15DISTRICT SEVEN: THE OLIVE TREE
Bambi Hackett, 13
It's almost Time.
I can tell by the way the sun's hanging. The sky's still a cheery shade of blue, mottled with an occasional cloud, but the hue of the sun is slightly bruised with a very hint of peach. Am I strange for noticing that? I can't tell.
I notice a lot of things.
For example, I noticed that the butcher's kids aren't outside playing in the yard this morning. They're almost always out (their permanent sunburns are evidence enough). That means one of two things; the butcher's ill or Polly is finally of Reaping age. I'm guessing it's the latter, since I saw Mr. Prangborn putting the mandatory Reaping decorations across the veranda earlier.
His wife, Calluna, hasn't been out to water her chrysanthemums, either. That's a tradition of hers on today… the Prangborns are very symbolic people. Chrysanthemums signify optimism, joy and long life. It seems ironic, mocking, even, to care for those on an evening like this.
There are little details like that everywhere. Despite the calliope music, the bright banners whipping tirelessly through the breeze… the paint, so heartlessly and gloomily smeared across the merchant shops, turned this District into a tapestry of every color under the sun. It screamed of happiness, childlike fascination, wonder… but the hearts of every unfortunate soul in this place were weighted down like rocks in the sea. You could see it in their necks, slumped mournfully into their clothes and away from the intent stares of Peacekeepers who listened carefully for words that even hinted discontent.
The illusion of glee was so impeccable that I once believed it. When I was younger, so young that Silas and I still lived with our mother, I remember climbing this very olive tree with my older brother at my side. I was six then and he was ten, too young for worrying about being drawn in the Reaping just yet. I had followed him up to the highest branch (if anyone knew we'd have our hides wrung), leaned out over the edge to survey the town, and take in a deep breath. District Seven was a riot of summer rain, burning sky, and sunsets that balanced upon the Earth's rim. It was a perfect day with a perfect temperature, warm drafts that caressed my face and blew my coal-colored curls behind me like a proud banner. The District below us was alight with activity, so much in so little space it almost made my head spin, and it had been the first time I had seen the City Centre from this angle and in such a way. It was so unlike the norm and so beautiful… I loved it.
So, understandably, I didn't understand the way Silas' brows furrowed in disgust.
"Look at them, Bamble," he had snarled under his breath. His voice was deep and etched with loathing, making him sound way older than ten. "Forcing us to parade around like it's the best day of the year."
"Isn't it?" I had asked, cocking my head to the side. Silas' gray, ashen eyes widened in surprise. "I mean, I've never seen the District look so… happy."
Silas had opened his mouth, blush seeping to his cheeks and illuminating the dust of freckles, but he had closed it just as quickly. He scooted further along the branch. I followed the pad of his index finger as he jutted it out to point to a woman in the crowd. We were up very high, but if I squinted, I could make out some definition to her features.
"Look at her face," he whispered. "Does she look very happy to you?"
I looked. Upon closer examination, he was right. The light of the centre didn't meet her eyes at all. Instead, she hugged her arms close to her chest and bustled by the rigid form of a Peacekeeper as quick as she could, staring at her feet with her lips pursed. She passed by a shopkeep- the one that ran the kiosk that occasionally sold books the government approved for sale- whose eyes were rimmed with the telltale sheen of tears as she stared at the banner that declared, HAPPY HUNGER GAMES! However, as soon as she felt the burn of the Peacekeeper's gaze in her back, she quickly dabbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
I was stunned into shocked silence. The gears in my six-year-old brain were spinning so quickly there was no time to form a coherent sentence. If the District looked so happy, why weren't the people? I had turned to Silas then, a billion questions on my tongue that burst forth like a spooked flock of birds, but my brother said no more. Looking back on it, he was probably scared he'd get in trouble with mother if he said much else. He rose a finger to his lips, dug into his pockets, and revealed a stash of clandestine, glittering candies. I dug in, but that started a wave of curiosity that was never quite pacified.
Since then, I've been more observant. Too observant, people say behind my back. They say that a thirteen-year-old has no business noticing and knowing all that I do. That is, except for Pad. He says that questioning the nature of the things around me, never being complacent with all that I know, might come down to life or death one day.
And hell, little did I know it…
My grandpa was right.
Silas Hackett,17
"Silas… if you had to pick between Shaundra, Tangela, or Holly-"
"Ooo-kay, that's enough, none of that!"
