Chapter 1: 74th Reaping

I wince at the pinprick of blood taken from me. As I go to stand with the other 16-year-olds, I try to encourage my 12-year-old sister that the Reaping doesn't hurt much. It depends on who you are and how long the pain lasts. It could be just for today, or for the next four days to a couple weeks.

Today is the Reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games - a yearly competition in which the 12 districts of Panem send one young man and woman into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins and becomes a Victor to mentor future tributes.

Mayor Undersee starts by reading the Dark Days Speech that relates the need for the Games. Then he gives the names of Past District 12 Victors. In 73 years, we have had exactly two for my home. Both are still alive, heroes, but... well, you'll see.

"The Victor of the 16th Hunger Games: Cassiope Fletch!" A woman in her mid-70s waves to polite applause. She is of the earliest generation to experience the Games, probably had parents who rose up in the Rebellion. They say she was quite the beauty when she was younger, though she never married. Still, rumors persist that she Toasted the bread with a friendly Peacekeeper many years ago. An interesting choice, if proven true. Peacekeepers are from the Capitol, which controls the Games and our lives. Most are heartless; that Cassiope would take one as a husband is bold. As for me, I would never marry anyone, Capitol or Merchant or Seam.

"The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!" A drunk in his forties - just 40, actually, I think he is my mother's age - stands with a slurliness to salute the crowd laughing at him. He won an arena worth two, so I wonder if Haymitch disdains or even notices his neighbors' mockery.

Effie Trinket, our escort from the Capitol, now bounds onstage to make the selection: a name from one of each of the two Reaping Balls. "Ladies first!" The unfurling of the slip, and then: "Primrose Everdeen!"

I gawk. My baby sister was one tiny slip of paper in thousands! Her first year! As for me, my fourth year and with tesserae adding my name many times, I should have had a much higher chance of being picked. But Prim is now moving out of her place in line and I stumble after her, choking on her name. "Prim! Prim!" Peacekeepers move in to cut me off, so I yell the only thing that might stop them all: "I VOLUNTEER! I Volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Volunteering allows me to replace my sister in the arena, or any female tribute Reaped if I so choose. But I don't think I've known of a Volunteer from District 12, as the Games have meant suicide to us save twice.

I shakily take the stage, but ignore Effie's attempts to milk the historic moment. She moves onto the boys: "Milne Headlamp!"

He's only twelve years old and a Merchant besides. I almost feel sorry for Milne as he joins me. No one under the age of fourteen has ever won the Games.

Milne and I shake hands and are guided into the Justice Building.

I am held prisoner in an immaculate room. Tributes are allowed visitors. But I only know of two who will visit me.

My mother and Prim burst in with my baby sister launching herself into my arms tearfully. "Just try to win, if you can!" She blubbers. Then she hands me the Mockingjay pin I gave her earlier that day. "To protect you." I peck her forehead.

Mother's and my conversation is less loving and more... correct. She has been detached since losing my father in a mining accident when I was eleven. At last, the Peacekeepers come and take my family away.

I don't expect anyone else to come. I have no other living family, and no friends of any consequence. I'm a pretty anti-social person myself. One might even say cold. Life has been so cruel to me, it is hard not to question even the kindness of others.

So it surprises me when the door opens again and I shrink back in amazement to see my third visitor.

"Peeta Mellark?"

The youngest of the Merchant baker's three sons, Peeta Mellark is a classmate of mine in school. He is a wrestler, though we don't know each other well at all. We only interacted once and it was years ago. But that encounter saved my life, which compels me to say, "Thank you for the bread." The bread tossed into a rainy street to save my starving family.

He chuckles, as if knowing what I am talking about. He suddenly takes my hand. "I couldn't bear not saying goodbye."

I stare up into his face. I find myself growing hot, and I gulp. "Why?" I all but whisper, even as I stare at him suspiciously.

He takes a deep breath, as if to gather his courage. "Because, Katniss Everdeen, I have been in love with you since I was five years old."

I stare in utter astonishment. Even if I had possessed any plans for romance, I am about as loving as a bump on a log to anyone but Prim. I splutter like a fish, mangling my own tongue as I try to find some kind of response. "Um... thank you?"

Peeta now pulls something out of his pocket, and I gasp, a hand to my mouth. "I've had this since I heard you sing that day in music assembly. When we turned 18 and survived our last Reaping, I was going to ask you to marry me."

