After taking a bath and twisting my hair into a loose bun, I finally try on the dress. It fits like a dream. The deep green fabric hugs my waist and falls in soft waves to the floor. It moves when I move, light and graceful, like it belongs somewhere nicer than our tiny house. I turn slowly in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. For a second, I don’t look like a girl waiting to see if her name gets pulled from a glass bowl. I smile at my reflection. Maybe this means something. Maybe it’s a good-luck charm. Maybe my mother left me something other than an empty closet. I step into the hallway to show Papa when a bloodcurdling squeal erupts from my bedroom. “OH. MY. GOD. WILLOW!” I barely have time to react before Ivy barrels into me. “You look AMAZING!” I laugh despite myself and kiss her forehead. “So do you. Come here, do you want me to braid your hair?” She nods eagerly, practically vibrating with excitement. We sit side by side on our bed, and I begin weaving her hair into a tight braid, my fingers moving automatically. “So,” she says, trying to sound casual, “what do you want to do after the reaping? To celebrate… of course.” Celebrate. I pause for just a second. What would I do if I didn’t get reaped? Probably play with Daisy. Help Papa milk the cows. Sit in the meadow and pretend today never happened. “I don’t know,” I say carefully. “We’ll figure it out.” “Oh, by the way,” I add, “Harper’s walking with us to the reaping. I hope that’s okay.” Harper Lane is my best friend -not counting Ivy- obviously. Harper is bold in a way I’ve never been. She says what she thinks, even when it’s dangerous. She hates the Capitol with every bone in her body and doesn’t bother hiding it. If anyone from our district could win the Hunger Games, it would be her. “Yeah, that’s fine,” Ivy mutters, then softer, “Can I still stand by you at the reaping?” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. Of course.” I smile and gently tap her shoulder. “Your braid’s done. Go see if you like it.” She jumps up and wraps her arms around me. “You know I always do.” Then she runs off to the bathroom. I take a deep breath and head for the kitchen. Papa is sitting at the dining table, staring into a half-empty glass. Again. I sigh. “Hey, Papa.” Before he can respond, I take the cup from his hand and pour the amber liquid down the sink. “Hey! I was drinking that!” he grumbles. “You know it’s bad for you,” I say quietly. “And the reaping starts in half an hour. Harper’s going to be here any minute.” Right on cue, there’s a sharp knock at the door. “Ivy! Harper’s here!” I call, already moving toward the door. Behind me, Papa stands. “I’ll meet you girls after the reaping, okay?” he says. There’s something fragile in his voice. We hug him, his arms tight, almost desperate.. and then we pull away. I reach for the door handle. And just like that, it’s time.
