Do I have everything? Is there enough clothing in my bag? What about my toiletries? Am I sure I want to do this?

“Mom,” I grab her shoulders and stop her worried pacing by pulling her into a hug, “Yes, yes, yes, and yes. So many yeses. I’ll be okay.”

“But I love you. I don’t want you to,” She chokes on the last word and I rock her gently.

“I’ll be okay. I can do this. And next time you see me, I’ll have won.”

She calms down enough to serve me lunch, butter chicken served with naan. It’s a comfort food I keep close to my heart; naan is a good snack, and butter chicken has a beautiful orange hue, reminiscent of a sunset. When lunch is over, I make my way over to the fire escape in a thick sweater while Mom goes to continue her work.

My potted plants, which have died from the cold of winter, droop like they're sad I’m leaving. I brought two books with me: one on the history of the competition and an apocalyptic one that strikes the right balance of darkness in a book. For me, anyway. Opening up the first book, I look at the previous year’s competition.

A teenage girl stares back at me, her smile beaming and showing off a gap tooth. But that bright smile is fake. Her eyes aren’t crinkling at the edges, the dimples are shallow, and her brows are slightly furrowed. Is this what I’ll look like in the future? The window behind me opens and a kid around eight years old climbs out. His black hair is buzzed cut, and his olive skin is covered in almost invisible freckles. He glares as I try to keep the laughter in at his angry face, which is more cute than scary.

“Gabriel, what are you doing?”

“Don’t go! You’re the best big sister and I don’t want you to go.”

“Gabe, I’m not your real sister.”

“But you’re like one,” He sits next to me with his legs in between the bars and dangling off the edge.

“Gabe. Listen to me, okay?” His large brown eyes turn to face me, “You’re gonna be strong, okay? You don’t need me, and Mom will still have you over.”

He shakes his head, “But please don’t go.”

My heart cracks, “It’s too late for that, Gabe. I’m sorry. But next time you see me, there will be so many stuffies for you.”

“Promise?” He sticks out his pinkie.

I loop my own around his small, chubby finger, “Promise.”

My heart is just hoping I can keep this promise.

—

Gabriel takes out his favorite video game and we play for a few hours before Gabe has to go. He tells me goodbye, and that might be the last time I ever see him. Walking to my room, I think about the decisions that led to this. My eyes catch tan skin in the mirror, and I back up to look at myself.

I’m not interesting. Boring black eyes, tan-ish skin coated in freckles like Gabe’s, black hair in a tiny mullet. A black-shirt is on top of a red and black striped long-sleeved shirt, while black cargo pants just brush the hems of both. Laughter comes from the living room and I exit to see Dad and his girlfriend, Stephanie, along with my best friend. Reine waves when I see her, and Steph smiles warmly. They're all happy, but worried, at my competition joining. I love them all so much for this.

We have a dinner party, with loose, casual wear and sitting on the couch instead of the table. Even though everyone is smiling and laughing, I can see the worry behind their eyes. And when the dinner is finally put on the table, our classic household meal of jambalaya, a dark silence makes its way into the room.

The silence stays until Mom clears her throat, “I’m sure we’re all nervous about Marion’s entrance into the competition,” Everyone shuffles nervously, “but the best thing we can do is support her.”

Everyone nods, and Stephanie gets up to hug me. She’s been very nice to me, and the few times we’ve been out together she’s told me about her sons that she had before she divorced her ex-husband and started dating Dad. She’s a wonderful second mother, but she’s worried for her sons. Her ex was a bit cruel to them, and that was when she was still married to him.

“You are going to do amazing in that competition. This is not the last time we’ll see you. And I have something for you,” She walks over to her bag and takes out an envelope.

Raising an eyebrow, I tear off the paper and open the box to find a Progress Pride-colored bandana. She beams as I gasp, “How? When? Why? How much? How?” The rest is a bundle of gibberish she waits out before answering.

“I got it yesterday, and I thought you might like it. Especially since you’re fully out now.”

Jumping up, I hug her tightly. She didn’t have to do this, but I love her so much for that.

“I have something too!” My best friend pipes up. They give me a sticker of a comical-looking yeti. No, not a yeti, one of the monsters I’m supposed to fight with squiggly arms. It lightens the mood just a little.

“Thank you so much.” I give them a tight squeeze, “I’ll put this on my camera right now.”

Once the sticker is on the side of the camera’s lens, we go out onto the balcony and stand and talk. Laughter bubbles up from our chests and floats over the buildings. It’s not strained or heavy, but light and natural. Sometimes, we need normal things.

When everyone has left, Mom and I clean the dishes, hand washing them instead of putting them in the dishwasher. It’s quiet, save for the clicks and clanks of cutlery and plates. After the dishes are washed, we go to the living room and watch a show. I have to get up very early tomorrow, but I want to stay here with Mom, to tell her I love her and tell her I’m not going. But all those people out there, I have to do it for them.

While lying in bed, I think of the competition. Who will my teammate be? What team will I be on? What’s the plan? Restlessly, I get up and walk over to my desk, switching on the light and taking out a page from my notebook. The eraser part of my pencil taps on my chin as I think. The safehouses are the same each year, but no one except certain people knows the location. Drawing a rough example of how the landscape should be, I make plans for each of the team colors, lest I get sorted into any of the ten.

This isn’t perfect, but often just planning on going to your own safehouse is the best and safest course of action. Some people follow others and keep them hostage from their teammates, or even straight-up kill them. It’s a very intense game, and I’m somewhat lucky to be in this. Of course, people are confusing creatures and are governed by emotions, so my teammate might be a very bad one, but otherwise, this plan is fail-proof.

Satisfied, I crawl back into bed, committing the plans to memory and eventually lulling into a sleep, plagued by nightmares and hiding in caves.

Recording Transcript

Date: January 5th

Start Time: 13:06:29

Marion Jackson: Uh.

[teen looks to their left before looking back at the lenses]

*** ***: A good fit? I still can’t believe you’re going into the competition.

M. Jackson: Yeah.

*** ***: How are you feeling about it?

M. Jackson: Alright. How much is this?

*** ***: Just alright?

[*** gives Jackson a sheet of paper, which she looks at]

M. Jackson: Oh, not too bad.

[*** nods]

*** ***: So? Are you taking it?

M. Jackson: Yes

[end of recording]

End Time: 13:07:01