It was a blustery Monday morning when Rue went to her own personal nightmare. The day before, 3 years ago on the day, her parents had told her what happened to so many people that they loved dearly, people that she would never get to meet. One of them was a girl her age, 12, when she was murdered by a boy from District 1 20 years ago. Rue carried her name, and she also carried the name of an aunt Katniss had never spoken of until that day, fighting tears valiently. She was blown up by the powerful Capitol during a revolution that ended the Hunger Games, in which both her parents played twice in a row. One of the few people still living that her parents spoke of was Gale, the current dictator, who was apparently much fairer than the Capitol's president, who was executed before she was born. She remembered the day perfectly, because that day she realized the sadness that her mother hid from them, why when she stood on tiptoe with her hands stretched out, Katniss tried to cover up her sobs with coughing. Both Primrose, her sister, and her friend Rue had that same pose. Now, walking up the concrete steps of Meadow Junior High School, she prserves this day in her mind, because Social studies will be torture for her now for the next 4 weeks. For an entire month, the students of Mr. Fattern's class will be focusing on The Hunger Games Revolution.
Both of her parents being former contenders and catylists in the revolution, and just because Mr. Fatterns was an idiot, Rue will be bombarded with questions about her mother's and father's thoughts and ideas, of which she had no clue, and of their hardships, which neither Rue nor her parents wanted to speak of. His questions would get her classmates started, and it so aggravated her that she didn't consider any of the people who asked her about the revolution no longer her friend. But when Rue stepped inside the dreary grey classroom, she found not a plump, balding man but a young, slim lady in a pale green pantsuit. Her lemon yellow hair was piled up on her head in a bun, and she wore bright pink lipstick and green eyeshadow, which matched her eye color perfectly. She spoke in a flutey voice.
"How are you, Rue? Mr. Fatterns told me about you. Apparently, your parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark! I'm the sub, Ms. Trimmer."
Ms. Trimmer seized her hand and shook vigorously. Rue was stunned by her clearly false perkiness. Didn't her mother mention somebody named Effie Trinket? Ms. Trimmer behaved in an excruciatingly similar way. The high voice with the Capitol accent, the odd hair color, the fakey energetic persona...this could only mean that her substitute teacher was the daughter of her mother's least favorite tour planner. This unit was getting off to a smashing start.
***
The stench of faux chicken and soggy vegtables filled Rue's nose, and she inhaled gratefully. Anything smelled better right now than Ms. Trimmer's hairspray. Choking down a bite of "chicken leg," she reflected on the torturous class. It was many times worse than she expected. Ms. Trimmer actually was Effie's child, and was talking nonstop to her about how her mother told her so many stories when she was a child about being a part of the last 2 Hunger Games and the revolution, and how her mother was so pretty, but caustic and groggy in the mornings, and how her father was such a gentleman. All period long, she would pause and check her reflection in a small compact every few minutes. The accent grated her nerves down to powder. It seemed the period would never end. After 1 and a half murderously long hours, the bell rang for lunch. It wouldn't be long before the questions started from her classmates. At least her friend Claude understood. He was nearly silent and never raised his hand, but got A's in all his classes. Rue felt she could trust him a lot more than the other people in her classes, especially Hattie, the rude girl who acted like a 5-year-old child. She was always out to get Rue in trouble.
After the school day ended and she walked home, she told her parents all about Social Studies. After talking privately and hearing that this was the last straw, they told her surprising news: they were going to have an adventure in homeschooling.
"But when will I see my friends again?" whined Rue.
"We can call and arrange something. There's always festivals and camp." Her father spoke so calmly it drove Rue insane.
Yes, thought Rue, but not Claude. He didn't go to camps or festivals because of his acute shyness. Would she ever see him again?
"We can't have you being this aggravated all the time. If she's going to replace Mr. Fatterns, you would never get work done from what I'm hearing."
"Well, if this doesn't work, then put me back in!" Rue hadn't thrown a tantrum since she was 6. Was another one starting up?
"I promise, Rue." Her mother crossed her heart.
So began the adventure in homeschooling.
Both of her parents being former contenders and catylists in the revolution, and just because Mr. Fatterns was an idiot, Rue will be bombarded with questions about her mother's and father's thoughts and ideas, of which she had no clue, and of their hardships, which neither Rue nor her parents wanted to speak of. His questions would get her classmates started, and it so aggravated her that she didn't consider any of the people who asked her about the revolution no longer her friend. But when Rue stepped inside the dreary grey classroom, she found not a plump, balding man but a young, slim lady in a pale green pantsuit. Her lemon yellow hair was piled up on her head in a bun, and she wore bright pink lipstick and green eyeshadow, which matched her eye color perfectly. She spoke in a flutey voice.
"How are you, Rue? Mr. Fatterns told me about you. Apparently, your parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark! I'm the sub, Ms. Trimmer."
Ms. Trimmer seized her hand and shook vigorously. Rue was stunned by her clearly false perkiness. Didn't her mother mention somebody named Effie Trinket? Ms. Trimmer behaved in an excruciatingly similar way. The high voice with the Capitol accent, the odd hair color, the fakey energetic persona...this could only mean that her substitute teacher was the daughter of her mother's least favorite tour planner. This unit was getting off to a smashing start.
***
The stench of faux chicken and soggy vegtables filled Rue's nose, and she inhaled gratefully. Anything smelled better right now than Ms. Trimmer's hairspray. Choking down a bite of "chicken leg," she reflected on the torturous class. It was many times worse than she expected. Ms. Trimmer actually was Effie's child, and was talking nonstop to her about how her mother told her so many stories when she was a child about being a part of the last 2 Hunger Games and the revolution, and how her mother was so pretty, but caustic and groggy in the mornings, and how her father was such a gentleman. All period long, she would pause and check her reflection in a small compact every few minutes. The accent grated her nerves down to powder. It seemed the period would never end. After 1 and a half murderously long hours, the bell rang for lunch. It wouldn't be long before the questions started from her classmates. At least her friend Claude understood. He was nearly silent and never raised his hand, but got A's in all his classes. Rue felt she could trust him a lot more than the other people in her classes, especially Hattie, the rude girl who acted like a 5-year-old child. She was always out to get Rue in trouble.
After the school day ended and she walked home, she told her parents all about Social Studies. After talking privately and hearing that this was the last straw, they told her surprising news: they were going to have an adventure in homeschooling.
"But when will I see my friends again?" whined Rue.
"We can call and arrange something. There's always festivals and camp." Her father spoke so calmly it drove Rue insane.
Yes, thought Rue, but not Claude. He didn't go to camps or festivals because of his acute shyness. Would she ever see him again?
"We can't have you being this aggravated all the time. If she's going to replace Mr. Fatterns, you would never get work done from what I'm hearing."
"Well, if this doesn't work, then put me back in!" Rue hadn't thrown a tantrum since she was 6. Was another one starting up?
"I promise, Rue." Her mother crossed her heart.
So began the adventure in homeschooling.
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