Okay, so, here's the deal with this thing. My friend and I are creating a Hunger Games story together. It's going to be on both our accounts, but all the chapters will be on both stories. She (Icepath-Snowwing) will write from the POV of Ari, a District 4 tribute, and I will write from the POV of Etolia, a sixteen year old from District 5. All odd chapters are hers, mine are the even ones (2, 4, 6, 8, etc.)

A/N Hi there! This is my first Hunger Games story, and second story on here. I will be writing in Ariella's POV and my friend will be writing Etolia's POV. I will take all the odd chapters and she will take all the evens.

Enjoy and review, please!

Song Quote:

"I should've said no

I should've gone home

Should've thought twice 'fore I let it all go"

From "Should've Said No" by Taylor Swift. It's the kind of thing Ari would say to herself at the end.

DISCLAIMER: We are not Suzanne Collins. Note the WE.

I'm sixteen now, and I don't understand why my mother still lays out my clothes for each day every day. She knows that I don't choose to wear them. I always deliberately wear something completely opposite of what she chose. For instance, yesterday she had laid out a gorgeous medium-length yellow dress for me. I chose to wear a black jean skirt and a white tank top. The day before that, she had laid out a light pink skirt and white blouse. I went out of the house that day in light blue shorts and a grey top. And the day before that day, well, you get the point.

Every single day of my life, my mother has been overprotective and doesn't want me to try anything dangerous or wear anything too revealing or even something too boyish. And if I remember correctly, my aunt used to tell me that she would be one of the most daring girls. She tended to wear things on the slightly revealing side. And she would occasionally put on some trousers or a sweatshirt. Of course, that was back when she was my age. So she obviously has changed since then since she always wears something feminine, she's always incredibly cautious, and she always covers up. I just don't understand.

ooOoo

The bow tightens on my dress. "There you go! You look beautiful, Ella." My mother steps back and smiles fondly at me, clasping her hands together. "And it goes well with those pretty eyes of yours." She twirls me around and the bright blue silk flows around my knees.

"Complimenting your own work? Why, you're humble," I say sarcastically. "And it doesn't even look that great." Liar, my mind tells me. And my mind is correct. The dress really is beautiful. I just can't bring myself to tell her. Second of all, I hate it when people comment on my "pretty eyes." They call it pretty, but I would call them some of the ugliest I've ever seen. Third, Ella is the worst name you could possibly call someone. It's yucky and gross and… well, that just basically sums it all up.

I keep my mouth in a straight line, trying not to smile at the image looking back at me in the mirror. My mother takes my supposed silence the wrong way. "Oh, Ella, don't worry. A young man is bound to sweep you off your feet one day." She looks concerned for me, but I try to ignore her.

My mother looks at herself in the mirror and fiddles with the beaded clasp in her wavy brown hair. "Well now that you're all dolled-up and beautiful, I guess I should fix my hair. It doesn't seem quite right…"

After she leaves the room, I look down the hallway before muttering, "Your stupid hair never looks good." Liar, my mind says again. And it's right. Again. Her hair always seems to lie perfectly in her long, chocolate tresses. In fact, I'm jealous. I got my hair from my dad. It's a sandy blonde-ish brown color, and it is too thin. I am the image of a typical District 4 girl. The sandy blonde hair, green eyes, freckles, slightly tanned complexion. Luckily I'm not called freckle-face at school. That goes to another girl. It probably isn't the nicest thing to say, but I don't plan to get on anyone's bad side. Not really. Maybe my parents. That'd be a change for once. Hmm… there's a good idea forming.

I stare into the mirror and look at my eyes. My ugly, murky green eyes. I receive compliments on my eyes a lot. There has even been someone who has said that they look like pretty grassy meadows. The kind that are perfect and in your dreams. But it's stupid. Because if anyone would look at them now, they're green and brown. The color of grass and mud stains on someone's jeans. Gross.

"Ariella Sarai Pebblestep," my father calls up the stairs "Hurry up!" I take one last fleeting look at my hair and rush out to the porch.

When I appear, my father looks me up and down. He chuckles. "That's a marvelous dress you've got there. It really brings out your pretty eyes." I grimace at his words and bite back a sharp retort. "I wonder what beautiful seamstress made you that dress."

Obviously it's my mother. Duh! Of course, I don't say that. I want them to be surprised with my… surprise, for the lack of a better word.

"You ready to go?" my father asks.

I smirk. Every year we go to the reaping together. Always. We have never broken this tradition. Well, there's always a first. "Actually, I'm going with Lina." I barge past him and for once in my life, I don't ask for permission. I don't even ask for him to step aside as I push past. I don't let him hug me and say goodbye. It's all part of my plan. My wonderful, perfect plan. As I run to the poorer side of town, I look back to see my father's shadow in the doorway. He's probably more shocked than angry, which is okay by me. His perfect daughter is now gone. Too bad for him. Not that I care.

ooOoo

"Ari! I didn't expect you at all! I thought you were going with your parents to the reaping like usual!" Lina's mother beams and strides up to me. She touches my dress. "I see your mother used high quality silk. She must be doing well in her business."

I nod politely. "It's probably because of the reaping outfits people want."

She completely understands and nods. "Yes, my business has been picking up, but I expect it'll drop soon." She looks at me closely and I guess she can tell that I want to see my best friend. "Lina's upstairs if you want to see her. She's putting the finishing touches on her makeup. Apparently she didn't like what I did very much."

My mother and Lina's mom are both seamstresses and considered the best. However, my mother usually gets customers from the rich side and Lina's mother gets them from the poorer side. But that's how Lina and I met, even though most rich people don't interact with the poorer side of District 4.