"But man-"
Yeah, it was strange to see three teenage kids roaming the City Centre. Ever. Only adults or a singular child ever visited the place and it was always with a shopping list. The majority of us who lived in District Seven didn't have enough money to shop here regularly- or, for some of us, at all- and so it was pretty much assumed that if a group of 'teen ruffians' were spotted here together, they were looking to steal. Most of the time, this notion was right.
Today was one of those days that was an exception to stereotype. This particular portion of the Centre was known to us ruffians as the Valley. It was a shadowy (and, quite frankly, dodgy) alley stationed between the squat apothecary's station and the motor repair shop for the Peacekeepers' vehicles. It was pretty much forgotten, used only as dumping space for the richer folks of Seven, and too dreary for most merchants to set foot in… so, no insufferable Reaping decorations. It was the perfect spot to go if you wanted some time out of the house and didn't want the Games shoved in your face earlier than need be.
Madrone, Fir and I were leaning up against the left wall of the Valley, our voices a seethed whisper. This was a great place to hide out until you spoke too loud and some snooty merchant tattled to a Peacekeeper about it. The punishment for it was a slap on the wrist- you were banned from the Centre for a week- but who cares? Anyone was only here on Reaping day.
"Yeah, Silas doesn't wanna talk about Holly since he's still mooning after her," Fir grinned. "I see you watching her leave the school every day."
I shoved Fir with my shoulder and he went sprawling into the cushion of a heap of garbage. Madrone barked out a fit of laughter as Fir emerged from the refuse, his tufts of blonde hair sticky with some unthinkable secretion.
"Shit!" he growled.
"What? Afraid to get your face scuffed up?" I teased, ignoring Madrone's wheezes of laughter to my side. The man sounded like he was choking himself. Wasn't even that funny.
"This was supposed to be my Reaping outfit."
Madrone and I stopped laughing. One quick look in his face meant he wasn't kidding. He was only wearing a simple shirt and some off-white slacks, but knowing his family, that was the best he had to wear. Pad sometimes lent his family small loans when they really needed it, and they really needed it damn near perpetually.
"I'm sorry, let me help you clean that up," I murmured, pulling a napkin from my pocket (Pad said it's always best to leave the house prepared for everything). It wasn't too much damage, but there was a big line of scuff along the front of his left slack that didn't look like it was coming off.
He let me help him get the muck off, too. Normally Fir would've pushed me away, said something snarky and done it on his own, but this was Reaping day. As much as we tried to play it off, all our nerves were fried.
"At least I won't look like a daddy's boy anymore," he laughed. Madrone and I joined in.
After everything that was going to come off did, I looked up at the sky. The sun was about to sink, which meant I had an hour at best before it was time for… time for That.
"It's been fun, but I have to go make sure Bambi's ready," I called back. I heard Madrone and Fir groan, but we quickly exchanged farewells and headed our separate ways.
I jogged out of the Valley, took a sharp turn on my heel, and swept past the haphazard arrangement of kiosks toward the soaring arch marking the exit toward the city. I could already see arrangements being made as I passed… a squadron of Peacekeepers had been spared to flank the small platform that was being erected in the Centre. Velvet rope was being rolled out to sort out the separate age groups, genders, and then a standing area for the parents and the too-young-to-be-eligible siblings.
When the Peacekeepers turned their backs to me, I flipped them The Bird.
The majority of Seven was engulfed by forests of thick, sturdy trees and occasionally a small stream. Logging operations were the main source of labor here, and everywhere you looked, you saw orange spray paint dripping down trees, marking them for the cut. Old loggers' tents dotted the landscape like raggedy, old flowers. Carts were loaded with soaring trunks, ready to be rolled off to the Capitol in exchange for meager rations.
Most of the workforce were loggers, but a minority were skilled carpenters. They crafted a wide variety of things, ranging from houses to little trinkets that were sold to Capitol citizens. Luckily for the District, most of these carpenters could be persuaded or bribed into crafting things for you, such as tables or cabinets for half of what a merchant would sell it to you for.
After a good ten minutes of walking, I arrived at Pad's house. It wasn't much, just a small cabin wedged in the forest, but it was home. Ever since mom fell off the wagon with alcohol after dad's death, Bambi and I lived with our grandfather.
I pushed through the threshold. Right away, I could tell the post-Reaping supper was boiling over the fire in the stone fireplace. I took a minute to appreciate the smell.
And then it was over.
"Silas, close the door, you're gonna let the bugs in."
"Sorry, Pad!"
