Chapter 1

The fat yellow sun like the creamy butter we have on occasion, and this morning, when we had a small square of it each to place on the fish-shaped District Four bread my mother baked this morning. The outside of the rolls were brown and crisp and the inside was fluffy and white like the cumulous I see surrounding the sun. Soft ochre sand sifts under my toes. My bathing suit is a dark green one piece with light green shorts tied around it. The deep green ocean waves ripple, topped by a soft white foam. I wade in until I'm waist deep, then kick off and swim, fish like, through the crashing turquoise-green waves. My eyes are open under the cool ocean, and another world sparkles, clear and bright. Bright fish swim through the mossy rocks and the colourful coral. Transparent, almost pale blue, bubbles drift onto the surface of the sea that sustains us. Other children of district four, when they swim, can't see clearly, and is it blurred to them. Not me. When I was old enough, my father offered me goggles. I refused them, being that I could already see perfectly under the water, and we needed that money for other purposes. I'm not sure why I can. It's odd. I do spend more time underwater than most other people -even with a simple wash, I will sink myself to do the bottom of the tub where the water of the shower collects, and I will open my eyes, simply for the wonderful feeling as it cools my body. Ender sometimes complains that his eyes sting when he does this without goggles or closing his eyes. Mine don't. I wriggle up to the surface for a quick breath, and dive under again. I swim through that water, occasionally surfacing for breath. As I get deeper into the ocean, through the murky grey-green water filled with slivers of dark green and red-orange seaweed, I spot a boat, heading out to fish. On the hull is several long white scratches in the shape of a crude star, that happened when I was very young I found a piece of broken glass, or perhaps crockery, I can't remember, and crawled out across the sand to our boat and did that very thing. It hasn't been repaired since. I shoot out of the water next to the boat and I hear Ender's yelp with a laugh. Dad's sitting at the back with a slightly stern frown, and chides me.

"Iris! Do you know how dangerous that is? We could have sailed over you as you leapt and then-" He trails off. I put my hands on the side of the boat lightly and pull myself in. I've grown used to doing this over the years.

"But you didn't." I say smugly, shaking my dark curls and splattering Ender with cool, clear droplets of salty water.

"Iris." He says warningly.

"Yeah, yeah. I won't do it again, Dad." I say, rolling my eyes with an over-the-top sigh. "Although it was worth it for the look on Ender's face." I add with a mischievous grin.

"Hey!" Ender protests, shoving me lightly.

"Don't deny it." I say coolly. "Or next time I'll make sure every one of your friends are there to watch it."

"You two. Get back to fishing."

"'Kay Dad." We chorus. Dad throws the net out. Ender readies his spear and aims it at several of the fish.

"Here, let me help you." I pluck up my trident from the side of the boat and we both throw our weapons at the fish, skewering several. The net safely catches them, and if Dad hitches the net up slightly -which he does- we can easily grab the ends of them. Using nets is illegal if you're closer to the bottom of the water, and also depending on how long your net is, but ours is short, and we're in a much deeper end. After the end of the day, after checking the traps, for lobsters and such, and taking all our fish in, it's time to gut the fish. The only reason I bother to do this is because it makes you handy with a knife –which is a skill I'm going to need if I go the Hunger Games. Ah yes. The Hunger Games. They're happening in a few months- still some time away, but it will happen. My little sister, Darya, watches from a perch in the small shack where my mother, Ender, occasionally Darya and I gut the fish. The salty sea breeze always rushes in here, and I relax a little. She's twelve tomorrow, her birthday, which is why we wanted to get an extra haul today. The fish that we'll eat we will keep, and the others we'll sell –apart from the amount we must give to the capitol… which is quite a lot. I shake my head to chase those thoughts away, because if they stay in my head I'll bet I'll whisper them in my sleep, where both Darya and I sleep in- and then if Darya repeated my words…

Let's just say we'd be in trouble.

I free my mind, and concentrate on gutting. When we finish, I walk into the small room, where two beds are pushed against each other. Darya, since about seven years of age, has been getting nightmares. About her in the games. And since when she was younger she got frightened of the dark, they had already been pressed together, so they've always been like this. There's a door next to Darya's side, which leads into Dad and Ma's bedroom. Since the two rooms only have enough for two beds, Ender sleeps in the kitchen. We used to sleep together, but as soon Darya moved out of the cot in became clear that she couldn't sleep by herself, out in the scary kitchen where the rats were and not even a sliver of the moon came in through the windows –because there weren't, and still aren't, any. Ender offered to sleep there first, before I could. I touch the rough canvas of Darya's mattress, sticking out under the thin sheets. She always untucks them in her sleep, and forgets the tuck them back in. There a harsh fast dripping sound and I remember. Wash time for Darya. I laugh a light laugh, on the occasion that I do, and this time it's no exception, a soft, half-air laugh. Darya doesn't like washing, because the water's ice cold, colder than the ocean, and she always complains that she's spent ages in the ocean. My mother, watching to make sure she washes herself properly, always retorts back,

"That's hardly going to make sure you're clean, Darya!" And then Darya gives up. I wait, making her bed in my spare time, for her to finish. She comes out wearing light, pale blue clothing, and is putting a towel away. Her dark brown hair is spiky, sticking out in sharp points everywhere, like her hair always does when it's wet.

