Chapter Text
“We would much rather blame nature for what we don’t like in ourselves than credit it for what we do like.”
― Frans de Waal, Our Inner Ape: A Leading Primatologist Explains Why We Are Who We Are
“So—I have to go?!” Haymitch blurts. “I don’t—I don’t even have the money—”
“As you already know, it’s fully funded, not to mention, sponsored.”
“I don’t have the time, I have a part-time job—”
“You’ll be representing our district, Haymitch. I’m sure Hattie can cut you some slack.”
Right. That’s the curse of living in a town where everybody knows everybody. You forget, up until somebody smacks you in the face with it.
“Mrs Undersee, please. I really, really don’t wanna go. Ask somebody else!”
“Woodbine already filled the quota for track and field. Someone from the same department should be going, and you’re the second runner.” Principal Undersee leans back in her chair, “This year, there’s even a participation award—just because it’s the competition’s half-centennial.”
And just like that, Haymitch regrets joining the school’s track team all over again.
He’d only signed on to make his ma smile, to let her think that his part-time job was something he did because he wanted to. (Look, I’m also participating in extracurriculars as well! No reason I shouldn’t work if I want to, is there?) And he’d have to check his head if he found himself actually enjoying being Hattie Meeney’s willing mule — restocking shelves, delivery and manning the cash register on occasion.
Though it helps that he is good at running — fastest in the school, hell, their entire district, second only to Woodbine. Sometimes the meets hand out money prizes too, so there’s that.
Call him a martyr if you want. His younger siblings love sports more than he ever did. He figures he’ll help clear the path, set a little aside for when it’s their turn to chase soccer dreams past the Little League — at least give them the option to do it. If it’s not for them, they can move onto other things. To have the financial means to explore those stuff, is what he wants for them.
Besides, he’s happier watching their games anyway — cheering from the bleachers, kicking a ball around in friendlies now and then. That’s enough for him.
What he really needs is a steady job, something well-paying and sure, so the family’s got a cushion to fall back on. His parents are already stretched thin, scraping just to keep everybody fed and afloat, and happy. Three kids in sports means constant gear, uniforms, and before long, sign-ups in bigger clubs.
Whatever money Haymitch pulls in from meets and competitions, he spares some, spends some keeping a clear head; hanging out with his buddies, taking Lenore Dove on a date or buying her something nice. The less he can trouble his parents for cash, the better. He’s the eldest, after all. He’ll just land that good job, marry Lenore Dove and support her and his little siblings with whatever they want to do. Should be doable, right?
So when Principal Undersee mentions a participation award… well, that gets his attention.
Because it’s not like anyone ever wins Panem Youth Games. Not if you’re from a run-down district like his.
The prizes almost always end up in One, or Two, or maybe Three — places where schools are big and spacious, stacked with gyms and pools, education’s privileged, and sports clubs get state funding. His district can’t spare a dime to back their students like that.
That’s the whole reason there’s even a raffle; nobody in their right mind ever volunteers.
“I…” Haymitch falters. “How much is it…?”
”Two-hundred bucks, just for qualifying and showing up.”
Shit.
Two-fucking-hundred dollars.
Haymitch bites his lip.
“You know Louella’s going as well,” Principal Undersee presses. Haymitch lets out a long sigh, the sound of utter defeat. “I’m sure the McCoys would be glad if you were there to keep an eye on her.”
Yes. Yes, they would.
“Alright, you got me,” he admits, snatching the form to take home for his parents’ signature.
“Sure did, Haymitch.” Principal Undersee smiles, satisfied. “Bring that back by next Thursday.”
Out in the hall, Haymitch barely makes it five steps before his friends flag him down at the other end of the corridor. He drifts toward them, already bracing.
Lenore Dove slips an arm around his waist the second he’s close enough. Haymitch doesn’t drape his arm over her shoulders yet, he’s still clutching the form for his upcoming two-week captivity. “Well? What’d she say?”
“You in trouble?” Burdock asks, raising his brows. “Hope you didn’t drag me into it.”
“Why? You’ve done something?” Lenore Dove shoots her cousin a look, eyes narrowing.
“Depends.”
“On…?”
“On whether or not he’s getting his ass whooped for it…”
“I’m not,” Haymitch cuts in flatly, just as Blair elbows Burdock in the ribs to shut him up.
“So?” Blair asks, leaning in. “Why’d Undersee call for you?”
“I’m…” Haymitch lifts the form, waving it like a white flag. “…going to the Panem Youth Games.”
“What?!”
“The Games?!”
“The hell??”
