I'll be able to fight it."

"No, if it's that bad, let me get something for you. How bad does it hurt?"

"It's tolerable but getting progressively worse."

I jumped from the chair, lazily trotting into the bathroom, digging through the drawers until I found one pill bottle. I dealt out two then went back into the kitchen and handed them to my mother. She swallowed them down with water just barely.

Dad left to go to the bathroom while I stayed in the kitchen with my mom. I gently took her hand and squeezed it lightly.

"Everything is going to be fine, you'll see," I said softly.

"Everything will be when I know you won't get picked." She looked like she almost forced herself to look at me. "You look beautiful, like always." She attempted to give me a smile.

"Crystal," Dad said. I didn't look at him. "It's time to go."

Already? "Okay." I looked at Mom. "Are you going to come?"

"I don't think so, baby," she croaked. Her voice made me want to burst into tears, she sounded so lost. "I'm not feeling well. If I'm not feeling well, then they'll have to deal with it."

She must not be feeling good at all. "O-okay." I let go of Mom's hand, and with Dad escorting me, I exited the door.

It was a bright day in District 1. People were already making their way to the town square. Kids were being accompanied by their parents. The little ones didn't want to leave their parents or didn't want their parents to leave them. Those who didn't had an older sibling.

"Please, Mommy, don't make me go there."

"I want to go home."

The children's complaints and pleas reminded me of my first year of being eligible for the reaping. I welcomed it every year since I turned twelve unlike most children. I had thought about volunteering loads of times, but Dad always forbade me to do it. He said I wasn't old enough or trained up enough.

My time had come. If it didn't this year, it had yet to come, and probably would very soon.

As the square got closer, Dad stopped following me. As kids continued to make their way to the square, I stopped and turned.

"I'm going to go back home and check on your mother," he said. "I would be here with you, Crystal, I really would, but—"

"I know, Dad. Go and take care of her," I said. Dad nodded and trotted the opposite direction I was going.

Most kids were tired and looked like zombies, but some looked like they were very anxious. The little ones looked around nervously as cameras, Peacekeepers, and guns surrounded them. I couldn't blame the kids for being so scared. I hadn't feared the reaping itself so much as all the Peacekeepers and their weaponry.

We were put into our age groups. I went to sandwich myself in the crowd of sixteen-year-old girls. There was chatter amongst the groups. There were very few siblings in the same age group. I could easily tell there were siblings in the different age groups; I saw older brothers and sisters searching for their younger siblings. I never knew what it was like to have a brother or sister, I was an only child.

I looked past all the contenders of being a tribute to see adults on the outskirts of the town square, watching. There was always a big crowd of adults near the square, whether it was fearful parents hoping their children weren't picked, or just people without kids interested to see who our tributes were for the year, and to see if they would be any good in the arena. District 1 was known for its tough tributes, just like District 2 was. The other districts weren't as famous for it, but over the years Districts 7, 12, and 13 seemed to have tough tributes once in a while. 11 was good for a tough tribute as well sometimes.

The age groups fell into quiet whispers, then totally silent as District 1's escort strolled onto the platform before the Justice Building. I didn't pay attention to the two people who sat just in front of the Justice Building's walls; I was too focused on the big screen that was up near the building. On that screen they showed the history of how the Hunger Games came to be what it was today.

As much as I enjoyed learning the history behind the Games, it became redundant after three years of watching the same thing over and over again. It wouldn't hurt for the Capitol to give the video more pizzazz to spice it up a little bit, to make it a little bit different.

Our escort had to be young, like early to mid-twenties young. Her black, curly hair was streaked with all the colors of the rainbow. Her outfit wasn't as fancy as I had expected. Usually, escorts were flashy with their appearance, she wasn't. She seemed sort of ordinary to me.

That seemed unnatural compared to District 1's past escorts.

"Welcome, children," she chirped. Really, "children"? She could easily pass off as an eligible tribute herself. "Before we pick our tributes for this year, let's go back and remember how we go to where we are today." The escort gestured for the video to start.

I shifted my weight from leg to leg as the video played. I didn't pay attention to it, because I already knew the history of the Hunger Games—like the majority of the kids here in the town square did who had been to more than one reaping. The music was all I heard rather than President Snow talking. She was a descendant of a former president when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were victors in the 74th Hunger Games. Apparently, President Coriolanus Snow had a sister who barely anybody knew about. She never took on the role of president of Panem; she left that to her only daughter.

The first President Snow kept a tight grip on Panem. His niece—when she became president—decided to follow in her uncle's footsteps. She took up the job not too long after her uncle's sudden death. She was old enough to be eligible at the time. She's now in her fifties, ruling for longer than her uncle ever had: a staggering thirty years, if not a little more than that. Most had thought that she was too young to be president at the time, but nobody ever tried to overthrow her.

