A dramatic cry of protest from the kitchen pulls me out of a fitful sleep. My mother must have gotten my younger brother up for his haircut, a pre-reaping tradition she's upheld since I was twelve. Of course my brother goes first since he certainly needs a lot more work than I do.

I lay in bed for a while, listening to the quiet clucking of the chickens in the back yard come in through my open window, in no rush to start the day. Nobody in District 12 is exactly jumping out of bed today. If there were no legal consequence, nobody would bother, especially not this year. Because this year is the Quell. It's a given that every year I have intrusive fears of being reaped for the Games. But this year, it's intensified. Double the number of tributes will be culled. The worst-case scenarios I used to imagine pale in comparison to the ones I have now. Myself, my brother, my girl; this is the first time we may all be drawn to compete against each other in a battle to the death. Forty-eight tributes; only one can win.

The thought eliminates any chance of me getting back to sleep, and I reluctantly get up from the warmth of my bed. I drag my bare feet into the kitchen to see what damage had been done. I'm met with my brother swiveling around on his stool, "Haymitch, look at what mom did. It's too short!" He says this while grabbing a fistful of his curly brown hair easily in his fingers.

I push my hand into his face, guiding him off the stool so I could have a seat, "Well, Elias, at least you still have your pretty face." He frowns at my sarcasm and gives me a light whack on the back of my head before sulking back into our shared bedroom. We always teased and fought, but it was never serious. It's just so easy to make fun of him, and he always snaps right back.

My mother gives me a kiss on the forehead and drags her fingers through my hair, "Good morning, sweetheart." She deftly snips her scissors at my hair while I rub the sleep from my eyes and says, "I didn't get a chance to pick up anything to eat this morning, but help yourself to some apples. The Everdeens' boy brought them over in exchange for a haircut."

My mother is a schoolteacher. She teaches writing for the 6th and 7th year students. But after my father died, my mother supported us by moonlighting as a hairdresser from home. So in the days leading up to the reaping, it wasn't uncommon for boys to come over for a haircut, or even for a neat shave if they were older. Since so many were poor Seam kids, they often bartered with my mother for her services.

She snips at my hair a few more times before handing me a small mirror, "All done. Have a look."

My hair was only given a trim, so it still hangs over my forehead, but at least I won't have to brush it out of my eyes anymore. Unlike Elias, I hadn't been growing my hair out, so there wasn't much work to be done. My mother combs my hair to the side and I say, "Nice job, as usual. Thanks mom."

She smiles and pulls me up to stand in front of her. She clutches at the carved wooden pendant she wears on a woven necklace and mutters, "You look more and more like your father every year."

I always have mixed feelings when she says things like this. I don't know if it helps or hurts her that I am my father's spitting image. It has only been a few years since he passed away. He managed to escape a fire in the mines, but the smoke and coal dust he inhaled on the way out left him sick for the last few months of his life until the black lung took him. I suppose I just don't like being her constant reminder of his absence. But at the same time, I know she finds comfort in this. And my father was a great man, so I do take pride when she compares me to him.

She wraps her arms around me and sighs, "I don't ever want to let you boys go."

"I know, mom." I can't promise anything. I can't say that I'm hers, and that I'm not going anywhere; because today I belong to the Capitol. Today, my mother will have to let me go and risk losing me in the reaping.

We stay like that for a while before she pulls away, trying and failing to hide her teary eyes as she says, "Go get changed. I won't have my son in the district square in his pajamas."

I smile. She never lost her humor, even after my father's death, even after sending my brother and me to the reaping year after year. I go back my bedroom where Elias already has on some of my old hand-me-down clothes that hadn't been damaged or dirtied much over the years. He wasn't quite big enough yet to fit into my father's clothes, which I put on this year. They are still a little big, seeing as my father was burly from years in the mines and I'm thin and scrawny from years of not having quite enough to eat. Just a side effect of living in the Seam.