“Why you?”
Only Lenore Dove stays quiet, lips pursed in thought, before she lets out a soft ah of realization.
“Woodbine’s ankle got smashed… she wants you to fill in?”
“Yep…” Haymitch sighs. His girl lets out a laugh, tiptoeing up to ruffle his hair. “For the Athetlic Decathlon.”
“Look who’s heading to the big, bad Games!”
“I’d say this calls more for a funeral than a celebration,” Haymitch whines. “’Cause apart from Louella… you know who else is going.”
That makes the other three wince. The lucky winners of the raffle are known to the entire student body.
The most stuck-up girl in town: Maysilee Donner. And somehow, one of the most popular at the same time. Not popular in terms of friends, that’s for sure— she doesn’t even have many of those— but for reputation, instead.
Her daddy’s the richest man in District Twelve, a councilman rumored to be running for mayor next, maybe even governor down the line. He built his wealth off a small confectionery business, kept stacking investments and new branches, and chose to stay in Twelve. He says it’s about the pride for their roots and culture, but Haymitch’s pa swears it’s because the man likes being rich among the poor — his cents shine brighter here.
There’s that in playing in Maysilee, and her identical twin, Merrilee’s reputations. Highfalutin and spoiled to the high heavens, they’re not easy girls to walk up to, and even harder to stick with once you do. Maysilee couldn’t care less who likes her or not. The only two souls in the whole school she can stomach are her sister, and Asterid March — the only daughter of the town’s lone physician, who’s work matters a whole lot more to Twelve than anything that useless council ever does.
Maysilee’s headed to Youth Games for the academic decathlon — as the ruthless president of the debate club.
She didn’t even join because she loves debate, and Haymitch highly doubts she actually enjoys it; no, she only joined because it gave her free rein to tell folks why they’re wrong, why she’s right, and keep at it until they finally shut up. You can hate her all you want, but she wins. Every. Time. Nobody can match her tongue and wit.
Like all that’s not enough, people are also wary of going against her since she’s got a habit of dragging what happens on debate ground into personal lives — calling folks anything from tasteless to flat-out mocking the way they dress, or walk, or even chew — especially in the rare occurrence that she loses. Yeah.
And it’s not just her that makes Haymitch want to run back to the principal’s office and shred the form for the Games, it’s also her AcDec partner; the tall, dark, and mysterious as the girls say, Wyatt Callow’s also going. Teacher’s favorite, and somehow, a fresh-faced mathlete. Haymitch couldn’t believe his ears when he heard that. He still can’t, really.
Louella’s bound to lose her mind dealing with those two.
The Callows are notorious for running underground gambling rings on fights —half the time sending their own boys to stir trouble, half the time baiting others into it. People around know better than to trust them, but that doesn’t stop some from falling into the trap. One of Louella’s brothers, Cayson, had wound up in the station house after getting caught up in it once.
“Well…” Blair chuckles. “Two whole weeks with Maysilee Donner jabbering from one side, and Wyatt Callow glaring from the other” He claps a hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. “Wishing you all the best, buddy.”
“Don’t start…” Haymitch groans.
“Let me know if she calls you Itchy Itchy Haymitchy again,” Lenore Dove says sweetly, resting her head against his arm as they walk the corridor. Haymitch blows out a frustrated puff, being reminded of the nickname gets his nerves going every time. That’s the power of Maysilee Donner. “I’ll show her who’s the one itching.”
“Please don’t,” Burdock whines.
“Why? ’Cause she’s friends with the girl you’ve been making eyes at?” Lenore Dove snaps back. “That’s not good enough reason.”
“That, and…” Haymitch shrugs, flashing a grin. “You’re not the only one with eyes on her, Burdie.”
Burdock’s face puckers like he’s just bit into a green lemon. “Just — don’t mess with her, alright? I’ve got it hard enough without you blowing my chances antagonizing her best friend.”
“Chances of…” Lenore Dove pulls out her phone, tapping the screen with exaggerated flair. “Calculating… chances… of a poor, penniless Seam boy landing the rich physician’s daughter… calculating…”
She whips the phone up under his nose. The calculator app glows bright with a single number: 0
“Uh oh…” Lenore Dove singsongs, grinning. “What’s this? A big, fat, zero.”
The cousins start bickering, and Blair and Haymitch exchange an exasperated look, knowing it’ll last all the way to the bus.
Haymitch glances one last time at the form, stuffs it into his backpack, and slings an arm around Lenore Dove, pulling her closer to his side.
He’ll get his parents to sign the paper tonight, and then he’s off to the Games.