missing summer ❁ itzal&haze

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Through the beginning of the week, Haizea had learned she had no clue what she was doing. Even less than most others, it seemed, as much as she hoped it wouldn't be so. She excelled in the plants station naturally, but even Karl seemed unimpressed - that's her district partner. A brooding man, she tries to like him. A district 11er coming out the gate with nothing more than the ability to separate blackberries from poison ivy, though, that's not going to surprise anybody, especially not any sponsors. 

You see, Haizea had never actually watched the Games herself. She'd catch glimpses of it in the Town Square or in the cafeteria at school, both mandatory by the District - if Vasco had a choice, surely it'd have been shut down decades ago - so her understanding of what's going on was pretty limited. The whole process seemed so overwhelming to this small girl, while everyone around her seemed so much more capable. 

She grew reluctant to the open training rooms. Too many peering eyes; ironic, as most of what she learned was copied from what other tributes seemed to be getting right. On the forth day, she finds herself in a side room, mirrors covering the twelve foot tall walls, every angle repeating the image of herself and a boy she already had a trouble looking at directly. She watched the other Reapings on mute, focusing more on the faces rather than the anguished reactions. 

It wore on her too much, too quickly. 

But this boy, this was Itzal Usoa, District 5, she felt almost creepy being in the same room as him now. As if she already crossed a line memorizing who that face belonged to; if Yani was here, she'd slap some sense in her, knock the boy crazy right onto the floor where it needed to be. But Haizea couldn't resist between the days of anxiety and hormones galore, she'd give herself thirty seconds to take in the sight of him. Catching the muscles in his legs as he stretched through a reflection of a reflection in the corner of her eye - she wouldn't be caught dead staring right now. 

Once she grew daring, Haizea looked at him directly through the mirror, mimicking the stretch routine this boy took from home until a Charlie horse caught up to her. "Ow, ow, ow," groaning from her, breaking the silence as she tries soothing the aching muscle of her right calf.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

El que quiero, no me quiere
Como quiero que me quiera
Hoy termina la condena
Me divierte', maybe tú eres el que me libera

Did you expect me to be here?

It’s okay if you took one look at the kid on the train and thought he wouldn’t be caught dead in a dance studio.

I think you’re going to find that there’s enough about me to keep on your toes. I just don’t go out advertising it like some of the other kids here.

We were kids when my mother made us start to learn how to dance. One of those places that was made out gray cinderblocks and she saw in an ad in the penny saver, you know? I got in half price because they were desperate for boys, and she sure as hell wasn’t paying for daycare when this was cheaper.

It was run by a woman who was rail thin who always wore tights and had a nose like a knife. She didn’t suffer the boys who thought dancing was just for women – a real man knows how to put one foot in front of the other, that’s what tía Josefina would say right before she took one long drag of her cigarette and stamped her cane down on the hardwood of the studio. And when she told you to move, you didn’t step out.

Josefina’s cane probably taught me more in how to dodge a hit than this whole week ever would.

I probably wouldn’t be half the idiot I am now if it wasn’t for her. Those mirrors had you confront ever move you could ever make. All the lines on your face, all the tiredness, sadness – whatever you might’ve had inside came out there if you didn’t know how to hold yourself. And wearing tights will humble you real quick, especially when your junk is just hanging out for the whole world to see.

But man – dancing put you on another level when it came to these girls, you know?!

Our bodies getting close to each other, our limbs curling close, sweat dripping down, her smiling and me with the biggest fucking grin. Is there anything better when you’re fucking fourteen and there’s at least a dozen girls who want to pair off with you because you can merengue?

I spent the better part of the morning here to clear my head.

I won’t lie – it’s fucking nerve wracking being on the training floor with the rest of those kids. Oh, here, real casual, we’re going to put a knife in your hand and see if you can’t learn the best way to slit someone’s throat. Yeahhhh I think whatever PTSD I thought was going to start from the games is already here, man.

So, I laid out to stretch, a pair of tights and a tight white tee, ready to tear my own body apart.

I’m not alone which is a welcome surprise. We don’t say anything to one another first and that’s fine, I’ve gotten used to the fact each of us is sizing one another up. And I guess I’m not the most welcoming person in the world, too.

I catch her peeking though, her eyes find mine in the mirror and I hold for a second, hand down by my ankle while she starts to hop on her leg.

“Yo, you good?” I shifted back from my hold on my ankle and to my knees so I could come in close. “You want me to help you out?”

I motioned with my hands toward her leg to offer up some help. “You can sit down next to me – I’ll help you stretch that out so it doesn’t fucking kill you later.”

Now I know what you’re thinking.

