Chapter 1: Families Wiped Out

This Quarter Quell twist is going to be the worst one yet. The Third in our history, or 75th total. Of course, all of the Hunger Games are awful to sit through and even worse for those who participate in them. For every year, as punishment for a long ago rebellion, the twelve districts of Panem send forth one boy and one girl of teenage years into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins, and becomes a Victor to mentor future tributes.

As I take my place among the seventeen-year-olds, I think back on the twist in my mind: "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that to thrice defy is to thrice die, three tributes of each gender will go into the arena. Age limits will not apply."

District 12 has the worst Victory record of any district. In 75 years, we have had exactly two. And one of them won nearly six decades prior and died around the time I was born. The other is...

"Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell!" Yes, the last time a Quarter Quell was held, one of our very own tributes emerged triumphant. Unfortunately, Haymitch Abernathy is barely forty years old, and is already a falling down drunk. Even as he stands to wave to the polite applause, I can hear a few laughs from the crowd. I look over to the twelve year olds to find my little sister, Primrose. This is her first year of eligibility, and although she only has one slip of paper in the Reaping Bowl, I fear that she will be picked. To see a twelve-year-old go in is always a heartache, especially for District 12, as it is a guaranteed death sentence.

Effie Trinket, our escort from the far-away Capitol where the Games are held, now approaches the microphone to select the tributes. She starts with the girls. "Primrose Everdeen!"

I nearly scream. Prim's name was one slip of paper in thousands! I think for one mad moment to volunteer, but Prim is already mounting the stage. It is too late. My baby sister is going into the Games. The only thing that could be possibly be worse is that there are two more tributes to select for the women alone.

"Lillian Everdeen!" My own mother now takes the stage. Even though she has been detached and even estranged from me since my father died in a mining accident when I was small, I still feel a crippling pain that she has to know the arena and its horrors. This is too weird to be just a coincidence. Does that mean I'll...?

No. "Paula Mellark!"

The Baker's wife, a witch of a woman who I hear beats her three sons, now takes the stage besides the rest of my family. She could be a real contender to actually become Victor, what with her anger and rumored ruthlessness.

Effie now moves on to the men. "Steffan Mellark!"

I gasp. The Baker himself now takes the stage. He is barely in place before Effie is drawing the next name.

"Leven Mellark!"

The oldest son of the Mellark clan now joins his father. I wonder if this will truly be a matching set, and then Effie answers for me.

"Rye Mellark!"

And the second-oldest Mellark boy joins the rest of his family. All six of our tributes are then whisked into the Justice Building.

The doors are still swinging shut as I am running for them.


Only when I get inside do I realize that I don't really know how the tributes are grouped in their holding cells for visitors. Any other ordinary year, there would only be one tribute of each gender, so the point would be moot. But this year... if I try to see my mother and sister, will I run into the Witch too?

But I am the first one in line, and I see Peacekeeper guards keeping post in front of three different doors on one end of the hallway, and more guarding three more doors on the other side of the hallway. After questioning which set of doors is which, I am directed to the one on the farthest to the left.

When I enter, I see my mother sitting on a cushioned seat, looking oddly serene. I know she has been bland and almost dead inside these past six years or so. So perhaps she thinks that actually going to her death is a welcome peace. Even so, when I feel the need to embrace her out of the demand of the moment, and not necessarily out of any affection for her as her daughter, I feel the need to remind Mother:

"You have to keep her alive in there. You understand me? Defend Prim with your life?"

Mother nods, her expression neutral, her mouth in a thin line. "I will."

I hug her again. "Goodbye. I love you."

"Katniss." I turn back to her as I head to leave. "Take care of yourself. Live on for me. And maybe... don't do it alone."

I nod, though there is no commitment from me behind the gesture, as the Peacekeepers now arrive and guide me out of the room. I know what Mother was referring to behind that seemingly generic last command. She is hoping that I might find someone. Find someone to marry. But that will never happen. After seeing how Daddy's death affected her, I swore off falling in love or getting married or having children. A family was something to love only to become something to lose - a husband to the fires of the mines, children to the malice of the Reaping and the Games.

I now am directed to the door on the far right of the women's set. So the Witch must be inside the middle door. When the far right door is opened to me, I run into Primrose's arms and pick her up and cuddle her close. She is heavier than she used to be; a little big to be rocked. But she still fits in my arms just right. I burst into tears, and so does she and we just cling to each other.

"Stick with Mother in the arena. Do whatever she tells you to do. OK? And fight! Fight for me!" My voice cracks and my eyes swim with tears anew. I cannot even begin to fathom the ways she might possibly be killed, nor do I wish to.

But Prim still promises me that she will live as long as possible, maybe even try to win for me. Even though, at her young age, we both know it's hopeless. No child under the age of 14 has ever won the Games. And the kid who won at 14 a decade ago was a one-time thing. The Peacekeepers have to drag her away from me this time.

Heading back down the hallway, I can see that many Merchants have lined up to say goodbye to the other Mellarks. I wait in line one by one and go in to say farewell to each of the men. It seems only fair to me. I traded squirrels with the Baker, and his sons... well... best to make each goodbye equal. The Baker tells me to support his youngest son, the one staying behind, during the Games. But it is Rye who tells me the most surprising thing:

"Peeta's had a crush on you, you know. For years. Ever since you both started school. Try to... take care of him."

I blink in utter shock, and find myself flushing. I've never thought of myself as particularly pretty, or even someone who has feminine or womanly tastes. I can be pretty aloof and cold with most people. Direct and business-like. Nothing more. I would be atrocious at anything resembling romance. But I don't voice any of this to Rye, as I finally leave.