I gently shut the door behind me. Pad was sitting in our ten-year-old couch, a book in his hand, forehead creasing in concentration. He flipped the page, read it silently for a moment, and then closed it, looking up to me.
"You only have an hour before the Reaping. Best get dressed now."
"Sure thing. What's cooking?"
"Rabbit stew."
"Delicious."
"And tell your sister to hurry up and get dressed or she isn't getting any."
"Got it."
Pad nodded, pacified, before returning to his book. I chanced a glance at the top of the page, checking for a title, but to no avail.
I headed off deeper into the cabin. Bambi and I had adjacent rooms while Pad slept on the other side of the house. Said we kept him up with our snoring, but we knew he wanted us to have the better insulated half of the cabin to sleep in.
I knocked on my sister's door. "Bamble? Time to get dressed!"
No reply. I guess she's working on something. So I moved on, swinging into my room.
My room was simple, just like the rest of the house. It had the bare necessities and the bare necessities only… a bed, a nightstand, a mirror, and a dresser. My Reaping outfit- a short-sleeved yellow button-up shirt, a light brown pair of slacks, and dark work boots- is laid out on top of my mattress. I quickly throw them on, tucking my slacks into my boots and adjusting my collar in the mirror, before carting my hands through my brown hair in a futile attempt to brush it out.
I made my bed (if I didn't, Pad would get onto me about it later, Reaping day or not), straightened the picture of Bambi and I as kids on my wall and went back out into the hallway.
"You ready yet?" I murmured through Bambi's door. No answer.
I swear she's either going deaf or coming down with a case of selective hearing.
With a single knock, I pushed into her room.
Bambi was nowhere to be found and her window was gaping open.
Shit.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:00. We were rapidly running out of time.
I was about to close the door to her room when a piece of opened parchment on Bambi's bed caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it, reading quickly.
Silas,
you know where to find me.
-Bamble
It occured to me that I did. She was always in the same spot every Reaping… the old olive tree. We used to go there together, but when I got too big to fit on the books of the branches, I stopped coming. She hadn't, though.
She felt an attraction to the place I never understood.
"What's going on in there, Silas? How long does it take you to pull on some clothes?" Pad yelled. I winced.
"Sorry, grandpa! I'm just cleaning up before I head out!"
"You better hurry," he grumbled.
I glanced at the clock once more and then slid out Bamble's open window, sliding it closed behind me.
The olive tree wasn't too far from home. I arrived in a few minutes, and sure enough, there Bambi was, lying down across the branch lowest to the ground. She was already in her Reaping clothes, thank goodness, a light green frock that blended in with the leaves, a pink belt, and pink mary janes. She didn't notice me approaching and just kept staring down at her feet, her elbows on her knees.
"Hey, Bamble, you okay?"
She jumped, turning her head to face me. She relaxed when she saw it was just me.
"Absolutely not, but to be expected," she sighed in reply, swinging off the branch. She staggered when her feet hit the ground. "You coming to get me to head over?"
"Yeah, unfortunately."
"Does Pad know I'm here?"
"Nope, didn't tell him."
"Good."
She walked over to my side. If we were younger, she would've taken my work-rough hands, but instead she just opted for comfortable silence at a distance as we trudged back home. Her eyes were uncharacteristically downcast, devoid of their usual curious sparkle.
"You're gonna be fine," I assured her. "Your name's only in there twice."
"But twice is enough, isn't it? Twelve-year-olds get picked and they're in there only once."
She got me there.
We arrived home not long after that. I raised the window slowly as to not make any noise and she swung in, me in tow. Less gracefully.
"Dammit!" I yelled as my head hit the windowsill with a resounding thud.
Bambi laughed.
"Glad to know you think my pain is funny," but I was grinning, too.
"We're ready, Pad!" Bambi called. We heard a grunt in reply.
We went into the living room. Pad rose from his chair and lumbered over to us, missing each of us on the forehead.
"You're both going to be okay," he assured us in a husky voice. "When we get back, I have a nice dinner prepared."
"Thank you," we said in tandem.
But it was half-hearted.
Because no one can truly assure us of anything on a day like today.
I'm soo sorry this chapter took so long to put out! I must've rewritten it about five times, yikes.
The way Reapings will work with this SYOT is that I won't acknowledge them until the Recap during training. That way you guys won't have to sit through twelve boring Reapings, lol!
Thank you for reading and please leave a review telling me what you liked and disliked about this chapter so I can improve for the next one!