Power to the People: The Thirty-ninth Hunger Games

Chapter 2

Ash Smith POV

I'd be happy to train all my life and never volunteer. Throwing around cool weapons and learning crazy gymnastic stunts was more fun than I imagined killing a bunch of people would be. If I wasn't at the Academy, I'd be doing stupid things anyway. Before I started officially training, I was a prizefighter in the streets to make ends meet. This way I got to do all the stuff I liked to do and I got praised for it. It was a good racket.

I never really intended to volunteer. It must have been a lackluster year, because apparently I was the best. I was good and all, but I didn't think I was that good. I would have let the number two guy take my slot, but the mayor let me know he'd be very displeased if I wasted all the money he spent on my training. It seems weird that he sponsored some punk fistfighter, but rumor has it he's my father. Before he told me to volunteer, I was waiting for him to say something. After that, I only hoped it was just a rumor.

Except for that whole situation, it was a normal day at the Academy. The Reaping wasn't for another week and we all knew who was going anyway, so we were mostly cooling our heels. The runners-up who wanted my spots were eyeing me for weaknesses and trying to boost their scores at the last minute, but Jacob and I were more or less goofing off and tossing spears.

"Lucky you, off to see the Capitol," Jacob teased. He never had to fear the Games- not that I feared them, either. I was just unenthusiastic. In any case, Jacob was one of the students pushed into training by overbearing "training parents" who were determined to see their little warriors win. In Jacob's case... the spirit was not really willing and the flesh was also weak. If his parents weren't rich, the Academy would have thrown him out years ago.

"Whatever. At least it will be a rush," I said. Anything that got my blood going was what I lived for. Jacob got a wicked grin I'd seen countless times before and I knew we were about to do something stupid.

"Bet you can't catch this spear," he said.

"What, you think I'm stupid?" I asked.

"You know you're going to try," he said.

"Yeah, I am," I said. One of the more dedicated students, Thales, was listening in and ran to gather the others. Before Jacob was even in position, a crowd of students was clustered behind him, eager to see us kill ourselves.

"Ready?" Jacob asked.

"Ready!" I called. The crowd took in a breath as Jacob threw. I was ready for him to throw, but not ready for the spear to come straight at my face. I dodged my head and snatched the spear in the same move, and adrenaline rushed through me at the close shave. The other students cheered.

"What was that? You were supposed to throw at my arm!" I said to Jacob. He shrugged.

"Sorry. Missed," he said. But it didn't matter. I caught it. No worries at all.

Mary Ellen Westley POV

Breakfast is an important affair at the Westley house. Like my father says, "The brain can only make plans that the body can carry out." He has a saying for everything, from skipping class to wearing skirts. It was all I could get away with to wear my hair long. He made sure I never left the house without tying it into two no-nonsense braids.

"Is everything ready?" my father asked. He was as excited as I was that I was about to volunteer. He was always going on about glory and battle and all that. Me, I just wanted to see people get hurt. I was born in the right District.

"Ready," I said. Usually I made my own breakfast, but Dad got up early today to "send me off right". It didn't make any sense, since I wouldn't be fighting for another week, but he insisted. I had to eat eggs for protein, toast for long-lasting fat against the probable starvation I'd face, fortified orange juice for vitamins, and hash browns just because I liked them.

"Remember, this is an enormous opportunity," my father said. "Every girl in the District wants to be you."

Get in line, I thought. Those other students in the Academy could be really cute, like when they argued over who was getting picked. I didn't even bother to correct them. They found out in the end. The best part was seeing Miranda Jagpal react to me getting picked. She'd given me a lot of trouble along the way, but I came out ahead. At least she'll always have a scar on her arm to remember me by. And also a patch of hair that never grew back quite right. And a crooked toe. I'd have said there's always next year, but I didn't want to give her false hope. Maybe she could be an instructor at the Academy. A substitute, maybe.

"I know," I said.

"This is serious," he insisted. He sat down across the table and gave me that "stern and hopeful parent" look. "We're all rooting for you. Don't waste our time."

Waste our time? It's my life on the line. "Surely that is the best motivation I could have to not lose," I said with the sort of look only a surly teenager can give.

"Just make me proud, okay?" Dad said.

"I thought I did that years ago," I said. There was something weird about a father who was only proud of his daughter when she went off to die.

"You've improved a lot. I know you'll keep going up," he said. Gee, thanks. Maybe someday you'll be proud of me. Unless I die, of course. Then you'll disown me at my funeral.

Know what? Screw you. I don't need you and I don't need anyone 'rooting' for me. I know what I am. I don't have to prove anything. If you don't see my worth, you can screw off with all the rest of them.

Mary Allen's scene felt short to me. Her requested scene was a simple breakfast one, and I think she'll grow more as the story goes along.

I don't think I have the Three male yet, so I'll skip over that if he doesn't come before I next write.