Status: writing
Against All Odds
two.
The Interviews of the tributes will air tonight, but I’m dreading it.
Although it is only a few days after the Reaping, so many things have changed. At school, everyone has been treating me differently, which I dislike. Everyone seems too kind. Too sympathetic. But Morgan seems to lap it all up, taking in all the attention.
I’m not going to lie; it disgusts me. So I find myself hanging out with Jack more. We have already made plans to go sailing on the weekend. And I am very excited; I’ve never sailed before. I’ve swam before, and I’ve driven and been in boats, but never a sail boat. There are very few left, the majority of which Jack’s family owns, and they are only used to go very far offshore- too far for the boats with engines to go. This is because some of the biggest and best fish are very far from the shore, so mostly the best fishermen and catchers get to go on them. Truth be told; it’s a dying trade. I know my father has gone out before, to help test out a special kind of net.
After school, Jack walks me to my house. I live on one end of a beach, and he on the docks near town, but he says it’s no hassle. We just stop at his house quickly so he can drop off his things before continuing the trek to mine. There are hours before we have to watch the television, so we go swimming in the salty water, and have time to be friends before one appears on screen.
We soon get to talking about Morgan.
“Did you hear him in Spearing when Isabel told him how sorry she was?” Jack asks me as we floated on the shallow water.
“My gosh, yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. I mimic her high pitched voice. “Morgan, I was like, so sorry when Marietta was called! I could have cried!”
“What a bitch,” says Jack. I can’t help but laugh; he really does have a sailor’s mouth- only twelve and already cursing.
“Is that why he ditched us for her table at lunch?”
“Probably,” he says, and then sighs. He takes another train of thought. “She’s not going to come back, is she?”
Marietta. My breath hitches at the thought. “Probably not.”
At that point I look at Jack, and then Jack looks at me, and the next thing I know I am crying, and Jack is crying, and now even the sky is crying. Everything is crying because somebody so innocent is going to be publicly murdered by people who aren’t innocent. The ocean seems to tremor at the thought, and as the rain pours down I hear my father call the both of us inside the house.
Jack’s mother is there, no doubt to take her son home. I thank Jack for walking me home before he leaves, and then go to get dressed in dry clothes. I come back downstairs and go into the living room, where I find my father and the Odairs- Finnick’s parents.
My father is good friends with Finnick’s dad- so I know what he looks like, but it is obvious he got all the beauty from his mother. Mr. Odair may have all the ruggedness, but Mrs. Odair has the bright eyes, the flawless skin and the blonde hair. She’s been crying though, and now I can only say that she looks numb. I’ve never had a mother, but this is what I think mine would act like if I were a tribute.
We all gather around the television as it flickers to life. Caesar Flickerman awaits us on screen; his hair still powdered blue and looking exactly as he did years ago, amongst my earliest memories of the Hunger Games. Rounds of applause emanate from his Capitol audience while our living room is silent. Though the talk-show host needs no introduction, he introduces himself. Before the interviews start, he gives a recap of the tributes in their chariots, only few stick in my mind: District 1, who makes luxury items, is decked out in precious stones rather than fabric; District 4 is embarrassing, as Marietta and Finnick are dressed as sea bass; District 12 has the same unflattering outfit they had last year, tacky miners.
Caesar now starts with the interviews- like the Reaping, it’s always ladies first. And each tribute always chooses to portray a persona. District 1’s girl plays it coy, and the boy tough. District 2’s tributes appear the same way. Both of District 3’s interviews are awkward, nerdy, but likeable enough.
I sit forward in my seat when my district’s tributes take the stage. Marietta is first.
Marietta looks transformed; she looks shiny and her face looks more refined. I realize it’s because her eyebrows are now finely shaped, and her hair is in a different way. The way her red curls are pinned offsets her square forehead, and now she looks like an adorable twelve year old. Obviously, her stylists feel that by making her look younger, the audience will feel more sympathy for her. That would mean more sponsors. I think they were right.
The persona that Marietta has decided to portray is one of an innocent, slightly shy girl. That she could do easily enough. Caesar treated her kindly, and didn’t talk down to her the way that some adults do unconsciously. He gives her a hug for the cameras after they finish talking, and Marietta walks off stage.
The intake of breath adds to the tension in the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Odair are sitting next to each other on the couch, their hands entangled in one another’s and their faces only looking at the television. I’m on the ground, so I look up at my father who is sitting on the chair he dragged in from kitchen- he looks at me too.
Finnick Odair is introduced by Caesar, then he walks onto the stage looking handsome as ever in a suit of all black, his tie the only colour visible on his outfit. It was sea foam green, a few shades darker than my Reaping dress, actually- I guess it was for him to represent our district with. The Capitol audience gets all atwitter when he appears, giving a half smile. His mother sobs once, which I’m assuming is from happiness- seeing her son safe and sound.
Finnick’s persona isn’t much of a stretch either; he plays himself coy, but charming and humorous. It is obvious he is a crowd favourite already, because the Capitol audience starts booing Caesar as the young Odair is ushered off stage.
