I was woken by the sound of my mother screaming at my brothers. Not an unusual sound other than the fact that her screams were usually directed at me, the youngest. I arose from the cot I slept on and threw on an apron. It wasn't worth it to actually get dressed; I wouldn't be wearing the clothes for that long.

Today was the day of the Reaping. The day where they chose which boy and which girl from our district would get sent to the capitol as a sacrificial offering.

I suppose I shouldn't put it like that. It isn't an offering but it may as well be. They send one boy and one girl from each of the 12 districts to fight to the death in an event they call The Hunger Games. District 12 is poor and starving, it isn't like we ever stand a chance, so if your name is chosen from that bowl, you know you know you're going to die. It's just instant knowledge. Some people in the town actually bet against our own children hoping to make a little extra money.

It was amazing how busy the bakery was on reaping day. Parents trying to eat their fears and planning celebrations for when their children weren't (they hoped) chosen streamed in and out of the bakery. It was a miracle my mother had even let me sleep that long. I'd like to think it was because she felt bad that I put my name in extra times to get us extra food, but in reality it was probably because she just didn't want me to be in the way.

I walked down the creaky stairs from our upstairs apartment down to the kitchen. The second I got down, my mother grabbed my arm, "Peeta Mellark, today is not a morning to be sleeping in. I need these cakes frosted and decorated immediately."

She dragged me in front of a row of 6 or 7 cakes waiting to be decorated, which happened to be one of my very few acknowledged talents by my mother. Even she accepted the fact that I decorated cakes better than anyone in our family.

I got to work without saying a word to her or anyone else in the kitchen. My older brothers were working nearby but we didn't speak. Clark was finally old enough that he didn't have to worry about the Reaping for himself so he was carefree as always and Gavin was on his last year but not entered nearly as many times as me. He was "needed" in the bakery. And I, according to my mother, could be replaced.

The one person in my family that I actually talked to was my father. He was working the front counter and I could see him above the racks of bread. I heard, rather than saw him, talking to a familiar deep voice. Gale Hawthorne. He was from the Seam, the poorest part of District 12, where all the coal miners and their families lived. As far as I knew, Gale was a decent guy. He looked very much like any other Seam child. Black hair, olive skin, but he had these grey eyes that I had only seen in one other face before. All the girls would whisper when he walked by, even from the Seam he was a heartthrob. I knew he took care of his family single-handedly, so we saw quite a bit of him trading things he hunted for bread. This morning was no exception as I could hear him trying to make a deal with my father, who kept looking back to make sure my mother wasn't watching. That's how I knew he was giving Gale a huge break.

Sure enough, he came in the back a moment later to grab one of the fresh loaves were still warm and whispered to me, "If your mother asks, he paid for that bread with the squirrel and money."

"You're giving it to him for just a squirrel?" I asked, hardly surprised.

My father looked down at the ground, "It's the day of the Reaping. Everyone deserves to have a full stomach on a day like today."

He walked back to the front. I heard Gale thank him and my father wish him luck softly, still glancing over his shoulder to make sure my mother wasn't paying attention.

I went quietly back to work decorating the cakes until my mother grabbed the frosting from me, "Go get dressed. You can't go into the square for the Reaping looking like you just rolled out of bed. Go."

I cringed at my mother's harsh words but both Gavin and I walked back up the stairs. "You scared?" he questioned rather tauntingly.

"No." I responded harshly.

My brother shrugged it off showing my harsh tone had absolutely no effect on him. I changed my clothes and started to comb through my blond hair that I let hang nearly over my eyes. Gavin stood there and watched me for a few moments, before I finally looked up at him with a questioning glance.

"I'm sorry mom made you put your name in more times."

I shrugged, "It's no big deal."

"No. It is. She shouldn't have done that. Or said the things she did. I know it's always been like that, but…I'm still sorry."

I stood up from the chair I was seated in, brushing anything off of the slacks I was wearing, "It's really nothing. I'm sure neither of us will have to worry about it."

Gavin nodded. That was probably the most civil conversation my brother and I had ever had, and it would probably be the last. We both walked down the stairs and helped our father cover the windows and lock the shop. Then we all headed to the public square to attend the required Reaping, just like every year before.