I take a small wooden token from the dresser and slip it into my pocket. My father had made a hobby of whittling and in the months leading up to his death he carved us each a decorative piece to remember him by. I never left home without the decorative coin, covered in intricate swirls and stripes.

Elias, lacing up his shoes, gives out a long sigh. He never liked to bring up what was bothering him until someone dragged it out of him, so I roll my eyes and ask, "What is it, Eli?"

He shakes his head, "We both have a higher chance this year." He speaks softly. Two years ago he had lost his best friend Mason to the Games. The kid was only 13, so his name had only been on two slips of paper in that giant confetti of names, but he was still chosen. Elias knows first-hand that even the slimmest of chances are enough to get you reaped.

I button up my shirt, "Yeah, well, so does everybody else. Don't worry. No matter what they say, our odds aren't that high." I forbade Elias from collecting tesserae since we got on fairly well with the tessera I've been collecting since my father's passing. Yes, it was still tough, and I often went without so that Elias always had enough growing up, but we're surviving. It only cost me a few extra entries among thousands of others in the reaping ball.

Elias doesn't really seem satisfied with my answer and keeps brooding the way he only does at this time of year. He heads out and says, "In that case, let's hope we're lucky."

I hear the television click on in the living room, and extravagant music and commentators' babbling stream throughout the house. Some other district is having their reaping now. Four kids are being chosen and sized up by Capitol announcers who wonder out loud how far each of them will make it in the Games.

I look myself over in the mirror above the dresser and frown at a growing blemish on my cheek. Besides that, I have to admit, I look good. Back in the kitchen, my mother is snipping at a young boy's hair, probably one of her students. His mother sits at the table, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she stares at him. This must be his first reaping. I pocket a couple of apples from the pantry and remind Elias to meet me in the square later so we can wait through the reaping together. As I'm making my way out of the house, I give my mother a kiss on the cheek, "I'll see you after the reaping."

She squeezes my hand, "See you then, sweetheart. I love you."

The Seam is just starting to bustle. On the average day, everybody would have been up and about by now. But everybody has the day off today to watch the reaping. I make my way to the merchants' part of town and wait behind the sweets shop. Hardly anybody in 12 can afford anything in there. For the price of a few tiny beads of candy-coated chocolate, one could buy a small loaf of fresh bread down at the bakery. The luxury wasn't worth the coin. But the lack of shoppers made it a nice, quiet place to have to oneself.

I sit on the back stoop of the shop and take a bite out of one of my apples. The old shopkeeper didn't mind. She knew I only ever came here for one reason. And that reason is rounding the corner and making her way towards me. The old shopkeeper knew what love was once, and she couldn't shoo away a charming young man who wanted to see his girl in private sometimes, especially not on the day of a reaping.

"Leila!" I stand from my spot on the stoop and wait for her. She gives me a smile. There are only two good things about the reaping. First, everybody seems to look better. They all dress their best and at least run a comb through their hair, so you can almost pretend District 12 is actually much nicer than a coal-covered, poverty-stricken mining town. Second, everybody seems to appreciate and love each other a little more.

Leila looks beautiful. She usually does, but today she's got on one of her mother's old dresses, and her dark hair has been pinned up, leaving only a few strands to frame her face. And I don't know how I could love her more than I did before, but somehow, I do.

She reaches me and wastes no time throwing her arms around my neck, "Haymitch!" I hold her close to me and plant a kiss on her head. We let ourselves forget what day it is, where we are, what we're worried about, only when we're with each other like this. I love this girl so much, it's almost embarrassing. Almost.

But it really does feel embarrassing when I catch the old shopkeeper peering from between her curtains with a knowing grin, and I pull away from Leila. The woman gives me a wink before she shuts her curtains again. I shake my head and once she's gone, I bring my attention back to Leila, "You look beautiful."

She smiles again, "You clean up pretty good yourself."

I take the other apple in my pocket and hand it to her, "I can't offer you any chocolates, but they say fruit is nature's candy. Hopefully this will do."