The Justice Building hallway is deserted now. Except for one person. A blonde boy leaning against the wall. Stocky build. And with deep blue eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky...

Peeta Mellark. The youngest of his family, and my classmate who once saved my life when my family and I were starving.

Seeing me come out of the door that holds his one brother. His eyes narrow at me, and he almost smiles in surprise. "You visited my family?"

I look away from his gaze and shrug. "You know how I always traded with your father."

"Did you visit my mom, too?"

"No," I bite back an embarrassed smile. "I didn't have the courage in me."

Peeta actually laughs. "Neither did I. But I don't think she could care less anyhow. She's never... been very affectionate towards me."

I think about the rumors I've heard, about the Witch beating her sons, but I don't voice them. Peeta breaks the awkward silence between us.

"I visited your mom and sister, you know. So, I guess we're even."

My eyes snap up to his in shock. I had never expected him to echo the same courtesy I showed towards him. "Thank you," I whisper softly.

Peeta shifts himself off the wall. "I guess I'll see you tonight. For the start of the broadcast." And he strides out, with me staring after him. Did he truly mean to go and wish my family well? Or is he trying to charm me, find a way to get into my pants? I shake my head to clear it and regain my usual scowl. If he does have an ulterior motive, I won't give him an advantage!


That evening, the whole of the District awaits in the Square in front of the Justice Building, as we watch our six tributes get off the train. I am guided to a seat in the front row by Peacekeepers, to find Peeta Mellark in the seat next to mine, almost as if he is waiting for me. He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "Relatives of the tributes get VIP seating."

I sigh heavily and sit down next to him. Peeta glances to me, but I pointedly refuse to look at him. We don't have to be friends, especially as both of our families will be competing against each other as well as everyone else. And after what Rye let slip to me... I would feel better if I kept my distance. Perhaps I am paranoid, or don't know how to take the flattering compliment of a boy being in love with me well, but I am half-afraid that Peeta is going to leap at me and kiss the breath out of my body.

All of the 72 (!) tributes disembark. And the people upon people who will be the competition of the Everdeens and the Mellarks is fierce. The Careers alone - the tributes traditionally from Districts 1 and 2 and 4 - intimidate me the most. But District 12 gets plenty of airtime, as the last time a Quell was held, our own Haymitch Abernathy won the crowd. In a field worth two arenas. With this field worth three years of Hunger Games alone, the old drunk must now a thing or two about higher odds, raised stakes.

It is late at night by the time the Tribute Parade gets going in the City Circle. The chariots that hold the tributes are significantly larger this year. All six are in one cart, with three to a row and split by gender. I wonder if the chariots were enlarged to house the four tributes from Haymitch's year.

My mother has been dolled up to look beautiful. With her Merchant blonde hair and blue eyes, she is still quite attractive at only forty. And I hear people coo over my wisp of a little sister. The Witch, meanwhile, sends jealous glances at both members of my family. The Mellark men are waving awkwardly at the crowd, particularly the women who must find them all quite handsome. After President Snow's speech, the tributes are whisked into a grander and more beautiful Training Center than the one used most years.

Training begins the very next morning, and will take place over the next three days. The only good news is that from now until the Games start, we citizens only have to be in the Square at night. Which means that I won't have to see or sit next to Peeta Mellark until the evenings. Cameras aren't allowed in the Training Center.

At the end of the three days of training, all of the tributes receive their Training Scores from private sessions with the Gamemakers. My mother actually manages a 9. I have no idea how she got it, given her Healing background and how she wouldn't hurt a fly. But Primrose gets an 8, an excellent score for one so small. The Witch beats them both with a 10. I look over to Peeta and gulp. But I am surprised to see that he has been watching me too, and for some reason, looks just as nervous. Is he worried about my family's decent scores? Or is it possible that he fears for them given his mother's excellent Career-worthy marks? I can't tell. Peeta's father and brothers all get 11s.

The fourth and final night is the Tribute Interviews with Caesar Flickerman. With the sheer number of tributes this year, we are not even through District 1 before I start to feel fatigued. Peeta orders me to go to sleep and he'll wake me when we reach 12. Taken aback by his consideration, I obey.

It is the wee hours of the morning by the time Peeta nudges me awake with his foot. Mother is taking the stage first out of our entourage, and it bothers me how many of the men hoot and holler for her. I feel a strange protectiveness over her that I haven't before, even though she is a grown woman and in choosing my father to marry, bravely showed taste over class advantage. She makes some jokes with Caesar about how she doesn't think her Healing skills will do her much good in the arena.

Primrose's turn is dominated by peopling cooing over her yet again. A few women - maybe those who want to be mothers - weep, as if they know for certain they will never see her again alive.

The Witch rounds out the women. She is surly and sarcastic and offers a bit of bravado. By the end of her three minutes, she has the crowd - and likely sponsors - eating out of her hand.

The Mellark men are last of all. The Baker is a quiet man, awkward and sweet. Both of his older sons try to come off as confident, but this is masked by the fact that they both just seem too nice for the Games. Just like their baby brother...

Wait... did I just call Peeta Mellark nice?

The interviews end with Rye and all of District 12 is sent home to bed for the night. Peeta holds out his hand to me as I stand to leave and go back to my empty house in the Seam alone. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I stare at his outstretched hand suspiciously for a moment, before finding it within me to shake it stiffly.

I go to bed having horrible nightmares.