I first look into Lina's room and I almost laugh out loud to see it covered in bright pink. Her walls are pink. Her bed is pink. Even the frame of the door is pink. Her parents believe that she loves pink, which is totally off. In fact, she hates pink. I gaze around the room to see that it's a mess like normal. There are clothes everywhere and a tornado of papers spread out on her pink desk. When I come back here, I'll make sure she learns to clean her room. And make her bed. And organize her papers. But that's beside the point.

I look away and amble to the bathroom. When I arrive, I can't help but giggle at the ridiculous sight of Lina wearing her least favorite color: hot pink. Normally I like the color, but seeing it on her just made my eyes hurt for some reason.

Lina jumps when I enter, a smear of blue eye shadow dashing across her cheek. "Ugh! Why do you always have to come in at the wrong time?" If I didn't know Lina, I would've backed off. But I do know her and she's being a little bit teasing. But she's also concerned. Lina takes a cloth and rubs her cheek to get rid of the smear. She turns to me. "So what are you doing here?"

I give her a weird look. She has heavy blue eye shadow on one lid and almost nothing on the other.

Lina sighs and turns back to the mirror. "Yeah. My mother did my makeup and you know how she thinks it's got to be all heavy." She waves the cloth around dramatically. In a way, she looks like some deranged squirrel with makeup on. And a bright pink dress. "She knows I don't like wearing makeup, but she does it anyways. I guess I have to look my best if I plan on volunteering." She sighs heavily again.

"Want me to do it?" I offer. She shrugs and I walk over to help her out. "I'll try to hurry but make it look nice. We need to be in the square soon or else that poufy-haired peacekeeper lady will start yelling at us again." We giggle as we recall last year's reapings.

I apply a light line of blue eye shadow on each lid after rubbing everything off. "You know what you remind me of?" I brush some blush along her cheekbones.

"What? A ballerina?"

I laugh. "Not even close. I think of a berserk squirrel."

She looks at me quizzically. "How?"

I shrug before she bursts out laughing. Luckily, I wasn't putting anything on her. "You mean like the chipmunk in the story Ergal told my class?"

I hesitate before remembering. A boy in her class was trying to get out of taking a history test and had exclaimed that there was a crazy chipmunk wearing a pink tutu waltzing outside. Of course, everyone ran out there to see what was going on. The teacher kept Ergal inside and asked what he had just said. The teacher strode up to the window, looked outside, and wasn't in the best mood. There was no chipmunk "disco-ing" outside as Ergal had reiterated his story incorrectly. Now I can see why Lina's laughing so hard.

We giggle uncontrollably until someone comes in behind us. "You know your hair looks terrible." We stop immediately even though a smile tugs on our lips. "Seriously. It looks like a birds nest."

Misa, Lina's younger 16-year-old stepsister, strides into the bathroom, picks up a brush, and starts to untangle her hair. She looks at us. "Are you going to fix it?" she asks incredulously, gesturing with the hairbrush.

We stare at her before she rolls her eyes and walks out of the bathroom. Lina looks in the mirror, concerned. "Does it really look bad?" She pats at the curls on her head.

I shrug. "It looks fine. I don't know what Misa's talking about." She glances at me before staring back into the mirror and sighing.

"Can you do anything else for it?"

I pause. "Do you have any extra fabric from this dress?"

Lina nods. She runs out of the restroom and brings back a ribbon. "My mother decided not to use it." She's about to hand it to me when she pulls back. "You're not adding more pink to my crazy outfit, are you?"

I snatch it out of her hands. "It's for your own good," I mutter as I tie her hair into a curled ponytail. I sigh as I pull my fingers through her soft, silky, golden hair. It's so attractive that I'm jealous. I'm also envious of her blue eyes which she inherited from her mother. They're so pretty. "There. All done. Let's go." I push her out the door before she can take a look at herself.

"Wait! Do I look okay? I can't volunteer this way!" Lina tries to go back in but trips on the heels she's wearing. "Oh, these stupid heels. I'd use my flats, but my mom said I have to wear these 'cause they were expensive."

"You look fine. But it might be best to try next year since you'll need to wear flats in order to run up to the stage in time." I look under her bed and see some golden flats. "Hey, can I borrow these?"

She glances at me and shrugs. "Sure."

I pull off my blue high heels and slip on the pretty flats. After we're finished fumbling around, we run down the stairs, out the door, and to the square together.

ooOoo

"Hey," a peacekeeper yells at us, "Go sign in!"

Lina and I roll our eyes together. It's my fourth year and Lina's fifth. Of course we know to sign in.

We barely make it to our respective groups (Lina in the 17 year old section and I in the 16 year old section) before our escort, Tillie Ash, pulls out the piece of paper for the "ladies." Oops. I guess we missed the beginning of the whole thing. But hey, at least we don't have to stand here listening to the whole boring speeches about why the Hunger Games take place.

I close my eyes, breathing in the salty air, wishing it was me, but it's not. It never is. Still, I'm standing on the tip of my toes, just waiting for our bothersome escort to ask for volunteers. I need to be prepared because I'm going to make history.

Time seems to go slower. I wait, and wait. Finally I know she's about to ask for volunteers. "I volunteer," I scream. Quickly, I dash up to the stage and give my name to Tillie. As Tillie announces my name and the other volunteer's name, time slows down once again. I can hear that my heart is beating loudly. I can feel sweat starting to form on my brow. Tears start to roll as I see what I love flash by. I know my parents can tick me off, but I love them. I really do. I love Lina. I can always depend on her. She's awesome, even though we disagree about the Hunger Games. I hate them. She loves them. I also love our neighbors. Sometimes they are vexing, but I love District 4. They're great. It's my home.

But I am a Career. I am from District 4. I know how to use and fight with daggers and knives. I can last…for a few moments. So why did I volunteer if I'll probably lose everything and everyone?

A/N I hope you liked it!