"Hey there little sea urchin." I say as she comes over, which is my nickname for her.

"Hi." She says, immediately slipping into the bed. I roll my eyes –her pillow will be soaking wet in the morning. I lie down, already changed, and think to myself…

I wish this evening could last forever.

Several months later…

My eyes open and I'm lying on my back staring at the ceiling. I blink at moment, and realise I'm looking at lamp.

What?

I look at my side, expecting a Darya, or at least an empty bed, and see the floor. Putting my palm to my forehead, I sit up and shift back to my side of the bed. The door leading into my parent's room is slightly ajar, and the dust on the ground is disturbed by a series of small feet. A much lighter layer has settled on it, as it always does in the night, but not as thick as the dust around it. Of course she went to sleep with our parents. This is the reaping. I'm a comfort for most nightmares –but with the Reaping so real and hard, I wasn't enough. She obviously didn't thrash or cry out, since I'm a rather light sleeper, and the blankets aren't tossed to the floor as they sometimes are- which means it must be much worse than the normal ones. Only then does she paralyse, freeze in fear. I get up and walk into the bathroom. It's empty, and I wash. I take an old battered dark green dress, with trims of black. I straighten it out, brush the dust off it, and pull it on over my light, golden-olive skin. My mother comes out, hearing me, and helps me do my hair into a neat braid that is then pulled up and clipped tight to my head. This then falls down, then several attempts –and failures- we give up and just leave it over my shoulder in a braid. I don't like braids, but I think I can live with it for one afternoon. I sit at the table in the kitchen and eat breakfast. Ender joins me shortly afterwards, in a dark blue shirt and black pants. His dark hair, the exact colour of Darya's, our mother's, and mine, is short and trimmed. He smiles at me with sea-green eyes that match mine, as well as Darya's and Dad's. I smile back. Darya comes out, in a pretty dark green dress. The skirt's a bit long for her though, and she nearly trips on it coming in. I have the idea of getting a lighter, brighter green ribbon, the same that will be in her hair, and tie it up higher with it. Her hair's in a spiky mass, and I grin.

"I think we need to do something with that hair, my little sea urchin."

My mother brushes her hair, until it's a dark, soft, silky flow. I tie the back of her hair into a ponytail with the green ribbon I mentioned before, and brush out her brunette ponytail into lush waves. At two, we head out into the square. I assemble after a while in a roped area with a bunch of other fifteen year old girls. None of us know each other well, at least not me, anyway, although I do recognise a girl with red hair named Clarisse, who I once partnered up with to do a protect in school. We're waiting. I drown out the dull, high pitched trill of our escort Dixie Moon and the dull drone of the mayor going on and on about the Dark Days, and the war, blah, blah, blah. Dixie's dressed up as a leopard –at least, I think. From one of the games. But I'm fairly certain leopards do not have fluttering pale yellow wings. Looking at her dress, I'm sure they're real skins. I choke down my cry of disgust. Her skin, I realise, is also patterned like a leopard, dyed. Her eyes must have something done to them by some horrific machine, as they most certainly aren't human. She's even got leopard ears and a tail. Then I realise she's done and she moving on to the actual reaping, and my ears prick.

"As usual, ladies first!" She jumps over to it –actually jumps, in huge pale yellow big high heels- and scoops up a piece of paper. She unfolds it, and reads out in a flittering bird-pitched voice,

"Iris Cresta!"

I take a breath and walk up calmly.

I'm a career. I'm a career, and I'm gonna survive. Nothing is going to get in my way! I'm a career! I think to myself firmly, walking up and to the stage.

"Let's have a huge round of applause for our courageous female tribute representing district four!" She giggles. The crowd gives its token applause as usual. I find Darya's face in the crowd. She is pale. I find Ender and he looks at me with comforting it's-gonna-be-okay-Iris smile. I look defiantly at the cameras and watch as Dixie leaps to the other ball.

"Let's discover which gentleman will represent district four in the fifty-first hunger games!" Then she plunges her inch long spotted yellow nails in and pulls out a slip. She reads the name and I start to shake slightly. The world blurs a little, and my mouth forms a horrified 'o'. I take a shaky breath and close my mouth, but I can't stop the tears-

NO! I can! I'm a CAREER!

I breathe, but it's tight. And rasping. The fifteen year old takes a trembling step forward and walks up to the stage. I look into his familiar sea green eyes and feel the rapid beat of my heart, hammering in my chest.

The name Dixie Moon called out…

Was Ender Cresta.