When the video was finally over, it cut off, and the escort took over the spotlight once again. On either side of her there were bowls filled with names of the possible tributes for this year's Hunger Games. Depending on how old you were, you got a certain amount of slips of paper with your name on it. Since I was sixteen, I had five pieces of paper with my name on it. It increased my odds just a little bit more.

"Now, it's time to see which of you lucky boys and girls will join me up here to declare yourself as a representative for our district!" the escort chimed. "Like always, ladies first!"

She dove her long nails (which really freaked me out) into the bowl with all the girls' names. Girls always got picked first, the boys followed suit. I wasn't sure whether it was of natural courtesy or just the way things worked.

She took her time, really digging into the sea of strips of paper. Just pick one already, I wanted to shout. The suspense was killing me, because I was so curious to know what my next move would be. Would I walk up to the platform without any interference, or would I have to volunteer to claim my spot?

But do I want to volunteer? If I do, I lose Mom unless Dad can keep her straight. The thought of volunteering reminded me of my nightmare I had.

My thoughts were dissolved when a single strip of paper was finally pulled out. The escort strutted back to the center and unraveled the paper.

"Crystal Springs," she called.

Silence responded to her. It took me a minute to realize that she had called my name.

While I was trying to absorb this, everybody was looking around curiously, wondering where I was. I had a whole bunch of emotions swimming within me: relief, shock, excitement. I didn't even have to declare I was volunteering; my name was picked by chance.

With emotions swimming in my head, I was amazed how I managed to maneuver my way out of the crowd of sixteen-year girls and walk up to the platform. Peacekeepers eyed me intently, and I had no doubt that cameras were trained on me. I felt everyone's gaze on my back, some probably interested, some solemn for me.

It felt weird, standing next to my escort; I was ordinary compared to her. I saw all the other girls' relieved faces as they saw me; they knew they survived another reaping.

The escort brought her hand over the next bowl containing all the boys' names. Her hand lowered itself in—

"I volunteer!" someone shouted immediately. The escort's hand froze just above the bowl of papers.

I looked out into the crowd, searching for the source of the voice. I should have expected someone to volunteer in this reaping; it wasn't often that District 1 had a reaping where both tributes were just picked.

"Who said that?" the escort questioned. "Wherever you are, dear, please come forward."

For a few moments, there was confusion. Once he came forward, my heart plummeted into my feet. Dear God no. Not him, anyone but him. I swallowed as the eighteen-year-old made his way up to the platform.

I knew him from school, he was one of the boys who had girls flying to him every second, no matter where he was. He was definitely at least six feet, beating me out by a good ten inches. His thick, bronze hair always looked wild, even in school, and even when he tried to tame it. He wasn't extremely fit, but he was fit enough to where his muscles stood out. His green eyes were trying to hide his excitement, and he was trying his hardest to not get excited.

He made his way to the other side of our escort. I didn't meet his eye; I just stared out into the crowd of relieved faces. They all could go back to living their lives in 1, until the next reaping.

"What's your name?" our escort asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"Bane," he said. Well, not all tributes had last names. A few past tributes who I knew of who were like Bane had been Marvel, Gloss, Cashmere, and Glimmer.

"Well, here you have it, District One! Our tributes, Crystal Springs and Bane! I'm sure District One wishes you both the best of luck. Go on, shake hands."

I eyed Bane warily. He and I never spoke to each other in school. We weren't friends, our parents weren't friends. We were not even acquaintances in my book. We were just strangers.

Bane didn't seem to hesitate when putting his hand out. I tried to hide my disgust as I shook his hand. His hand was bigger than mine, practically swallowing mine up.

It was shocking to me that some of the kids burst into applause. Normally, there was very little to no applause. Of course, since Bane was well-known, the adoration was for him, not me. I got what I wanted, but I had to get stuck with Bane of all people.

As the Peacekeepers slowly made the crowd disperse, our escort urged us gently inside the Justice Building. Bane and I went into separate rooms. The room was surprisingly huge, with a puffy, velvet red couch. This was my visiting room. If Dad somehow managed to sneak back to see me before I left for the Tribute Train, it would be a miracle. He loved my mother and always took care of her, no matter what.

I sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling over it. Strands of red hair tickled my face, I blew them away. I knew it wasn't ladylike to lie across a couch in a dress, but hey, nobody was in the room with me, and it wasn't like there were cameras in the Justice Building. They made the visiting rooms private for a reason.

I sometimes wondered if all the Justice Buildings in the other twelve districts had nice visiting rooms like District 1 had.

When the door opened, I sat up immediately. Mom did have the strength and courage to come here after all, unless Dad grabbed her against her will and dragged her over here. He was beside her, keeping her steady. She still didn't look well, but apparently that didn't matter to her. Saying goodbye to me for however long was definitely more important than staying home because of a headache.

