Return to the Games

ROSALIND'S POV

It's the night before the reaping, and my family and I are watching all of the other reapings from all of the other districts. I'm trying to get a feel of what might happen, but I'm too nervous. My dad is on the couch with his arm around my mom, and Chase is sitting on the floor next to the wall opposite me, refusing to look at the television. I glance at my parents, who are struggling because they've been there before.

I'm trying to pay attention to the tributes, but I'm too nervous to pay attention to much of anything. They all look the same to me, except there are a few that stand out. There are twins from District Three, and they're young. Then there's the girl from four, who's the daughter of a friend of my parents.

"Peeta," My mom nudges my dad and looks at the screen intently. "Is that Finnick's daughter?"

My dad looks closely at the screen before replying.

"Laurel Odair. She has to be Finnick and Annie's."

"They can't do that!" My mom rants, ignoring the other tribute being called to the stage.

"Times have changed," Peeta says. "They can do whatever they want. It's our job to stop them."

"Wait," I interrupt. "If a victor's daughter got chosen, that means I'm not immune?"

"Apparently not," My dad said quietly, looking away.

"God," I say, looking over at my brother. He's not paying attention to us, he's in his own world.

"Chase?" I try to get his attention by tapping him on the shoulder as my mom walks upstairs quickly. My dad stays on the couch, looking halfway broken.

"Yeah?"

"We're not immune." The words leave my mouth and enter his head, and I see the wheels turning.

"What do you mean? Mom and dad said-"

"The president changed the rules this year. I mean it won't happen but-"

Chase interrupts me.

"What do you mean it won't happen? Of course it will! Look at who we are!"

He's right. I sit in silence, thinking that the drawing was wrong. I almost believed it until I saw the drawing for District Seven.

"Katniss," My dad calls up the stairs.

"What?" I can barely hear her, she sounds frustrated.

"Johanna Mason's son."

My mom hurries down the stairs carrying a blue dress.

"You're kidding," she says.

"They're making a game out of it. Every victor's child is being reaped." My dad swallows loudly.

"We'll see about that," My mom looks at me. "You'll wear this tomorrow. When I volunteered for Prim," she pauses "I wore my mother's blue dress. I had this made to look just like hers, as I never brought it back. I want you to have it."

I look at my mom and I know she needs me to do this. I know my name will be called.

I try to concentrate and watch the rest of the reapings, but everything is blurry. The only thing that really stands out are the tributes from District Eleven. They seems to hate each other already.

After saying goodnight to my parents and my brother, I walk upstairs into my room and try to sleep. I know it won't come for anyone tonight.

---

When I wake up and walk downstairs, everyone is ready except for me. My mom is wearing one of the dresses she wears to council meetings. it's navy blue with lace trim around the collar. My dad has on tan pants and a white button down shirt. Chase is wearing something similar to my dad, except his pants are navy. I go to the washroom and try to scrub off my nervousness. I rinse the grime from my hair and put on my mother's dress. It even has matching shoes.

My mom looks at me and smiles. "You look just like me," she says, and I'm happy for the compliment. "Can I braid your hair?" she asks me.

I try to hide my confusion. I know this must be hard on her and dad.

"Of course you can, mom."

My mom is muttering something under her breath, something about a duck. I don't ask.

"Let's eat," dad says as he sets the table with fresh bread and strawberry jam.

By the time we're done, the clock reads one, and it's time to go. I give my parents a tight squeeze before they head up to the stage, and I look at Chase and take his hand in my own.

"It's going to be okay, Chase. Nothing bad will happen to us. Mom and dad made it back just fine, and we can do the same." I give him a short hug and walk over to the other seventeen year olds that are in a clump. Chase does the same, but to the thirteen year olds.

There is a large stage set up in front of the Justice Building. I've never been in there, but it looks really fancy. My parents told me they used to have a mansion when they lived in District Twelve, but they don't hold that authority here. We live in a dwelling slightly bigger than everyone else. I look towards the sky and I can see cameras set up on roof tops of each store in the square. There are four chairs on the stage, each taken by someone important. The first holds my mother, then my father, then a man I've never seen before but he looks very old and he has a bottle of spirits in his hand. The last chair is occupied by a woman in a spring green suit and bright pink hair. She looks just like the woman at the other reapings, but she seems to have a new suit and a different hairstyle just for our district.

When the district clock hits two o clock, my mom stands up. None of the other mayors had to give a speech, so I'm confused as to why she does. Her face is pained yet determined. For some reason, I get the feeling they're trying to make her uncomfortable. The Capitol, that is. My mom gives a long speech about the history of Panem. It sounds like something you'd read from our history books at school. She talks about the droughts and the floods, the fires and the war that plagued the districts before the Games. Then she talks about something I know a lot about: The Dark Days. They teach us about them in school. Where I'm standing right now was destroyed at that time.

"Because of the uprising after the Dark Days," my mother continues, "each district must give a male tribute and a female tribute. All of the tributes will be taken to an arena where they will fight to the death for several weeks. The last one alive wins."

"District Thirteen technically doesn't have any living victors, or any victors at all, for that matter. For this reason, we will be giving the District Twelve victors recognition. There's Haymitch Abernathy, Peeta Mellark, and myself. Now please welcome Ashby Bowlin."

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Ashby Bowlin says happily. She talks about what an honor it is to be chosen while I stand in the crowd and grimace. It is not an honor. An honor is sitting at home with my family. "Ladies first!" she chirps, and my mother cringes.

We both know what's coming. She walks over to the bowl with hundreds of names in it. Mine is there only once. The odds of being picked are minuscule. She reaches her hand into the bowl and pulls out a single slip of paper.

"Rosalind Everdeen-Mellark."

I'm not surprised, nor okay. I'm calm and collected for everyone to see as I walk up to the stage with my head held high. I am a spitting image for my mother in her blue dress and braided hair. A few people that knew my mother back then gasped.

"Any volunteers?" Ashby asks, giving my mother an amused look.

The crowd is silent.

"Alright," she continues. "Onto the boys!"

I catch the eye of Chase and whisper something to him that I can tell he can't read. I'm sorry.

"Chase Everdeen-Mellark."

I look at my parents, and they're staying strong. They won't let anyone think our family is weak.

Chase walks up to the stage slowly, and he's having a much worse time staying cool than I am. His eyes are watering, but not flooding over. He's too strong for that.

"Any volunteers?" She asks once again. And once again, the crowd is silent.

My entire family is on the stage, and I've never felt so alone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my dad squeeze my moms hand. They stand up together, and then they put the three middle fingers of their left hands up and raise their arms to the crowd. There is a gasp, and slowly all of the people from the old District Twelve join them in this motion.

The Panem Anthem plays.

A rebellion has begun.