Wrong Crowd

Author's Note: This is my first actual fan fiction, so please go a little easy on me! However I'm completely open to your constructive criticism, I just want to get better at writing.

If you're reading this for the first time (or coming back of course), I am beginning the slow task of going through this whole story and updating all the chapters so that they are to a good quality. I felt I improved my writing technique while doing this story, so I want to bring everything up to standard.

As with all Hunger Games fanfiction, the setting and most of the characters belong to Suzanne Collins, but I own the differences in the plotline. As you'll find out, some characters are not present (e.g. Katniss and Peeta), and some of them (e.g. Grey) I have made up belong to me.

Chapter One: Oceans and Volunteers

Grey's POV

There's something decidedly special about going to the ocean and watching the sunrise. I can't explain the rush of calm I get when I see the waves and feel the salt spray on my face, it's almost as if my heartbeat manages to slow down to the gentle currents of the water. In… and out… I couldn't imagine ever living in a district where the only water they see is the preservative-filled liquid coming out of pipes. When I walk along the beach in the morning, sometimes I ponder how other districts could possibly survive without the feeling, as if everything else fades into significance. But usually the thought disappears as soon as it arrives; the Capitol doesn't want you to think about the other districts, or what is on the other side of the border fence.

Communication between districts means comradery, and comradery between districts leads to rebellion. Hunger Games.

Reaping Day. The day when mothers hold their of-age children close as they run around doing errands, as if this period could make up for years of neglect as they did the same to the older siblings, the ones at risk at the time.

On a day like today, there isn't anywhere that I would rather be except on the beach. Everyone else is with their families or waiting by the Justice Centre, where there's a feeling of solemn pride in the air as we both mourn and celebrate the beginning of the Hunger Games for the year. The feeling always seems to get stuck in my clothes, staying with me for months.

I'm just about to finish my round of the coastline when I hear someone on the dock calling out to me, waving their arms as they begin to jog over to where I am standing.

"Grey, I've been looking all over for you! We have to go!" I raise my eyebrow lazily at my best friend Titus, the tall, well-built figure who is coming to a stop in front of me.

"I know, do you think I forgot that the reaping was this morning? I've had 16 years of experience going to this silly ceremony." I retort back, beginning to trudge through the sand towards the town centre with less gusto than what I had started with.

Titus runs up to me and yanks me by the shoulder, but I let my upper body swing, overbalancing him so I am able to break free from his hold.

"What's with you today? You know you can't say things like that here; this whole town is being constantly monitored! Don't you remember the punishments you can get for rebellious behaviour?"

"Of course I do," I reply with gritted teeth, my eyes looking directly forward and not making eye contact with Titus, "A warning, an arrest, torture, special entry into the Hunger Games. But guess what Titus; I'd be bringing pride to my district by being a tribute. That's your motto, isn't it?"

I hear Titus growl from behind me in anger, but he deserves it. Just because he's 18 and I'm a year younger, he's decided that I'm the one that needs protecting. I can't fight, I can't do anything; I'm just a little girl. Most days, his gentle nudge towards a moral decision is fine, but on reaping day, when I suddenly become 13 years old again, it irritates me to no end.

Titus has been my best friend since I was 7 years old. Built strong and tough even from the start, the black haired teenager had been an instant favourite in the eyes of the trainers. Not like me, the lanky teenage girl that only trained when she wasn't busy and really put no effort in whatsoever. Now here we are, Titus in his last year, a contender for tribute, and me, 17 years old and nearly of marrying age. What a pair we made.

Although District 4 is a career district, there are many levels of how prepared our children are for the games. As most of our tributes are some form of volunteer, whether directly at the reaping or an applied for place (quells are usually so popular that there has to be competitions within the district for volunteering rights), no one ever sees the unprepared tributes, they barely make it out of the crowd when their names are called out. Titus was at the top of the pyramid: strong, skilled, prepared. I however was at the bottom with a small amount of weapons training and game theory, which I had done so I was at least a level above incompetence.

Neither of us make an attempt to start a conversation as we lose sight of the beach and come into the large clearing in front of the Justice Center, where most of the town is already getting assembled and workers are making final adjustments to the stage, but Titus pats me lightly on the back comfortingly as we move away from each other.

I drift towards the female sign in desk without thinking, knowing the routine perfectly after three years of repeating the process myself. Instead my eyes move over the cluster of people and land on the stage, where the two reaping pools are already standing proudly in the center, just waiting to change somebody's life forever. Their now very short life forever.

My finger is pricked for identification before it even registers in my brain that I am standing at the front of the line, and I press the drop of blood onto the logging book before the woman at the counter can direct me. Walking away after hearing the "Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favour" speech, I pass the next person in the line, a young girl that looks to be in her first year, and offer a smile. The younger children always look frightened; even though there are far too many safety nets in this district for them to be picked and not replaced. It was extraordinarily rare for no one at all to volunteer, but I remember clearly the year no one did. A boy had screamed as Peacekeepers picked him up and took him to the stage, pleading for somebody to volunteer and take his place. Maybe his screams put everyone else off, because the district had never been so quiet. The mayor had looked away with disinterest, pretending that he couldn't hear the sounds of a boy going to his death. The tribute had died in the bloodbath.