I kept myself rooted to the couch since if I ran to them I'd knock Mom over by accident. Mom sat down on the couch beside me, throwing herself into my arms, sobbing. I hugged her tight while Dad hugged us both. We always used to do this when I was younger, have a group hug if one of us was upset. It always helped because everybody was together and comforting each other. All of those times were little compared to today; I was leaving District 1 to go off to battle in two weeks.

"How much time do we have?" I asked, trying my hardest not to choke on my words.

"About a half hour," Dad said. "It always depends on how quickly the reaping goes. That boy, Bane, shortened up the reaping, giving him and you more time."

"I think Mom needs this more than I do." I felt her shake in my arms.

We didn't talk; we three just sat on the couch, holding each other. It was better if we didn't talk now; there was no need to ruin this moment with words.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when the Peacekeepers outside the door announced there was five minutes left, I realized we hadn't let go of each other for almost a half hour.

"There's something I want to g-give you, Crystal," Mom sniffed, finally letting go of me.

"You don't have to, you coming here is enough." I took her hand.

"No, what I'm giving you is yours." In the palm of my other hand, Mom handed off my crescent moon choker necklace. I looked at her, head tilted to the side. "You always wore it since we gave you it on your seventh birthday, you believed it was good luck. They say you're allowed a tribute token as long as it isn't dangerous. Well, this is yours. If it does bring good luck, then I have no doubt you'll come back home to us a victor." She closed my hand, the necklace inside it.

"They won't consider the moon charm lethal?"

"The ends of the moon are blunt," Dad explained. "It's barely sharp, not much of a threat."

"I promise you, Mom, I will come back home." I looked into her eyes—my eyes. "You won't lose me in these Games." I looked at my father. "And I promise you I'll do my best, and whatever it takes to come back home."

"Please be careful," Mom whispered, holding my face in her hand.

"I'll try." I tried to laugh. "It's the Hunger Games, Mom. Nothing there is safe."

Mom choked a sob, I immediately rubbed her shoulder. Joking about such an intense event wasn't such a good idea after all. I couldn't say that I didn't try to cheer my mother up.

"Can you do something for me in return?" I asked her softly. "Can you promise me that, while I'm out there living my dream, that you won't drink the days away?"

"I'll make sure she doesn't, Crystal," Dad vowed.

I looked to my father. "I need to hear it from her, Dad, but thank you for the reassurance on your part." I turned back to my mother. "Do I have your word on it, Mom?"

Mom didn't meet my eye. I waited patiently, but she was going to give me her answer soon. They'd have to leave soon, and so would I.

"I'll try my hardest," Mom finally croaked. My lips cracked a smile. "I want to do one last thing first, before we leave."

Mom uncurled my hand, taking the choker from me. I turned around and pulled my hair up so she could fasten the necklace around my neck. The cold metal moon charm rested on my skin, giving me a slight chill. Mom stifled a sob in her throat, throwing her arms around my waist from behind. She pressed her head into my back. I inhaled deeply, trying not to get emotional myself. Once I'd leave for the Tribute Train, I had to show the cameras that I wasn't a weak, sixteen-year-old girl; I needed to show them that I was someone to watch in the Hunger Games.

"We better leave now, Blaire," Dad said gently to Mom a few quick minutes later.

I twisted around so Mom could hug me tightly one last time. I rubbed her trembling back; I could tell she was quietly crying. Dad wasn't shedding a tear. He liked that I finally got picked, Mom didn't. She would be worried sick until the day I would come home.

There was no "if" about me coming back home to 1, because it would happen. I'd best the others, including Bane. District 1 was overdue for a victor; we hadn't had one for quite some time despite us having strong tributes almost every year.

"Come home to us," Mom murmured.

"I will. I promise." I squeezed her tighter.

With my dad's hand on her back, Mom rose and stood, trying to hold herself together if she could manage while my dad sat down on the couch. Mom had to put her fist in her mouth so she could muffle her cries.

"You're living the dream, sweetheart," Dad whispered. "Go win."

"I'll make you proud." I gave a meek grin.

Dad rubbed my leg once, and then escorted my mom out the door. She looked over her shoulder once at me just before leaving. I tried to give her a reassuring smile to tell her that everything would be okay, that I knew what I was doing. If anything, I think that made her worse.

The door was left open; because I had to leave for the Tribute Train once my parents were out of the Justice Building. We didn't even say proper goodbyes or even "I love you," I realized. My heart panged painfully in my chest at the revelation. I wouldn't get to hear how much my parents loved me. But, thinking about it, I didn't need to be told how much I was loved by them; our closeness in this room for a half hour was enough to show it.