2. The Yeeting

All the lucky orphans were here in the Royal A-Holds studio. There were two of each from the twelve districts, and if my math was correct, that meant there were at least forty of them. On second thought, I had never learned counting higher than twenty. My math consisted of counting the number of lesions and sores I get from Orphan Flu every winter. My high score is twenty.

We traveled by train, a mandatory obligation that every candidate had to obey under the threat of death. Something about an old steam locomotive made orphans feel more hopeless and bewildered, and the Royal A-Holds transportation department nailed it. I spent last night celebrating with my ghost farm animals that I was chosen. On the tiny slip of white paper the owl handed me, the words “You go to Murder Hunt” were written in beautiful cursive. I clutched the white slip of paper and told every soul I could find at the house. The other orphans were jealous and showed disdain by walloping me with their fists, yelling, “It’s 6 am. Why are you so loud?”

Yurga was having breakfast of pheasant eggs and bald eagle steak when she saw me gushing about this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“I am so proud of you, Hector. This is a well-earned opportunity,” she said, tears in her bloodshot eyes. She was joyfully sad about my bittersweet news. I guess the empty bottle in her hand was to collect the tears of her sadness. Her breath also smelled like nail polish remover that had been aged in a barrel, which I didn’t know was part of her grieving process.

The next hour, I packed my belongings and was ready to go. Yurga generously donated the blanket on which her cat died. I was going to cry from her sweetness and motherly charm. To comfort her, I let her give me a goodbye beating. She put her heart into it.

After the train ride, during which I got a roomy overhead baggage compartment to sleep in, we arrived at the Royal A-Holds Corporate Office and Yeeting Plaza. The pure gold building reached twenty stories. A statue depicting President A-Hold putting a loaf of bread into a child’s mouth sat in the middle of a fountain. Several Greeters, branding their Welcome Cattle Prods and semi-automatic customer service rifles, stood in an organized line.

Then I saw her, Queen Mavia, the 10-year reigning Prom Queen for the annual YA Dance Gala. She was so good at winning the title every year that no one minded that she aged out of the program nine years ago. She had a pink tiara on her head, and her hair was tied up like a beehive that had been hit with a taser. Her dress was a shimmering pink with clam shells, crystals, jewels, and a small controlled fire at the bottom. She spun in the air, smiled at the Greeters, and opened her hands to the orphans.

The studio was big, at least twenty of my closets. The walls were lined with TV cameras, and the front had a podium and a microphone. I had dreamed of this day when I would have the entire nation seeing my face on TV, while I proudly promised to murder their children.

Queen Mavia threw ladles of warm chicken broth into the crowd, which excited us so much that the Greeters threatened us with award-winning customer service. We quieted down as Mavia took to the podium.

“Let me first say that I truly hate the orphan,” she flipped her cue card, “…problem that plagues our streets. Many years ago, President A-Hold saw a problem in the twelve districts. The land was free and bountiful, with harmony and peace, but no greedy conglomerate could bend the people to terror. That needed to change. President A-Hold made our beautiful civilization through the patriotic efforts of greed, consumerism, wealth gaps, and political corruption. His iron fist of democracy meant no one could live in The Twelve without feeling his closeness and love. Years went by, and President A-Hold had another idea. What if the orphans of The Twelve showed how grateful and appreciative they were by gouging each other with rusty pipes? Thank goodness the first game devolved from a golden ticket hunt to a gruesome battle royal, or else the stakes would be much lower. Because of our wanton desires for destruction and the savagery of the culture we created, The YA Murder Hunt is one of the most popular shows on late-night TV, next to other hit reality shows like Is This Mushroom Poisonous? and The Great Twelve Bake Off. I am so proud that all of you will represent the strong values and morality that President A-Hold built into this city. Now we will introduce the candidates for this year’s YA Murder Hunt.

