He expected it to be easy. To volunteer, to kill, and to be named victor. He thought his score would be best and sponsors would line up behind him. He knew his odds were great. But he didn't expect her. He didn't think one girl could change everything he had ever been taught. He didn't know she would flip his world upside down when he so desperately needed it to stay right side up.

Chapter 1 - Cato

I woke up well before dawns golden fingers touched the horizon, not being able to stand the gruesome imagines I was being shown in my sleep. The brutal deaths involved in the Hunger Games past danced across my closed eye lids, threatening to break the fragile resolve I had created, the one convincing myself that I was strong enough to win this year. A familiar sneer played with my lips as a harsh, almost threatening laugh escaped my mouth. Of course I was going to win. I'm Cato after all, I thought to myself, and losing just isn't in my nature.

I hop out of bed and grab a towel that our house maid must have left for me and head to the bathroom that branches off of my room to take a shower. My house is huge, of course it is, because I live in the Victor Village of District 2. My father, at the age of 16, won the 49th Hunger Games. Still, I haven't been home in years. From the age of 6 to just last summer, I've spent all of my time training at the Academy. Now, after years of preparing to bring my district honor, it's finally my time.

After my shower I dress in Khakis and a blue button down top. I examine myself in the mirror over my sink and watch as a cocky smile plays with my lips. God Cato, you're one hot guy. I make myself laugh out loud once more, even though I haven't made a joke. I really am good looking.

I'm startled as sharp knuckles bang on my bedroom door.

"What?" I bark in reply.

Arum, my older brother, walks in. Arum is 19 years old and a complete failure in my eyes. Like me, he spent many years at the Academy training to be a victor, but he watched his chances come and go. He never, not once, even considered volunteering for our district. Instead, Arum now is training to be a peace keeper. I'm not even sure why he's here. Mom and dad don't allow him inside the house anymore, not after last year when he chose to not volunteer again.

"You scared Cat?" Arum mocks, using my childhood nickname that I've long since stopped replying to.

"What the hell are you doing here Arum? Get out."

"Oh come on now Cat. You don't have to be so mean. You'll make me cry." Arum laughs a familiar laugh, one that tells me that I don't intimidate or scare him. With a struggle, Arum seems to sober his mood. "You don't have to you know."

"Arum I said get the hell out of here. Now." I don't need this. Not now, not when it's already so difficult.

"Oh I get it." Arum mutters, "You are scared. Good. But little brother, you don't have to do it. You could stay with me. You could live."

"And be an outcast? And live forever knowing I was a coward? Not a chance big brother. Now get. The hell. Out."

I turned my back on him, but could still hear him say "I swore I would try" and the sound of my bedroom door shut.

As far as celebrations in District 2 go, the reaping is by far the best. Families line up along the streets, holding betting cards and whistling as people volunteer. Children ranging from 12 to 18 stand in organized groups depending on age and gender, scared yet determined to bring victory and honor to their home, District 2. I walk with my head held high past the crowds and they cheer. I'm not a stranger to this district; they all know me or have at least heard the rumors. Heard how I finished top of my class at the Academy, second youngest graduate in history just behind my father. Heard how I can turn my blue eyes to ice, showing my prey their death just before I deliver it. Heard how this year, I plan on being in that arena, plan on killing any and every enemy that crosses my path, and plan on bringing home the title of Victor to my district. I continue walking and stop only when I've reached the front of the section for 16 year old males. I wouldn't want to have to push anyone out of my way when I walk up to the stage, now would I?

I feel something nudge my arm and turn to the boy next to me, expecting him to gawk at me and exclaim something like, "Ohmigod, you're like, totally awesome!" Instead, I turn to see an abnormally tall 16 year old who looks slightly familiar and is clearly not impressed with the tales that have been told about me.

"You're Cato." The kid nearly spits at me.

"Oh yeah Sherlock? Well what gave it away? Was it the big muscles, the cheering crowd, or my devastatingly good looks?" I reply cockily.

The punk snorts an ugly sound that must be a laugh and says, "Actually it was the arrogance. Tell me, how do you manage to walk with that giant head you've got on your shoulders?"

A snarl escapes my lips, showing that I'm quickly getting annoyed with this conversation. "Who the hell do you think you are Punk?"

Now it's his turn to snarl. "Yeah figures you wouldn't remember. Just pray your pretty little name doesn't get picked from that ball Cato. If it does, you won't make it one step before I volunteer for you."

I laugh and reply "Oh yeah? Why don't you try it Punk. I swear you'll be killed before you enter that arena. Hell, I would kill you before you took one step towards that stage."

Suddenly the crowd and waiting children quiet down and Anastorma, the ambassador for our district, takes the stage. Her skin is sickly white due to the over use of white makeup powder, and her blond hair is in a bun on the very top of her head. Her eye lashes are long and blue and her talon-like nails are the same. Her outfit matches the skies color and I'm having an awful time containing a laugh. Was this chick serious? No matter if we District 2 civilians were the capitols favorites - which we are - we would still, under absolutely no circumstances, ever dress like them.

Anastorma begins to babble on and on about "war, a terrible war" and I find myself losing focus. Maybe it's because I've heard this speech so many countless times in my life. When other children were listening to bedtime stories, I was listening to this and as a result I can recite her speech about why Districts 1-12 participate in the Hunger Games just as well as her. My mind continues to wander and I find myself looking at my father. To his right, a beautiful blond woman, my mother, stands beside him. They don't smile or nod or even acknowledge me when our eyes meet. My family was never the type to encourage love. Not that I care at all. To all of us, love is weak, and we're all stronger for being able to admit it.

My attention snaps back to the stage when Anastorma announces in her annoyingly peppy voice, "Ladies first!" She walks to the large ball on the right that contains thousands of girl's names and places a delicate hand in the center of its contents. She twirls her wrist several times and comes out with one slip of folded white paper. Walking back to the stage in her dangerously high high-heels, Anastorma speaks clearly into the microphone, "Clove Sparr!" The crowd lets out a cheer and I spot a familiar girl walking up to the stage with a large grin on her face. I recognize her from the Academy because she was in my year. She, unlike me however, has not yet graduated. Pity. She might be too easy to kill.

Next Anastorma walks to the large ball on the right that contains the boy's names. After she selects a folded slip of paper, she returns to the microphone and reads the name, "Mackentosh Kay!"

The boy next to me, Mackentosh, moves like he expects to go towards the stage. I vaguely register that the crowd is cheering, but for the most part my mind is overwhelmed with the realization of who this kid is. That's why I thought the Punk, the guy who called me arrogant, the one who mocked me, that's why I thought he looked familiar! His sister, as it turns out, was one of the first girls whose heart I had broken. She was cute of course – I only went for her because she was cute – but she was nothing more. Her brother, Mackentosh, didn't like our relationship and wanted it to end. As a result I punched the brother and dumped the sister. Now, I'm not even sure how many years later, he still held a grudge. How pathetic. It's almost a shame ill be volunteering for him, almost a shame he wont die in the arena.

I grab Mackentosh's arm before he can take a step and lean in close so I can whisper in his ear, "Is your sister still hot? Maybe after I win she and I could hook up. You know…for old time's sake." And with that I let go of his arm, state in a clear yet audible voice, "I volunteer" and lunged toward the stage, only the crowds cheers and whoops following.