We sit on the stoop and she takes a bite from the apple, savoring the taste, "It's so good. It's sweeter than any chocolate. Thank you." These apples are crisp and incredibly sweet. One of the only ways we get fresh fruit around here is if they are in season and someone is daring enough to go beyond the fence and harvest them. If not, they carry a high price at the grocer's and they are almost always bruised and bitter if they come from Capitol shipments. We eat in silence, allowing each other the peace to enjoy our delicacies without distraction. I toss the core, or what's left of it, under the stoop along with Leila's.

Leila says, "So, one more Games. And a Quell, at that." She takes my hand in both of hers, playing with my fingers, "Maybe it's just the double reaping this year, but I'm worried. For the both of us."

It hurts to hear her say this, and I want to go back to forgetting everything with her. I pull her close to me and we wrap our arms around each other as I kiss her. She tastes of autumn and apples.

She breaks the kiss and rests her head on my shoulder. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear and say, "Relax. There's no use getting worked up over this yet."

This doesn't seem to distract her from the inevitable reaping. She says, "I know. I've been doing a good job ignoring it lately, but I just can't do it anymore."

I sigh, "It'll be over soon. We just have to stick it out until the reaping is over."

She nuzzles closer to me, "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm just worried about me and you. Our families, our friends. Every possibility keeps coming to the front of my mind." She shifts her gaze and mutters, "What if it's me?" I hadn't really considered a scenario in which only Leila is chosen and I stay behind. I hadn't wanted to consider it. Would I volunteer for one of the male tributes, if only to stay by her side and help her survive? I'd like to think I would. I certainly love her enough. But at the same time, I doubt myself. For people like us, being reaped is equivalent to a death sentence. District 12 kids never win, and this year is no different. I just hope that I won't have to make that decision today.

Leila wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me out of my mind with the hint of a smirk, "I suppose I just need something to distract me."

I take her hint and laugh, shaking my head, "You know just what to say to drive me crazy." I lean in to kiss her and mutter against her lips, "I'll give you something distracting."

Leila's fingers run through my hair and she deepens the kiss. We wind up flat on the stoop, and I want to make her forget everything the way she makes me forget.

I hold myself over her and kiss her neck. She lets out the tiniest whimper that drives me wild. Her hands slide up and down my body and my hands do the same. And I hope she's forgetting, because suddenly, I can't.

The fear has sunken into me again, despite my efforts against it. I wanted to tell Leila I could protect her. I wanted to tell Elias he wouldn't be in the games because I would volunteer if he was chosen. I wanted to tell my mother she wouldn't lose both of her boys. But these Games, this Quell, render me powerless. I cannot protect Leila. If both my brother and I are selected, I cannot save him from the arena. If we are both in the arena, I don't know how long I could protect him for. If it came down to the two of us, I would rather kill myself than take his life. But chances are, we would both die, and I don't know how long my mother would want to last without us. There are too many possibilities and even knowing that the odds of any of them becoming a reality are low doesn't calm me down in the slightest. Not anymore.

But I hear a breathy moan from Leila that brings me back to the place where only she and I exist. I kiss her wherever I can find skin and she grazes her fingers over every part of me she can reach. She drags me out of reality and into a dream in which she is mine and I am hers, and nothing could force us to part. I kiss her neck again and feel her rapid pulse against my lips and I hope that it's not fear of the Games causing it. I want to be the one making her blood race right now. As if she had read my mind, she breathes out my name and I love the way she says it.

And then the bell sounds, announcing that the reaping will begin shortly. We stop and stare at each other for a moment, catching our breath. We get up and fix each other up so we don't look so disheveled. I brush her hair back behind her ear and say, "I love you, Leila. So much."

Leila, already holding back tears, says, "I love you too, Haymitch."

We take each other's hands and head towards the square in silence. Elias is waiting for me, leaning against the wall of the building opposite the decorated justice building. I give Leila's hand a squeeze before she goes to register herself and wait with the other 16 year old girls.