I held on to every word she spoke. I didn’t even need a Greeter to whack me with the butt of his rifle. The other orphans stood as tall and as proud as I. We all lapped up the glory and honor of representing the A-Holds way of life.

“Now let’s name the candidates for this year’s YA Murder Hunt.”

Excitement burst in my chest. This was really happening.

“From the Alwaysland District, Petty Pang and Wenda Wentz.”

Two cheery, bright-eyed, and blushing orphans skipped on stage. Tiny pieces of silver glitter floated to the ground as they walked.

Petty was the taller and more athletic one. I could tell his orphanage gave him two soups a day. He approached the podium and raised his hand, “A dream is a wish your heart makes. Dream big, dream happy, and dream often.”

Wenda did a cartwheel and lifted her hands with a big cheer.

The crowd mildly clapped. After a Greeter’s warning shot, we clapped much harder.

“From the Wizard District, Harry Proper and Halimony.”

Two sixteen-year-olds in black robes solemnly walked down the aisle. The girl had frizzy red hair and glasses. I almost forgot that she had a dragon tail that swung underneath the robe. The boy was dressed similarly, but he held a broom. They looked clean, elegant, and genuine.

“Shout out to the Hogwash Inner City Wizarding Public School,” Harry shouted, holding up various gang signs. He had a tiny lightning bolt tattoo under his right eye. So classy.

“From the DC District, Badman and Lady Hawke.”

Badman was here! He was the poster orphan; the king of orphans. His face was on the cover of Orphan Weekly and the Orphan Street Journal. I was in the presence of greatness.

Badman was dressed in a black spandex onesie. His chest plate had abs drawn on it, and his black mask instilled fear and wrath. His partner, Lady Hawke, was dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit. The insignia on her chest was a bullseye.

Badman approached the microphone, “I am the night,” he said gravelly.

Ladyhawke smiled and waved at us, “He is the night,” she chirped.

I gave Badman 2 to 3 odds that he would snap my neck on the first day. He was just that good.

“From the Greek District, Jason Zeus and Tina Aphroditie.”

Jason was stacked. His muscles bulged from his moisture-wicking shirt. His arm veins had their own veins. His thighs could choke the life out of a bear. Though he was roughly my age, he had a white flowing beard resembling some mythical god. My guess was Loki.

But Tina Aphroditie was absolutely stunning. The ancient Greek sun bronzed her skin, and her muscles gleamed in the sunlight. She wore golden bracelets and a golden headband made from the purest metals. The leather mini-skirt flailed against her bronze legs, while her golden hair bounced playfully. She was might, strength, courage, and power built into one goddess.

I gave her a 6 out of 10. A 6 is the highest number us orphans can expect to achieve aesthetically. Anything above a 6, and others would assume you grew up in a loving home.

Jason Zeus grabbed a phone book from the table and ripped it in half. The crowd gasped in fear. We didn’t know what a phone book was, and Jason looked pretty strong. Seriously, I bet he could do at least ten pushups.

One of the cameramen bellowed in grief, “That was my phone book! All my friends are in there. Now, how do I call them?” he stomped off the studio.

Tina held up three fingers and pointed them toward the sky, “All hail the emperor!”

“From the Ender District, Nathan Space and Melanie Air.”

Two teenagers in orange space jumpers majestically walked up to the podium. Nathan was bewildered as shown by his confused stare into the studio lights, “Excuse me. We don’t know why we are here. We just finished an Ender’s Game. I think there has been some confusion.”

“Plus, we live in a space station. How did we even get roped into this?”

Queen Mavia disgustedly grabbed their microphone, “It’s too late now. We blew up your return spaceship and declared you dead.”

Two Greeters aggressively helped Melanie and Nathan off the stage as they exchanged confused glances.

“From the Will They, Won’t They District, Beluah Swanson and Victor Talldark.”

