[92nd] The Reaping - District 11

First of all, tell me why it's like literally already a thousand degrees in the morning before I even wake up? Why is it literally fucking disgusting out? When I haven't even had my coffee? Haven't even gotten out of bed? I can literally probably count on one hand the number of times in my life that I've been this uncomfortable, and this is coming from someone whose dad literally made her work as a counselor at a summer camp, okay, this is coming from a literal survivor of the visor trend in the late 80's, like- I'm basically military.

Second of all, Jenna is literally like TWO goddamn hours late, I'm outside baking this whole time, mind you, fucking baking and she's two hours late. And then she wants to show up crying because her dad literally forgot to come see her before the reaping, which lowkey that's so fucked up but like still.

At least I look cute. The strawberry dress hugs my figure so perfectly, people would be right in thinking it was made for me. Of course, I wouldn't dare let any of them know it was also made by me. It'd shatter the reputation that I've been so vigorously working to uphold. It's all about implication. I'm not a liar if I only imply I'm, like, weirdly rich. And sue me for having the confidence to make it believable. Like, act like the wage you wanna have, you know?

We make it to the reaping late, of course, but like later than the late we had all planned on being, because of fucking Jenna. There's, like, literally no spots in the shade left, so I turn to her with my upper-lip curled in disgust so she knew how much I totally resent her now. But we make it over to our, like, group or whatever, like as the escort is walking on stage. If we had gotten fined, I straight up would've fist fought Jenna. Then I would've made her dad fucking pay for it. Lucky her this time. I squint up at the stage at Lysistrata, at her tacky boots and the ungodly shade of yellow she's wearing. Like, this is what I mean. Money doesn't always equal taste, either.

^{L   A   I   K}

I think, maybe, I hate Chichi de Soto.

Not enough to say it to her face, but also I'm not really the person who hates people often. It's just the way she treats people, the way she speaks to them. We've only ever been involved in each other's lives by-proxy, really, her the ruthless leader of our lunch table and me, one of the kids she deemed decent enough to sit with her. But she's just like that. She even treats her best friends like that.

She literally slept with Jenna's boyfriend because Jenna had a glow-up and she needed to assert her dominance. She judges us all right to our faces, and then we just all take it. Because what else are we going to do? If anyone is ever brave enough to speak up, she basically declares war on them.

But, I can't lie: as much as I hate her, I also have this weird respect for her. Like, I know she can be hateful and manipulative and egotistical and all that, but she's also ride or die as fuck. She'd go to bat for any of us, even me. She told a guy named Roma that she was going to shove one hand down his throat and the other up his ass and play him like an accordion once because he knocked my books out of my hand, and we don't even get down like that. She makes freshman warm our seats in the cafeteria while we get our food, and she always has gum in her purse which we treat like gold in school for some reason.

She shows up late for the reaping, or I guess technically right on time, and the rest of us all roll our eyes and shuffle uncomfortably out of the way so that she can "organically" make her way over to the shade and cast us out of it, acting like she doesn't even realize she does it. I make eyes with Hazel, clearly over it, and I can see her struggling not to smile, which then makes me feel a bit better.

The escort comes out onto the stage serving- in my opinion- absolute cunt, a vision in yellow, and begins her speech. To be honest, that part could've used some... jush, but you know, we're all only human. I'm not gonna lie though, by the time she's reading names off paper my eyes have glazed over. It takes me a second to realize the name she's spoken is my own. I look back to Hazel, hoping to find her still-amused gaze looking back at me, but instead she's rife with fear, her jaw hanging open on its hinges.

Shit.

"UM-" I'm speaking before I can stop myself, hand shooting into the air, feet carrying me out into the open after literally one of my best fucking friends.

"Not this! It's literally giving bury our gays? I guess I volunteer cuz like, this ain't cute." I look the peacekeeper up and down, unimpressed like he personally made this happen, and raise my eyebrows.

"You can unhand them now," I say impatiently, and I'm literally grabbing the keeper's hand off Laik's shoulder and moving it onto mine an instant later. He's either so taken aback by this that he doesn't think to be upset, or he's impressed, but he escorts me up to the stage regardless. Once I am up there, all 4'11" of me, and I see the crowd of eyes looking back at me, I catch the first inkling of reality. I just volunteered for the fucking hunger games.

I pull the microphone off the stand, and look directly at Laik. They're weeping like a baby. Good.

"You so owe me."

[chiara de soto volunteers for laik valentine]