Quell

The end-of-shift whistle blows and I finish twisting a bolt into its place on an enormous wheel. I lean back on my heels and wipe sweat off my forehead with my grease-stained hand. The metallic smell of the Wheel House fills my nostrils every time I inhale. I swear I can taste it.

"Hale! Get home an' get cleaned up! We gotta look good f'th' cammies, don't we?" barks Lev Pearson, the man who sweeps the Wheel House's floor. I stand up, hearing the bones in my back creak and pop as I do so.

"Nah," I reply. "'M going in m'overs." I gesture to the disgusting black-stained overalls that I am wearing. Lev snickers.

"You would, Bren. That's th'funny thing. Nah, get ch'self home an' wash y'face, at least. Go on, get outta here.' He bats at me with a pushbroom. I dodge him and leave the Wheel House, walking quickly through the Transportation Center. That's what my district's in charge of: transportation. We make the trains run, we make the hovercraft fly.

"Brenna!" someone shouts behind me. I turn and see Theo Bamarre running towards me. He cuts an awkward figure, with his skinny body and enormous ears. His hair, which is thin, straight, and ashy blonde, a distinct District 6 characteristic, is in desperate need of a meeting with a pair of scissors. It's flopping into his large hazel eyes, which are another District 6 thing.

"Hey, Theo," I say when he catches up to me.

"Y'ready f'th' Reaping?" he asks as we walk along. I roll my eyes, but Theo doesn't see.

"Theo. Shut up."

"Kay, Brenna."

Theo and I have known each other for our entire lives, practically. He's a year older than me, but our apartments are right next to each other's, and we both work 5 a.m. to noon shifts in the Transportation Center.

"M'dad says this year's s'posed to be different," Theo says eventually.

"Different how?" I ask. He shrugs his bony shoulders.

"Dunno. Lady on th'television said it'd be bigger 'n better than ever." Better for who? Definitely not the tributes. As always, when I think of the tributes I shudder. My older brother, Graham, was in the 19th Hunger Games. He had been fourteen. He died at the hands of the victor, a 17-year-old boy from District 1 named Jazz Don. I watched my brother get carved to pieces on live television. I was nine.

Theo and I arrive at our dingy apartment building and walk up the decrepit stairs together. When we reach our apartments, we look at each other.

"Right. I'll see you at th'Reaping," Theo says grimly. I nod.

"Yeah," I sigh. "See you then." And then we go our separate ways.

Inside my family's tiny apartment, all is chaos. My father is slouched on a stool, an empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. My mother is curled up on her bed, her blank eyes staring at nothing. Ever since Graham was killed in the Games, my parents have lived through fogs of depression. And it's always the worst on the day of the Reaping.

My little sister, Susa, who is twelve, and my younger brother, Caleb, who is thirteen, are trying to organize the little kids. The triplets, Wendy, Meg, and Colin, who are nine, are all dressed in their best clothes. Despite this "best" status, they are faded, patched, and worn. Susa is trying to brush out our youngest brother's hair. Glenn is seven and doesn't enjoy getting his hair brushed. His eyebrows are knit together and he is clearly about to throw a tantrum.

"Sus," I say quickly, trying to avoid the coming storm. "Glenn's fine. Get ch'self dressed."

"Gotta look nice f'th' Capitol," Susa says bitterly. She gives Glenn's ash-blonde hair one last tug with the comb, then goes into the tiny bedroom that I share with her, Wendy, Meg, and our 17-year-old sister Eloise.

"Wendy, where's El?" I ask suddenly, as I wash grease and sweat off of my face.

"Miss Warner's," Wendy replies, as she attempts to braid Meg's thin hair. "She was tryin' t'get another job." I nod. Eloise, my older brother Sanders and I all have jobs. Sanders, who's eighteen, has a full-time job at the Motor House, building parts of train motors, and a part time job sweeping the floor of the Justice Building. I have my job over at the Wheel House, and Eloise works part time at the Peacekeeper Residency, doing laundry. El's been trying to get a second job, since we're barely scraping by as it is, what with our parents' debilitating depression and us having to clothe and feed six little kids.

"Bren, d'you think I should get a job, too?" Susa asks as she emerges from out bedroom, wearing her good clothes.

"Once you're old enough," I reply.

"And when is that?"

"When you're thirteen." I move into the bedroom to get dressed.

I have one set of pajamas, one set of work clothes, one set of day clothes, and one set of good clothes. That's it. I put on the light green dress and slightly-too-large white cardigan that make up my good clothes, then brush out my short ash-blonde hair and join my brothers and sisters in the main room of our apartment. Eloise walks in the door, followed by Sanders. They both look exhausted.

"Hey, El. Hey, Sand. We're all ready t'go whenever you are," I call. Eloise runs a hand through her thin hair.

"Okay. We'll get changed then," she yawns. "And then we can go." She and Sanders go and put on their good clothes quickly, then rejoin us.

"Right, we're set. Let's get Mother and Dad," Sanders says. He and Caleb help Dad up, and Colin grabs the liquor bottle from Dad's limp hand.

"C'mon, Dad," Sanders says softly. "We have to go. C'mon." Eloise and I help Mother up and El leads her to the door. I herd the rest of the kids after them, then close our door with a loud, echoing thud.