98th Reaping [District Seven]

”August, if your name gets called, can I have your leather jacket?”

And so it begins. It’s hard to tell when this morbid annual tradition started, but with both parents six feet under, you learn gallows humor pretty quick. For the Vance family (or what’s left of it), it means making bequeathment requests on Reaping day each year. Last year, my sisters even feigned disappointment when I came home in one piece, forfeiting their claim on my belongings. I must say I was proud of their commitment to the cause.

I answer Tallulah by sticking out my tongue still loaded with scrambled eggs, Bleeeeeeh. Daisy, to my left, shrieks in mixed disgust and delight.

”Weeeell, to be honest, I don’t think it would look as good on you. I just fill it out better. Big muscles. Sorry. Okay, my turn.” I swallow the eggy mush and clear my throat with dramatic flair, shooting a mischievous smile at my littlest sister. She’s not even old enough for the Reaping, but she likes to feel included.

”Daisy. If your name gets called, can I have my dollhouse back?”

Daisy leaps from her chair in protest, though she’s grinning. The fork clenched tightly in her fist thumps against the oak tabletop with little concern for the fact that it was handmade by our late father. Nothing is sacred when you’re six. ”NOOO! You made that for ME!”

I throw up my hands defensively. ”Woah, woah, okay! The dollhouse is a no. Your turn then, firecracker.”

She pauses to think. ”Tallulah, if your name gets called, can I have your cat?”

”Daisy, don’t talk with your mouth full like that, you’ll choke." Aunt Erma scolds from the other end of the table.

”Ha!” Tallulah huffs. ”You mean that vicious old stray that I feed sometimes? She’s not really mine, but, uh, yeah! Sure!”

”That’s nice of you, Lu, thank you,” I say with an approving nod.

”But don’t touch my record collection!” she adds quickly.

We all laugh. Her “collection” consists of exactly two (2) records, and we don’t even have something to play them with. Lu swears she’s going to come buy one someday–like the simple fact of having two records means that the universe wanted her to hear them eventually. That girl can really dream.

After breakfast, Aunt Erma takes to her anxious habit of straightening up our outfits. Tallulah gets the worst of it since she’s wearing a dress made by our aunt’s very hands, only finished a few days ago. Erma descends upon her, plucking away stray threads and tugging on the hem to get it to lay just right. When she’s satisfied, she heaves a fretful sigh and zeroes in on the back of my hair where it’s touching my collar, god forbid.

”I would have given you a haircut if you’d let me anywhere near this hair,” she protests, tugging at a curl. I shake my head.

”No way. You’re busy enough already. I’m eighteen. I can take care of myself.”

I don’t notice the tears forming in the corner of her eyes until I pull her hand away. The faint tremor in her fingers makes me look up. I wrap her in a hug, placing my chin on her shoulder. In just one year I’ve gained three extra inches of height next to her tiny frame, hunched from hard work and long hours.

”Don’t worry. It’s my last year,” I reassure her with a squeeze.

- -

When I hear my name, I realize that It’s my last year might have been the absolute worst thing to say to my aunt. But it’s too late to take it back now. All I can do is hope that it will be just another one of our jokes spoken over breakfast.

”August Vance!”

I wish I could say time slowed down for a moment. That I got to hold Daisy in my arms for just a few more minutes, and tell her that it would all be okay. That I had time to think of the right thing to say, for once in my life–without cracking jokes.

But sometimes, real life is a blur when you least want it to be. Immediately, I’m sucked into a vortex of sound and pressure, the force of my unfortunate fate dragging me out into the riptide. Tallulah’s heart-wrenching wail pierces my eardrums even through the din of the crowd; it pierces my chest, my bones. I try to hold her for a fleeting moment, but she thrashes violently in my grip.

”No! They can’t take you!”

My arms tighten around her, feeling time slipping away. The peacekeepers are already marching towards me. I fight back the lump in my throat. I will not cry in front of her.

”I know,” I croak, unhelpfully. I know.

Like they’ve taken everyone else.

I put my hands on her shoulders as if I’m attaching her back to the earth, trying to calm her down. My voice comes out harsh despite my effort to soften my expression. ”Listen. You have to be strong for Daisy. I promise I'll come back for you. I love you.”

This is what it feels like to have zero options. The Capitol doesn’t care that I’m the closest thing they’ll have to a father. Nobody is shouting bravely at the top of their lungs to take my place. The keepers’ hands are already gripping my shoulders, dragging me away. Panic bubbles in my veins. I shout over my shoulder, ”I'm comin' back! Don’t you dare touch my leather jacket, Lu!”

Damn it, I can never keep my mouth shut.