The interviews are soon over, and then it cuts to some Capitol people speculating about this year’s arena. My father turns off the television and the next few moments are quiet as the four of us reflect on what we’ve just seen. For us to reflect on the odds of our tributes.
The Careers- Districts 1 and 2- always have the best odds, and this year is no different. Finnick’s odds aren’t bad, and neither are District 7’s. Of course, this is all based on the impressions I feel they made- no one will actually start taking bets until the tributes finish training and their scores are released.
My father and Mr. Odair go into the work room, the one that contains the net prototype for Mr. Odair and begin to talk about that, while I am left alone with Finnick’s mother.
“Is the girl a friend of yours?” she asks me. Her voice sounds numb, and when I look at her, she is still looking at the black screen.
“Yes,” I reply. Not knowing what to say next, I say, “I’m sorry that Finnick was reaped.”
She looks at me, and now I see the tears that haven’t been released yet welling in her eyes. She smiles a watery smile, and then she comes off of the couch and sits with me on the floor. “Thank you, Annie. I’m sorry your friend had to be reaped too.”
“But I think that Finnick will be okay,” I say truthfully. “He’ll have no trouble getting sponsors, for one thing.”
She chuckles, and looks like she’s about to say something when her husband reappears. It’s time for them to leave. She gives me a small hug though, and gives another to my father before she leaves.
“So,” my father says as he picks me up and sits me down on the recently vacated couch, “why were you crying earlier?”
“Because it dawned on me that Marietta isn’t going to be coming back,” I say, and look up at him, silently daring him to contradict me.
He doesn’t. “I’m not going to lie to you, Annie, she probably won’t. But I will tell you that I know how you feel. My best friend got reaped when we were seventeen. Actually two, of my friends; it was the 50th Hunger Games.”
“A Quarter Quell,” I say. “That one was where they doubled the tributes, right?”
“That’s right,” he chuckles, “good to know you’re paying attention in History class.”
“But a boy from Twelve won that one,” I say, searching my brain for the details.
My father nods. “Exactly.”
“So your friends didn’t come back,” I say, finally getting his point. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It won’t make you feel better, but I want you to know that life goes on,” he says. “Sure, seeing my friend die on television was terrible, and I sometimes still think about it, but several happy things have happened since.”
I roll my eyes. “Like what?”
He pokes me on the nose, “Like you, little miss skeptical.” I roll my eyes again. “Just don’t let it get you too down. There are going to be more Reapings, and there will be more deaths, but life will move on. Now get to bed.”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek as I go off to bed.
But still, while lying on my pillows, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like for Marietta. But I heed my father’s advice, and try not to think about it, try not to think about it, try not to think about it.
I just can’t help myself, though.
Although it is only a few days after the Reaping, so many things have changed. At school, everyone has been treating me differently, which I dislike. Everyone seems too kind. Too sympathetic. But Morgan seems to lap it all up, taking in all the attention.
I’m not going to lie; it disgusts me. So I find myself hanging out with Jack more. We have already made plans to go sailing on the weekend. And I am very excited; I’ve never sailed before. I’ve swam before, and I’ve driven and been in boats, but never a sail boat. There are very few left, the majority of which Jack’s family owns, and they are only used to go very far offshore- too far for the boats with engines to go. This is because some of the biggest and best fish are very far from the shore, so mostly the best fishermen and catchers get to go on them. Truth be told; it’s a dying trade. I know my father has gone out before, to help test out a special kind of net.
After school, Jack walks me to my house. I live on one end of a beach, and he on the docks near town, but he says it’s no hassle. We just stop at his house quickly so he can drop off his things before continuing the trek to mine. There are hours before we have to watch the television, so we go swimming in the salty water, and have time to be friends before one appears on screen.
We soon get to talking about Morgan.
“Did you hear him in Spearing when Isabel told him how sorry she was?” Jack asks me as we floated on the shallow water.
“My gosh, yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. I mimic her high pitched voice. “Morgan, I was like, so sorry when Marietta was called! I could have cried!”
“What a bitch,” says Jack. I can’t help but laugh; he really does have a sailor’s mouth- only twelve and already cursing.
“Is that why he ditched us for her table at lunch?”
“Probably,” he says, and then sighs. He takes another train of thought. “She’s not going to come back, is she?”
Marietta. My breath hitches at the thought. “Probably not.”
At that point I look at Jack, and then Jack looks at me, and the next thing I know I am crying, and Jack is crying, and now even the sky is crying. Everything is crying because somebody so innocent is going to be publicly murdered by people who aren’t innocent. The ocean seems to tremor at the thought, and as the rain pours down I hear my father call the both of us inside the house.
Jack’s mother is there, no doubt to take her son home. I thank Jack for walking me home before he leaves, and then go to get dressed in dry clothes. I come back downstairs and go into the living room, where I find my father and the Odairs- Finnick’s parents.
My father is good friends with Finnick’s dad- so I know what he looks like, but it is obvious he got all the beauty from his mother. Mr. Odair may have all the ruggedness, but Mrs. Odair has the bright eyes, the flawless skin and the blonde hair. She’s been crying though, and now I can only say that she looks numb. I’ve never had a mother, but this is what I think mine would act like if I were a tribute.
