I had always known I was destined for more than the simple unadorned life of District 1. The other workers thought they had the good life, comparing themselves to other, less favored districts. But I compared myself to the people of the Capitol, and the only way I could get what they had was to take a risk. Volunteer for the Hunger Games. I had thought long and hard about this, and my chances were good. I would have no trouble getting sponsors, thanks to my good (great) looks. And sponsors made the difference between life and death in the arena, mediocrity and stardom. I wasn't exactly unprepared either. Panem would soon know my name. Glimmer.
Don't get my wrong, I didn't have a hard life by any means. Fawning boys, full stomach, fawning boys... but it wasn't enough. I wanted to be known by the Capital, by all the districts, by everyone. I wanted to be like the other victors, with no duties or chores or responsibilities. I knew what I wanted, and I planned my life accordingly. My parents dying was a huge stroke of luck. My mother died from complications in childbirth, and my father from depression six months later. I never knew them, so I didn't miss or want them, and this left me in the Community Home where the children existed exclusively to win the Hunger Games. According to the rules of the Capitol, this wasn't strictly legal. But it made the Hunger Games much more interesting when someone actually knew how to use the weapons they provided. Otherwise, the tributes would just stand around, waiting for each other to starve. And how boring would that be? Anyway, we were trained from the minute we entered, which for me was practically since birth. I knew how to kill a tribute with my bare hands in nine different ways. But most of all, I practiced flirting. Playing with boys, making their desires mine. I must admit, it was fun, but it also helped me prepare for the arena, the interview, the training sessions, everything. The other girls didn't exactly appreciate the way the boys sighed over me, but it was a small price to pay. I was ready to win.
Now, on my last eligible reaping day, I am ready. The other girls won't volunteer too enthusiastically if they know what's good for them. Only one volunteer would be suspicious, after all, we are District 1, but the Community Home has it all figured out. All year, the matrons of the community home evaluated us on our chances of surviving the Hunger games, and the girl and boy who had the best chances were instructed to volunteer. The rest of the boys and girls had to pretend to volunteer so the other districts won't be suspicious. Tessera didn't affect things, for the few who took it, the Community home children could be depended on to volunteer. This was for the benefit of the Capitol and District 1, and win-win situation (except for the other districts, but who cared about them anyway?). And now, at long last, I was judged the best the Community Home had to offer. Now all that remained was the reaping.
The reaping always took place in the square in the center of District 1. It was a beautiful place, with exquisite shops and large perfectly landscaped homes. I took it all for granted, for I had lived there all my life. Our many past victors sat on an enlarged platform, while the mentors for this year sat in the places of honor. The two mentors were similar in looks, muscle from long ago training slowly turning into fat, wrinkles forming around the eyes and mouth. They were both victors through brute strength, but you could barely tell now. I didn't expect them to be much help. The other victors varied from fresh out of the Hunger Games to the elderly from Hunger Games past. The escort, the best in his field, sat beside them. Everyone wanted to escort District 1. His name was Quentin Pearlman, and he had already discussed my strategy with me. The mayor, an older man with thinning black hair, began, as always, with the history of Panem. I checked the clock on the building behind him, surely he didn't always take this long? The crowd could practically recite it along with him. I recited my initial strategy in my head- glances at the camera from the corners of my eyes, winks, primping, etc. Can't start too early. My male counterpart, the pre- determined winner from the boys, had a much different strategy. His name escaped me at the moment, but he filled the part of tribute to a pin. Almost 6 foot, with enough muscle for three of him, his strategy was much simpler. Look threatening. It was easy enough for him to pull off. Now the mayor was moving on the listing our (District 1's) victors, no less than 17. It was little wonder the other districts resented us. Finally, his speech wound down, and Quentin, with great ceremony, pulled out the girl's name. Slowly unfolding it, he read the name into the microphone: Pearl Goldstein. The girl of that name stepped forward hesitantly- she was no one I knew or recognized, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going anywhere.