Elias smirks at me, "You're all red in the face. Been going at it again?"

I roll my eyes, "Shut up. Why don't you get a girl soon so I can make fun of you? Oh wait, I forgot that you wet yourself every time you ask a girl out."

Elias punches my arm, "Hey! That was in first grade! Let it go already."

I can't help but laugh at him as we go to register ourselves. When we're separated by age, I stand in the front of the group of sixteen year olds and Elias stands at the back of the fifteen year old group so that we can stand beside each other.

The reaping ceremony begins. The old mayor recites the history of Panem, as if the rebellion, the defeated districts and the resulting games haven't been drilled into our head enough over the years. He reads the list of past victors, although there is only one and she's not around anymore. The only thing different in this reaping is the mayor's somber reminder of the condition of the Quell. The ceremony is still as dull as it is every year, and the most excitement I can get out of it is trying to guess what color District 12's escort's hair is this year.

Someone claps me on the shoulder and says, "Haymitch! It's been too long!"

My buddy from school has found me in the crowd, "Hey there, Bailey. How was your holiday?"

He frowns, "It's been good, except I've hardly seen you since school started." He jokes, "Has Leila been keeping you all to herself? I don't really think that's fair."

I say, "Yeah, well, how about I make it up to you? We'll have a soccer match after school tomorrow with the guys. How's that sound?"

"Only if we aren't reaped!" His sense of humor has always been dark, and maybe it's inappropriate to make a joke like that at a time like this, but I end up laughing with him, more from nerves than actual humor.

The mayor interrupts our conversation when he announces the escort's entrance. Bailey says, "Listen, I've gotta get back. Ben's waiting for me." He gestures to the back of the group and I can just make out his brother waiting with the seventeen year old boys. "Good luck, man."

"You too." He weaves his way through the crowd and I turn my attention back to the justice building.

The escort marches across the stage with her sky blue hair and enormous false eyelashes that I can see fluttering even from where I stand. The mayor introduces her as Valera Martella. She takes the microphone and announces the games with relish, recounting the significance of the Quell. She chatters on for a while before the dreaded moment arrives. She trills into the mic, "Ladies first!"

I run my thumb along the ridges in the wooden coin in my pocket and Elias gives my shoulder a squeeze as the first name is pulled. Valera calls out, "Amara Tippins!" I don't know who the girl is, but I'm relieved it's not Leila. I feel guilty, though, when the girl turns out to be only 12 or 13 years old. The second name is being drawn and I feel even more panicked. Not Leila. Not Leila. Luckily, her name is not called. A girl who looks like she could be from the Seam tears herself away from her friends who are both definitely the daughters of merchants. I don't know her personally, but we shared a few classes over the years in school and she seems familiar.

I wish I could be a bit more upset for the female tributes, but I'm just happy Leila hadn't been chosen. The thought terrifies me more than I'd like to admit, but I'm glad to know it's not happening this year. I smile at Leila who stares back at me with worry. It's her turn to hope my name won't be called.

Valera mentions what an honor it is for the girls to participate in the games before she reaches her hand into the ball filled with slips of paper with the boys' names on them. My heart races again. It races for me, for Elias, for my mother, for Leila. This time, I clasp Elias' shoulder, hoping to give him a feeling of support, even though I feel like I may be holding onto him so that I don't stumble. The escort unfolds the slip of paper and announces some other boy's name. Relief. I look and notice how many slips of paper remain. I had signed up for tesserae a few times, but who hasn't? Sure, my odds were up, but they weren't higher than anybody else's.

The escort reaches for the second name. I grip Elias' shoulder tighter and look over at Leila, trying to reassure her with a look. The odds aren't in my favor, and I tried to communicate this to her from across the square.

I don't even realize what's going on when Elias throws himself at me, gripping me as tightly as he can, screaming into my chest. Valera calls for what sounds like a second time, "Haymitch Abernathy? Would you please come up to the platform?"