Guy offers to put his hands on this girl within two seconds of meeting her as though that’s not the creeper move. But Charlie Horses hurt like a fucking bitch, and I’m not going to let a good-looking girl suffer.

And sue me. I might fucking die next week.

ELEGANT

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"Yo, you good!"

"Yeah, yeah! Ay," she says through gritted teeth. 

"Okay, no."

"You want me to help you out?" The boy asks and she forgets he might be able to see her reflection with how wide her eyes get - oh, definitely not. No, no, that's fine! The words never make it out between the pain of her tensing muscle and the secret desire for him to come over and help her. Maybe I need mouth to mouth!

No, no, way too soon, chica. Haizea groans as she spreads out on the floor, the spasm aching enough to get her out of her thoughts. She wasn't much of a dancer, or a gymnast, or really... any kind of athlete, but she figured she could at least stretch without her body giving out on her. It was alarming that she was already having difficulties, but if this meant some one on one with Itzal Usoa, Mr. Dreamy from 5, maybe her leg knew what was up after all. 

When he offers to help stretch out her leg, she doesn't hesitate to get back on her one good leg and hobble over. She follows the railing until Itzal takes her hand, helping her take a seat closest to him before aiding in stretching out her left leg. There's a pop that comes when he pulls her leg out in full over his own lap, a sharp ache coming and passing beneath her kneecap. "Ay dios mio," she lets out under her breath, rolling her ankle as the pain subsides. 

Itzal's good with his hands - good to know, good to know. 

Sure enough, with his help, the muscle relaxes with a soft, roaring soreness taking its place. Haizea doesn't say anything that the charley horse is on its way out out of a suspicious she could make the massage last a few seconds longer. Instead, she shifts her swooning into a falsetto pain, "that really hurt!" She tries not to look him in the face out of fear of the butterflies, dormant in her gut to her amaze; every time they had made eye contact up until this point, she made a clear effort to run the other way as quick as possible. 

As boy thirsty as she was, Haizea hated the feeling of a new found crush, and she knew she was playing with fire interacting with this one, especially at a time like this. She could feel the burning stare of her ancestors looking down on her, scolding her for wasting her time on a man of all things when she should be studying or training. But look, at the top of all her priorities, living to have her first kiss was the snow atop the mountain. Eventually, she sighs, realizing she better cut this out and get back to what she was doing; observing from afar and learning something along the way. 

"Thanks," she pipes up with an awkward smile, "I should probably get going," tell me to stay, tell me to stay, tell me to- Haizea tries to play it cool as she retracts her leg, limping lightly as she tests her balance. 

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

i t z a l

El que quiero, no me quiere
Como quiero que me quiera
Hoy termina la condena
Me divierte', maybe tú eres el que me libera

It’s always a little too much, isn’t it?

The way I could have just as easily asked her if she was okay, but instead go for the default – make the pass, push my luck. And here she is looking at me like the games have started already, and I’m gonna tear her in two. Not that she doesn’t have every right to think that. She’s got to protect herself, somehow.

She doesn’t pull away.

Huh.

Her leg’s in my hands and I know what to do, I’ve been in dance class and toughed out plenty of Charlie horse’s. And no, I didn’t pop a boner because I got her leg in my lap, let’s just cool it with that. But it does take me back to when I was just a little brother in a sea of girls – when I couldn’t do anything wrong, or everything wrong, too.

I’m careful with my hands to make sure it’s not painful, too much pressure is killer. I look up from her leg to steal a glance.

Wow.

You ever get the feeling you’re supposed to have met someone already?

Guess it could’ve come in a different life, but neither of us seem to have struck it up in the luck department. Better to meet someone you’re supposed to know than never at all, or some poetic bullshit like that.

At least I’m lucky enough that she hasn’t run away from me yet.

Oh fuck. I haven’t said anything for a while, have I?

“Cuidado chiqui, eh?” I say the words softly as I trace my hand back to my lap.

We hold for a second in the in between, a space we’ll know all too well for our (short) lives but flay me alive before I’d give up that feeling. Electricity between my knuckles is what that is, wakes you up and has you pay attention.

A thank you and then – she goes to flee, because what else would she do? Some boy from a part of the world she’d never known feeling her up or sizing her up for slaughter. I’d have told my sister someone like me was up to no good if she was sitting where Haze had been.

“No!” It comes out a bit higher, airy, and unexpected. I cleared my throat. “No. I mean, you get all stretched out and you’re not even going to give me one dance? I thought you elevens were supposed to be the nice ones. My mom said that mayor of yours is the nicest man she’s ever seen. I think if he was single she’d have tried to move us to eleven to marry him.”

Fucking fuck.

Smooth, bringing up my mom wanting to get in her uncle’s (?) pants.

“What I mean is, you should stay.”

ELEGANT