Two stoic and serious teenagers, who could not convince the audience they were alive, silently walked up to the podium. The room became stark and lonely. A mouse cried in the corner. Beluah had white, pasty skin and long, almost colorless hair. Victor Talldark had whiter skin, and his had a tiny sparkle to it. The drone couple walked in sync up the stairs and took the microphone. “We are dating,” they said in unison.

Wow. I hope I have that much chemistry with my future partner.

Mavia looked over her notes, “This is taking way too long. I’m just going to rattle off a few who will probably be killed on the first day. Mumsy and Tumsy Pendleton from the Low Fantasy District; Fomo and Mildo Baggage from the High Fantasy District; Josh Puzzle and Angelina Riddle of the Maze District; Tom Sawyer and Huck Fina from the Fair Use District; and Bob and Sally from the Convergent District.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mavia said, making eye contact with me and winking. Last and certainly not least…drum roll, please…we have free unsellable shrimp in the back. Two per orphan.”

Wait! They didn’t say my name. I was in the twelfth district. I raised my hand sharply. “You only named eleven districts. You forgot me!”

Queen Mavia was repulsed that I spoke to her. She looked back at her notes. “Oh dang. Look at that. You are right. I guess we are doing only eleven districts this year. Greeters! Please greet this orphan to death.”

Two Greeters approached me with their greeting sticks in hand.

“Wait,” I shrieked, “I got a letter from the owl. I am in the YA Murder Hunt.”

Queen Mavia shrugged, “Must be an oversight.”

The Greeters were getting closer. I stumbled backwards until I hit the shrimp table. “Wait! I can prove I am in the game! Just give me a second.” I ripped through my pockets, finding my yo-yo, deck of cards, and rare lint collection, but the note wasn’t there.

“What about that magic cauldron over there?” Petty Pang pointed to a pot right beside the podium.

Queen Mavia moved her head and noticed a non-stick, reinforced, steel cooking bowl beside her. “I totally didn’t see this. My bad. If your name is in this giant metal cooking pot, you might be special or something.”

She bent over and searched the giant cauldron until she pulled out a tiny piece of paper. Her eyes scanned the paper, and then disappointment painted her face. Her lips went sour, and she began to gag a little. “From the deeply disrespected and unloved Parody District, Hector Plopper.”

Cricket chirps filled the silent room as I triumphantly danced to the podium. I hopped up the stairs, ready to share my ten-minute inspirational speech I had penned last night.

“Wait,” Queen Mavia yelled, “Where is your partner?”

“My what?” I said, scanning my pockets for the answer.

“You need to have a partner. It’s always teams of two. You can’t be in the YA Murder Hunt if you don’t have a partner.”

I felt dizzy and disoriented, like a mental wave of confusion had hit my head. I looked over the equally confused crowd. They didn’t know where my partner was either. “Ummmm…”

And then I remembered. While I was standing at the train station, waiting for the obligatory train of YA fiction to appear, Lucy Everdean, my longest and closest friend since my childhood, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Lucy,” I greeted her with a hug, “You will never guess my good fortune. I am in the YA Murder Hunt this year.”

Her eyes filled with hope and joy, “That is wonderful. I am so happy for you, Hector. I always knew you would make something beautiful and joyful with your life.”

I stared into her supportive eyes, which kept me strong during those tough days at the orphanage. She was still a beacon of light and steadiness in this chaotic world. “It’s awesome. I am going to have such a good time.”

“Is that the games where you have to invite one friend to join you?” Pondered my closest confidant.

I nodded, “I can invite anyone in the district to join me.”

“Like a fellow orphan whom you have trusted since childhood. Maybe someone who has hinted at being more than just friends?”

I smiled at her, “I guess I could.”

Then the train pulled up to the station. I looked over Lucy again, admiring how she would stick with me to the end. She was so trustworthy I would put my life into her beautiful hands. In fact, we spent nights speculating how we would outlast the other candidates if we were ever in a deadly battle royale.

“My train is here,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. “I am really going to miss you.”

Then I boarded the train.

CRAP! I would have asked her brother to join me if I had known better.