"Grey!" I hear someone calling my name and I turn just as my friends from class bowl into me. I recognise Terra first: she's wearing a dress that has a low cut much too inappropriate for the situation, but she looks so cheerful and innocent that I don't mention it. She helped me pick out my own dress, after all, a short blue strapless number with a black ribbon around the waist and a black piece of patterned lace covering the lower half.

I follow my friends into the section where we are expected to stand, and they lead me right to the edge of the roped off area. We end up standing in the corner between the male and female sections, and I peer over the other side where the young men getting ready to volunteer are standing at the front looking ready to burst from excitement and testosterone. I can't see Titus, but I know he's somewhere there, at the front so he can easily make his way up to the stage.

"Oh my Panem, I know!" Terra suddenly squeals beside me, jumping and pointing at a dark haired man standing close to us. His eyes flick towards our disturbance momentarily and he winks at us.

"What?" I ask, trying to get into the conversation. Today really wasn't turning out to be my day, I seemed to be annoying everyone.

"Spens," She whispers excitedly, "Isn't he just dreamy?" I poke my head out of the crowd again to look at said boy, who doesn't notice the attention this time.

This is his last year to volunteer, and I knew he was itching to go; I had overheard Spens and Titus arguing about it one day. I had absolutely no interest for Spens. He had a cruel smirk and a curved nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times. I had also seen him train a few times, I respected his skill but the power he possessed that drew the other girls in drove me away.

"Oh Grey, you're such a worry wort!" Terra chirps after she realises that I'm not going to reply.

"Sorry, I'm not really feeling myself today." I reply glumly, thinking back to Titus and wondering whether he'll be upset at me from before.

"I know," She says, wrapping one arm around me in a relatively comforting fashion, "But you aren't going to get picked; there are thousands of girls in District 4! And don't you worry, everything will turn out. You'll have one more year to get through of reaping and then you can get married! I'm sure you will be the first, you're obviously the prettiest."

I sigh, wow I can get married. If that was supposed to make me happy; it was a depressing attempt. The fact that Terra had once again mentioned my looks also bothered me. Couldn't she give it a rest for minute? Disgustingly obsessed with how everyone else looked, Terra constantly poured over my hair and appearance, crooning about how she wanted to look like me so the men of the district would take notice of her too. I only stood out because I looked different. District 4 was known for brown or black hair, and I was the odd one out with my blonde locks.

Before the cruel girls at my school knew that whatever they said wouldn't get to me, it had been normal to hear whispers of my mother sleeping around with Capitol men behind my father's back. I feel a hand being placed comfortingly on my shoulder and I turn my head and see Eunia, a girl I had only spoken to a couple of times giving me a kind smile. With my comical friends trying to woo soon-to-be tributes, and Titus actually celebrating this event, she seemed to be the only one that actually understood the seriousness of the event. Two teenagers would leave the district to fight to the death, and if we were lucky, one would come back. I smile back at Eunia, and then I turn to face the stage when the Panem anthem begins and our district escort comes tottering out in her heels.

Our escort takes to the stage and babbles out a speech about being so proud that our district is going to be represented, blah blah blah. I suppose I was meant to listen and nod compassionately, but I stuck with just compassionately nodding instead. I'd heard this speech many times before, even as a toddler my parents would take me to watch the annual procession. I looked around now for my parents, but I knew that they weren't going to be in the crowd this year. After my father got a fancy job in the Capitol and moved there permanently, the family broke apart.

Getting offered a job in another district, especially a higher one, was unheard of and in my father's words it was, "too good an opportunity to miss." When he first announced the news to me I thought it was an amazing idea, we could all go to the Capitol and live as one happy family. Funny how life turns out. My mother became strangely distant in his absence, and she spent a lot of her time obsessively cleaning, leaving me to cook and look after myself in a house that felt like it was empty even if it wasn't.

"Grey? Dear, are you here?" Hang on. I'd missed the drawing of the girl tribute, so why were they calling my name? Oh. OH. That's an interesting turn of events, no wonder I've been feeling weird all day. I brush any remaining sand particles off my dress as the district falls into silence and I stand up straight as I make my way out of the crowd. I feel some friends try to grab me, and I even hear the beginning of an "I volunteer" but I turn and shut Terra up with my expression. She's even less prepared than I am, why let her waste her life?

My short walk to the stage feels like it is occurring underwater, everything the escort is saying sounds odd and far away. I speak my name and district into the microphone, knowing in the corner of my mind that soon the rest of Panem will be seeing a montage of all the tributes introducing themselves. I continue to stand stock still on the stage as the escort, what was her name, calls out the boy tribute. I catch Titus' gaze in the audience, and I shake my head at my friend with his mouth wide open in shock and horror. I know he wants to volunteer twice as much now, but my status as tribute ruins his plan. Only one person will come out of the 74th Hunger Games, and if I tried hard enough it might just be me, but I would never fight against Titus.

"I volunteer!" For a second I think that Titus had gone completely against my wishes and volunteered, but I realised that it is Spens who is making his way up the steps towards me. He has his signature sneer on his face when he makes eye contact with me, but it instantly turns into a bright flirtatious smile when he looks towards the camera.

"I'm Spens, District 4." He purrs, and I just know I hear Terra swoon. Well, if I died in the arena, she could have him. Lucky her.