That is the custom for most teenagers who are attached. But even if Peeta, a total Merchant stranger, had proposed to me, a Seam woman, I would have turned him down. For a variety of reasons. For one thing, marrying across class lines is still frowned upon. And even if I were to win the Games, most Victors refrain from marrying. Cassiope's marriage has never been confirmed, and Haymitch has not Toasted the bread with anyone, as far as I'm aware. And what woman would want to?

But Peeta seems sincere in his love. And despite not knowing him, he would be a worthy suitor, at least in my mother's eyes, if not quite in mine. He leads a worthy profession and is good with his hands. Kind. At least one spouse in most Twelve marriages is abusive, or so I've heard. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy now hands the ring to me. "Will you wear this for me? As your token?"

And even though I have my sister's pin, I tuck the engagement ring into the folds of my blue dress. Maybe I can get away with wearing both. "It's just as well you don't understand," I say, resting my forehead against his. "We are all damned," I whisper. "Although only some of us see it. It's a kind of salvation."

"But not you, Katniss. Never you." Peeta tells me. Is it just my imagination, or do I hear footsteps approaching? "The guards!"

I am suddenly afraid for him to leave me, so I impulsively shake my head and blurt out an order: "Kiss me."

Peeta hesitates for one moment, but then takes my in his arms and obeys my last command. He kisses my lips with his. And although I've never kissed a man before and am probably bad at it, I wound my arms tightly about the Baker's son, this boy who wished to be my husband, to make me his bride. Closing my eyes, I kiss him back. "Hmmm..."

I can feel what makes him a man growing and straining through his pants so that it presses into my skirt. I consider stroking him there to dull his ache for me. That he would be aroused by someone as plain as me is quite flattering. But I refrain and instead dare not refuse him when Peeta boldly feels me up. He caresses my ass, kneads my breasts like the dough he has handled all his life. I let him. He needs to know the feel of the woman he has loved from afar, as much as he needs to know her kiss. I pry open his mouth with my own and curl my tongue through the split and around his. I'm getting better at this... My hands sink into his blonde curls. And I feel his one hand playing with the brown locks of my braid, the other palm firmly about my waist. I brazenly hitch my leg to his hips and vaguely wonder if I have enough time to take him hear and now, give him some quickie, uncoordinated sex before...

The door opens. Peeta and I leap apart, scandalized. "Time's... up?" Darius frowns.

Neither Peeta nor I dare to kiss goodbye again in Darius's presence, so Peeta merely mouths 'I love you' to me as he backs out the door. I put a hand to my lips as soon as the door closes. What just happened?

I periodically check my kissed lips with my hand, as if to make sure it wasn't a bizarre dream, even after I have boarded the train for the Capitol. And for my death.

Cassiope and Haymitch are friendly enough. Well, Cassiope is; it takes Haymitch a few drinks to even be bothered to help us. Both give us good pointers, but I am drawn more to the old woman, as she has been mentoring for nearly sixty years.

The paparazzi are on Milne and I as soon as we step off the train. We spend an afternoon with our stylists getting primped and preened. I like mine, Cinna, right away, as he does not seem pretentious like many other Capitolites I have observed over the years either visiting District 12 or on TV.

Then, we are forced into our chariots for the Tribute Parade. It is very brief, followed by a speech from President Snow. Then we are taken to the Tribute Training Center, where we will live for the next four days.

Three of those days will be spent in training. Haymitch advises Milne and I to learn things we don't know and hide from the competition the skills we do. I do not shoot a single bow or set a single snare until my private session with the Gamemakers at the end of the three days. My session must impress them, for I get the highest score of the field; an 11! Which is very rare. No tribute in the history of the Games has ever gotten a perfect score of 12. Milne gets an 8.

The fourth and final day is preparation for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Cassiope coaches me, while Haymitch works on Milne. I am relieved - Cassiope is at least bearable, and though she's tough, she is not abusive like her only Victor colleague.

The interviews are that night. I go second to last, as ladies are first. Of course, Caesar asks me about my volunteering for my sister, as well as my great Training Score, and I dwell on both only as much as I have to for him and the audience to be pleased. For a moment, I fear he might surprise me with a question about the kiss Peeta and I shared in my holding cell before the train - I have always though the Justice Building would be bugged with hidden cameras, and a kiss between a tribute and a possible lover would be cause for gossip in the media. But Caesar does not let on that he knows anything. I have to assume he doesn't, although one can never be too careful. I dutifully pay attention to Milne's three minutes, and then the evening ends.

I go to bed that night scared shitless for the next morning. I hope that Mother and Prim will watch, but not too much.

And I startle myself when I hope that Peeta will be watching me, too.