We all gather around the television as it flickers to life. Caesar Flickerman awaits us on screen; his hair still powdered blue and looking exactly as he did years ago, amongst my earliest memories of the Hunger Games. Rounds of applause emanate from his Capitol audience while our living room is silent. Though the talk-show host needs no introduction, he introduces himself. Before the interviews start, he gives a recap of the tributes in their chariots, only few stick in my mind: District 1, who makes luxury items, is decked out in precious stones rather than fabric; District 4 is embarrassing, as Marietta and Finnick are dressed as sea bass; District 12 has the same unflattering outfit they had last year, tacky miners.
Caesar now starts with the interviews- like the Reaping, it’s always ladies first. And each tribute always chooses to portray a persona. District 1’s girl plays it coy, and the boy tough. District 2’s tributes appear the same way. Both of District 3’s interviews are awkward, nerdy, but likeable enough.
I sit forward in my seat when my district’s tributes take the stage. Marietta is first.
Marietta looks transformed; she looks shiny and her face looks more refined. I realize it’s because her eyebrows are now finely shaped, and her hair is in a different way. The way her red curls are pinned offsets her square forehead, and now she looks like an adorable twelve year old. Obviously, her stylists feel that by making her look younger, the audience will feel more sympathy for her. That would mean more sponsors. I think they were right.
The persona that Marietta has decided to portray is one of an innocent, slightly shy girl. That she could do easily enough. Caesar treated her kindly, and didn’t talk down to her the way that some adults do unconsciously. He gives her a hug for the cameras after they finish talking, and Marietta walks off stage.
The intake of breath adds to the tension in the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Odair are sitting next to each other on the couch, their hands entangled in one another’s and their faces only looking at the television. I’m on the ground, so I look up at my father who is sitting on the chair he dragged in from kitchen- he looks at me too.
Finnick Odair is introduced by Caesar, then he walks onto the stage looking handsome as ever in a suit of all black, his tie the only colour visible on his outfit. It was sea foam green, a few shades darker than my Reaping dress, actually- I guess it was for him to represent our district with. The Capitol audience gets all atwitter when he appears, giving a half smile. His mother sobs once, which I’m assuming is from happiness- seeing her son safe and sound.
Finnick’s persona isn’t much of a stretch either; he plays himself coy, but charming and humorous. It is obvious he is a crowd favourite already, because the Capitol audience starts booing Caesar as the young Odair is ushered off stage.
The interviews are soon over, and then it cuts to some Capitol people speculating about this year’s arena. My father turns off the television and the next few moments are quiet as the four of us reflect on what we’ve just seen. For us to reflect on the odds of our tributes.
The Careers- Districts 1 and 2- always have the best odds, and this year is no different. Finnick’s odds aren’t bad, and neither are District 7’s. Of course, this is all based on the impressions I feel they made- no one will actually start taking bets until the tributes finish training and their scores are released.
My father and Mr. Odair go into the work room, the one that contains the net prototype for Mr. Odair and begin to talk about that, while I am left alone with Finnick’s mother.
“Is the girl a friend of yours?” she asks me. Her voice sounds numb, and when I look at her, she is still looking at the black screen.
“Yes,” I reply. Not knowing what to say next, I say, “I’m sorry that Finnick was reaped.”
She looks at me, and now I see the tears that haven’t been released yet welling in her eyes. She smiles a watery smile, and then she comes off of the couch and sits with me on the floor. “Thank you, Annie. I’m sorry your friend had to be reaped too.”
“But I think that Finnick will be okay,” I say truthfully. “He’ll have no trouble getting sponsors, for one thing.”
She chuckles, and looks like she’s about to say something when her husband reappears. It’s time for them to leave. She gives me a small hug though, and gives another to my father before she leaves.
“So,” my father says as he picks me up and sits me down on the recently vacated couch, “why were you crying earlier?”
“Because it dawned on me that Marietta isn’t going to be coming back,” I say, and look up at him, silently daring him to contradict me.
He doesn’t. “I’m not going to lie to you, Annie, she probably won’t. But I will tell you that I know how you feel. My best friend got reaped when we were seventeen. Actually two, of my friends; it was the 50th Hunger Games.”
“A Quarter Quell,” I say. “That one was where they doubled the tributes, right?”
“That’s right,” he chuckles, “good to know you’re paying attention in History class.”
“But a boy from Twelve won that one,” I say, searching my brain for the details.
My father nods. “Exactly.”
“So your friends didn’t come back,” I say, finally getting his point. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It won’t make you feel better, but I want you to know that life goes on,” he says. “Sure, seeing my friend die on television was terrible, and I sometimes still think about it, but several happy things have happened since.”
I roll my eyes. “Like what?”
He pokes me on the nose, “Like you, little miss skeptical.” I roll my eyes again. “Just don’t let it get you too down. There are going to be more Reapings, and there will be more deaths, but life will move on. Now get to bed.”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek as I go off to bed.
But still, while lying on my pillows, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like for Marietta. But I heed my father’s advice, and try not to think about it, try not to think about it, try not to think about it.
I just can’t help myself, though.