"How many slips do you have in?"

Mako glances at me out of the corner of my mind, his prominent eyebrows rising into his hairline. "More than you, I can tell you that much." The fact that Mako is two years older than me isn't the only reason why I know he has more than forty slips, each with his name on it, it's all the tessera he's taken out to help feed his three younger siblings. "You?"

I murmur, "twenty" underneath my breath, my mind drifting to the one slip with my younger sister Jinora's name written on it. It's her first year and even though I took out tessera for the both of us, I wouldn't allow her to, no matter how many times she complained.

"Don't worry about Jinora, Kor. It's only one slip. She's going to be fine," a piece of bread slipped into my hand, Mako's fingers squeezing my hand. "C'mon, we gotta get prettied up before we get sent out to slaughter."

xxx

"You're pulling." I groaned, dropping the rubber band in frustration. "You do it then." Jinora grabbed the fallen rubber band, running her fingers through her short but incredibly thick hair. I was so used to my much longer mane, that I couldn't even get my fingers to French braid the thick, but short strands. I flicked her affectionately on the forehead. "Just ask mom."

The twelve-year-old shook her head. "No, I want to do it myself."

I rolled my eyes. "Mom did my hair."

At the mention of her name and most likely from hearing us arguing, my mother entered the room, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. She pursed her lips, silencing us with only one look. She approached Jinora, grabbing the brush and rubber band from her hands, taking on the difficult job.

"What's going to happen to me?"

I turned to look at my sister, playing with the hem of my dress. "Nothing's going to happen to you. You're going to stand with the little kids and wait until we get to go home."

She brought the edge of her finger to her lips, chewing on her cuticles. Any other time I would have chastised her for the awful habit, she'd taken to it as a child, but I knew she needed it right now. "What if they call my name?"

I leaned forward, wiping a lone tear that had escaped the edge of her eye. "You only have one slip in there, Nor, you've got nothing to worry about."

She dropped the subject, but I could see the worry in her eyes. Jinora had a habit of losing herself in her own thoughts. I grabbed her hand. "We've got to get going."

xxx

I spotted Mako immediately. He was a lot taller than most of the other guys from the Seam, having found a way to fill out despite the lack of nutrition. It wasn't like he was huge or anything, but his body was toned and he was lean without looking fragile and frail like most of the others. Our frequent trips to the forest probably helped.

As usual, more girls than I could count surrounded him. Mako brushed most of them off, though I knew he'd spent more than his fair share of time at the slagheap, some eager girl on his arm.

His amber eyes found mine from across the square, his lips forming a reassuring phrase. "You're okay," he mouthed it a few times to make sure I caught it.

I clenched and unclenched my hands at my sides, my eyes trained on the stage in front of us. They tended to drag this out as much as possible, when all of us just wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible, knowing fate had allowed us to bypass the butcher's. That's what it was, really. No one had a chance, at least not from this district. Where most of the other districts had training for the jobs they would eventually be forced to take, ours did not, even though wielding a pickaxe would surely have its benefits in the arena.

I blocked out most of the ceremony, only paying attention when Ginger, our district's escort. Her flaming red hair matched the outrageous crimson outfit she was wearing. I'm sure it cost enough to feet half of the district.

"Ladies first," she announced, obviously disinterested. District Twelve was probably her last choice.

I braced myself for the name. With my eyes closed I took deep breaths, bracing myself for the name of the female tribute. I prayed to whoever would listen for the poor soul who would be sent into the death games.

My eyes shot open at the sound of Jinora's name. I turned my head, searching for the tell tale head of dark, almost black hair. Her eyes were impossibly wide and I watched her small hands come up to smooth down the baby hairs escaping her hairstyle. The other hand was already in her mouth, her teeth tearing at the thin skin that surrounded her nails.

There was no way they would take her. "I volunteer!" My hand shot up and I steeled myself, knowing the other tributes would be seeing this. I had to look strong. They had to know that I was a threat. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Ginger looked disinterested, waving me toward the stage.

The herd of children separated to make way for the lamb who had been called to the slaughter. I made sure not to make eye contact with any of them. I didn't need to see the pity in their eyes.

I had barely taken one step before I felt my body tugged back, small hands wrapping around my torso, her fists holding onto the blue fabric of my dress. I grabbed her delicate face in my hands. "Go to Mom."

Jinora shook her head; of all the times for her to adopt my stubbornness this was the worst. Mako found his way through the crowd of potential tributes, wrapping his arms around my little sister's body and hauling her over her shoulder. He nodded at me, his eyes showing the emotion that I knew he wouldn't dare show in public like this.

I turned away from my sister, squaring my shoulders as I climbed onto the stage. Every single thing I did from now on would be calculated. My chances might be slim, but I needed to come back to my mom and Jinora. There was no other option.

"Shake hands," Ginger prompted, pushing my elbow toward the male tribute. I had missed the announcement. There weren't many other males I knew in the district other than Mako. I lifted my eyes, hoping my steel gaze would put fear in the heart of my competitor.

My eyes met green and I faltered, his warm hand holding onto mine for far longer than necessary.

Anyone but him. Anyone but the boy with the bread.