I hear the call for the fishermen that goes off every morning at four thirty. Reaping day is never exempt. The fishers—including my brother and my father (who don't fish anymore)—seem to find a way every year to sleep through it; although, my mother and I always wake up and lay in our beds waiting until it stops. I hear the annoying foghorn-sounding call go off for five minutes until I can nestle into my bed and fall asleep again.

Before my brother—Finnick Odair—won the Hunger Games, I would help him and my father pack before they went and fished. I would pack their lunches with my mother and by then it would be time for school. My mother and I still work at the shop we own in town, even though we have enough money to sell the business and just live.

Reaping Day the year Finnick was called was devastating.

I am standing on the sidelines with my parents because I am only ten. We wait in anticipation as our Districts escort—Cecily Poltoon—reads off the girl Tribute's name: Vonnie Dart. I am relieved that it isn't someone I know. But then the boy Tribute's name is read. It feels like the whole gathering holds their breath, my family especially.

Finnick Odair

My mother weeps. My father has a blank look on his face. I start screaming and crying. Finnick—now up on the stage—looks down at me, and a single tear crawls down his face as he wiggles his fingers at me, a quivering smile on his face as if to say, Everything will be alright.

We make our way into the Justice building. My father strokes my hair as I clutch onto his shirt. We reach the room Finnick is in, and I immediately run and cling onto him. He whispers in my ear, "Everything's gonna be alright, Philippi, I'm gonna win just for you," tears choke his words. "Take care of Mommy and Daddy for me, okay. Everything's gonna be okay." He repeats this last sentence quietly as he strokes my hair like my father did. There is a wet stain where my salty tears hit his shirt from me laying my head on his chest. My father and mother stand quietly back a few feet, crying. My father's arm is wrapped around my mother's waist, my mother is crying on my father's shoulder. Finnick signals for them to come over.

"Mother, Father, I know this is bad, but I'm gonna try my hardest. I know I'm gonna win. There's no need to be worried."

"We have every right to be worried," mymother says. "We're your parents."

I am still on Finnick's lap.

The Peacekeepers come in and have to pry my screaming body from Finnick. He wiggles his fingers in a wave, the tears waterfalling down his cheeks.

ΔΔΔ

Now is the seventieth Hunger Games, two years later. My family and I are standing on the stage. Finnick is to be the mentor for the new Tributes. Cecily is up there as well, pulling the girl Tribute's name from the bowl. I glance around the gathering, wondering who it will be. Cecily reads the name.

Philippi Odair.

What? It can't be! Finnick won the Hunger Games two years ago! I should be exempt from the Reaping. I glance at Finnick; there is a look of pure terror in his eyes. My mother starts crying, my father has that same blank look he had two years ago when Finnick was called.

The crowd chatters. Even Cecily rereads and rereads the slip of paper, not believing what she sees. But I know that there is no mistake. What blows my mind is that my name is called, and it's not the Quarter Quell. I could understand if it was the Quarter Quell, but, it isn't. Our mayor rushes inside the Justice Building to make a call to the Capitol. He rushes back out five minutes later.

"It's true," he mutters into a microphone. "The Tribute is Philippi Odair. President Snow said that her name being placed in the bowl was no mistake."

That sends a new wave of sobs into my mother. I robotically step forward, every step threatening to make me fall over. My eyes are wide. I look back at Finnick, and he looks shocked. His body is rigid, his eyes cloudy with forming tears.

"And now!" Cecily Poltoon screams into the mic with renewed excitement as if nothing ever happened but the usual. "The boy Tribute is…Kiefer Hart!" Kiefer Hart is a sixteen-year-old. His muscles are toned from hauling in nets. He smiles softly at me. He pities me, for I am only twelve. I know I have no chance to win. I know the Careers from One, Two, and Three have a better chance, but I know that I have to try.

I'm shaking violently in the Justice building. My family enters. I grasp Finnick like I did two years ago, making a stain of tears in the exact same spot on his chest. He utters the same, "It's gonna be alright," in my ear, stroking my hair, adding, "I know you're gonna win. You can fish; you know how to survive in the wild. Remember? I taught you three years ago when we snuck in the woods. You're handy with weapons. I remember Daddy showing you when he went through his heavy-duty fishing gear for the big fish. I remember you waiting until he left, and you told me to watch you when you tried it out for yourself. You were a natural. You handled those tools like you had been using them for years. You're also smart. I've seen your quick wit and instinct when the boys from school chased you and tried to attack you, and I couldn't help you because they pinned me down. You fended them off. You. Are. Going. To. Win. I know it." Tears choke these words, too, but I believe every one of them. My mother smiled slightly when she heard these words, my dad did also. The Peacekeepers come, and once again have to pry me off of my brother. One looks at me with sympathy, he thinks that I have no chance. I know better.