Chapter 1: 36th Reaping

I study the flow of the blue sparkles as I connect the charged wire to the switchboard. The flow of electricity astounds me. At least I am fortunate to live in a district devoted to technology and will allow me to do what I love.

Except for a good portion of today. My name is Beetee Latier. I am 15 years old. And today is the Reaping for the 36th Annual Hunger Games, a sick competition in which all twelve districts of Panem send one boy and girl of teenage years into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins and becomes a Victor who mentors future tributes.

I have to leave my precious science building at the school and stand in the square in front of the Justice Building for a few hours. Peacekeepers escort our pitiful two Victors to the stage. District 3 is generally viewed as weak, and this is only furthered by the fact that our only two successful tributes were relatively recent.

"The Victor of the 31st Hunger Games: Honorius Perthshire!" Honorius, the handsome youth of 23 who was crowned five years ago, stands and waves to the crowd.

"The Victor of the 32nd Hunger Games: Fawn Odinshoot!" Fawn is only a year younger than her immediate predecessor and mentor, but she smiles at the cheers. We may have only two Victors, but they won back-to-back, something that usually only the Career districts - Districts 1 and 2 who train their tributes illegally and win most of the time - have done.

And then our district escort is taking over for the Mayor. She selects from the Girls' Ball first. "Coake Underwind!" A girl of 18 takes the stage. Then, its the boys' turn. "Beetee Latier!"

The Peacekeepers seize me and haul me up to the stage almost in glee. 15-year-old Victors have been very rare in these last three and a half decades. And no one underneath that age has ever won the Games. Ever.

I'm probably going to die.

And this is made all the more final when, after only my parents visit me, their only child, Coake and Honorius and Fawn and I are forced onto the train and away from District 3. Probably forever.

Honorius and Fawn are not bad mentors. They serve the purpose well of tasking themselves with on gender each, so Honorius will be coaching me. Though still young, he seems a lot older compared to me; I seem like a baby by comparison. But Honorius is nice, almost big brotherly, as he gives me sage advice to hide my science skills from the other tributes. I don't know how much my science skills will play necessarily, but perhaps my mind in general could. To beat your enemy, you have to understand them.

The Capitol is a madhouse when we get there. Why they pay attention to us, I don't know; perhaps they're obligated to. Only Districts 6 and 12 have Victory records worse than us, having one only once apiece. We're not much better off; why should the press bother with us?

But, we meet our stylists anyway and are soon directed into the chariots that will lead us through the Tributes' Chariot Parade in the City Circle. After that is done and the speech by the President, Honorius and Fawn whisk us into the Training Center.

We begin training the next day. Right away, I see little hope for me, and even for Coake. All the Careers are even bigger than her at three years my senior, and a lot bigger than me. The rest of the field looks pretty weak. The exception are the tributes from District 4. But against the Careers, I don't stand a chance.

After three days, we show our skills privately to the Gamemakers. I show them my expertise in electricity by essentially rewiring the circuits for the entire building and then replacing them again. I get a 9 for my efforts, putting me with the Careers. I wonder if it surprised them. Probably not.

The fourth and final day and night is devoted to the Tribute Interviews with TV host Caesar Flickerman. When he asks me how I plan to win in the arena, I simply say that as long as I have my mind, that is all I need. It is a vague response, and I feel that no one should find it threatening or even in any way ominous, but Caesar takes it, and all too soon, my three minutes of fame are up.

I fall into a fitful sleep that night.