The rain had soaked through my father’s hunting jacket, leaving

me chilled to the bone. For three days, we’d had nothing but

boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I’d found in the

back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking

so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud

puddle. I didn’t pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable

to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes.

I couldn’t go home. Because at home was my mother with

her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and

cracked lips. I couldn’t walk into that room with the smoky

fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of

the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any

hope.

I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the

shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants

live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their 

backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet 

planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden 

dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck.

All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable

by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be

something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps

a bone at the butcher’s or rotted vegetables at the grocer’s,

something no one but my family was desperate enough to

eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied.

When I passed the baker’s, the smell of fresh bread was so

overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a

golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood 

mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain 

interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me 

back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker’s trash bin and found 

it spotlessly, heartlessly bare.

Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to

see the baker’s wife, telling me to move on and did I want her

to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those

brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words

were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid

and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering

out from behind his mother’s back. I’d seen him at school. He

was in my year, but I didn’t know his name. He stuck with the

town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the 

bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I

made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned

against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that

I’d have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees

buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too

much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let 

them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community 

home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.

There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman

screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely 

wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through 

the mud and I thought, It’s her. She’s coming to drive me away

with a stick. But it wasn’t her. It was the boy. In his arms, he 

carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the 

fire because the crusts were scorched black.

His mother was yelling, “Feed it to the pig, you stupid 

creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!”

He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss

them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the

mother disappeared to help a customer.

The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching

him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that 

stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with?

My parents never hit us. I couldn’t even imagine it. The boy

took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast

was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf

of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he

sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly

behind him.