Chapter 1: For Luck

I turn the little pin over in my hand. I have seen all manner of trinkets bartered in the Hob, but none so unique as this. "What is it?"

The vendor peers over her stall and smiles a crinkled smile. "That's a... mockingjay."

"How much?" I ask, knowing well how far a coin or two can go. I have some on hand, having completed my trades for game.

"You keep it; it's yours."

"Thank you," I reply. I turn and crash right up against the white armored plates of a Peacekeeper's uniform. I jump, startled and concerned over what rule I may have broken, but then I see the flash of red hair. "Darius. Hi," I greet.

Darius Freeman is a 20-year-old Peacekeeper private here in District 12. He is known to be one of the nicer cadets on the force here, and a bit of a flirt. "What have you got there, Miss Everdeen?" He flicks my braid and gives me a dazzling smile.

I hold out my palm and show him the pin. He nods in approval. "Pretty little thing." I can't tell if he is referring to the pin or me, and a blush comes to my cheeks. Laughing, I attach the pin to Darius's lapel.

"See you at the Reaping?" I ask him.

"Wear something pretty," he winks.

The Reaping is considered a holiday in District 12. It is an excuse for us poor people who live in the Seam to dress up in the nicest articles of clothing we own and parade ourselves into the Square, like pigs waiting to be slaughtered. For me, I have my faded blue dress - a relic of my mother's from her days as a Merchant.

I loathe everything about the day.

The last several years of the Hunger Games have been demoralizing for our district. Not that we ever do particularly well in the annual fight to the death, because we don't. Three years ago, my hunting partner and best friend, Gale Hawthorne, was Reaped. The next year, a buddy of his, Thom Borden, was Reaped. And this past Games - the 75th Anniversary, also known as the Third Quarter Quell - had children against parents go into the arena. Peeta Mellark, the Merchant Baker's youngest son, and his sadistic mother were sent in. All were killed. The deaths of people I knew shouldn't rattle me, but they do. Even though in 75 years, our district has had exactly two Victors - both of whom are still alive. Cassiope Fletch, Victor of the 16th Hunger Games, is an old lady. Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Hunger Games (a Quarter Quell), is a middle-aged alcoholic.

And on this, my last Reaping at 18 years old, the odds are not in my favor, as I am Reaped for the 76th Hunger Games.

My farewells with my mother and sisters are tearful and brief. I tell Mother to look after Prim and not abandon like when after Dad died. When their allowed five minutes are up, I wait for the guards to come collect me for the train. So, when the door opens to reveal Darius in civilian clothing, I draw back in surprise.

"I thought you would be on duty," I express.

"No, not today. I came to say goodbye to you." I watch him take the mockingjay pin out of his pocket, and he fastens it to my blue dress, directly over my heart. "Every tribute is allowed to wear one token into the arena. Will you wear this for me? You need it more than I do."

My Seam gray eyes lock onto his deep, impossibly blue ones... eyes as blue as a summer sky... and I nod. Both of us have frozen, Darius's calloused palm still hovering over my breast. And then... he dares to squeeze it, laying his fingers tentatively over my nipple, tweaking it. I don't pull away; encouraged, Darius bends and covers my lips with his, kissing me full on the mouth.

I gasp a little into the kiss, my lips parting for his and allowing his tongue to enter effortlessly. Darius's other hand comes to rest lightly on my hip, and he pulls me away from the wall, so that he can fully encircle my slim waist as he cradles me flush against him. I am not sure what to do, so while I don't return the kiss, I do not twist away either, letting Darius deepen it. We have been dancing around... charged feelings for each other these past many months, unsure which of us should take the first move into something more. I have been especially hesitant, I have always been ambivalent about things like love and marriage.

Darius's palms now grope lower. His fingers caress my bum through my dress, cupping the flesh of one cheek, and then the other. In one fluid motion, Darius raises my thigh to his waist, and I hook it around his torso, so that the hem of my blue dress rides high up my calves. Snapping a wrist forward, I find Darius's belt buckle and nimbly work it free, throwing down my partner's trousers while Darius presses me back into the wall. I feel my panties slide over my hips.

Moments later, I feel a slimy, engorged thing enter my holy regions, and Darius and I begin to undulate our pelvises against each other insistently. Between kissing, we quietly moan and cry out into each other's shoulders. I buck into Darius more and more furiously as warmth builds into my core, and Darius obliges my primal need by thrusting into me faster and faster. He plants kisses along my face and jaw and into my neck until with a grunt, he ejaculates into me. Another smack of bare, sweaty skin, then another, and with a whimper, I follow in my own orgasm.

Coming down from my high, Darius and I uncouple and hurriedly redress. Darius captures my lips with his one last time and I don't object, holding the kiss. We break apart tenderly.

"You have to win, Katniss," Darius tells me. Then he departs from the holding room when his Peacekeeper comrades come to escort him out and lead me to the train.

The time it takes me to have my first kiss and lose my virginity takes less than five minutes.