Chapter One

Summer

It's supposed to be a honor, representing your district in the Hunger Games. That's what they tell us, lying to our faces again and again, but perhaps the only ones who believe it are the airheads from District 1 and the bloodthirsty monsters they seem to breed in District 2. The way I see it being drawn is a curse, even here in District 4 where we're considered a Career district, but I shouldn't say that too loudly. I shouldn't be saying it in the first place. After all we are part of the Careers and our tributes win more often than every other district with the obvious exceptions of Districts 1 and 2.

People around here act like our win record is a good thing. They ignore they blatant truth staring them straight in the eyes because it's safer to pretend. They ignore what I see on a regular basis. Yes we have victors here in District 4 but they are irrevocably broken. Annie Cresta lost her sanity when her district partner died. Mags' speech is slurred from a stroke brought on from the stress of the games. Chella Reed refused to marry the one boy she had ever loved because she was afraid of having a family taken away from her by the Capitol. My sister, Rosalyn, committed suicide because the games haunted her. Finnick Odair seems to be the only when that has come out in one piece but when I catch him watching Annie with sad blue eyes I know something inside him has been broken too. That's why when my name is drawn for the 75th Annual Hunger Games and the 3rd ever Quarter Quell I consider it a death sentence.

I walk solemnly up to the platform and survey the crowd with dead eyes. I'm not coming back. I know that even before the bubbly escort calls my district partner up. I'm fifteen and strong but small for my age. I'm a fast runner but not a fighter, at least not the kind that tends to come out of the games alive instead of in a body bag. I tend to give dark glares and stay away from people rather than beating them to death for their indiscretions. My district partner is a lanky seventeen year old. I've seen him pulling in nets with the others just before sunset. He's of average strength but a follower, not a leader. We won't last long.

It's popular knowledge around here that the Careers only keep us from District 4 alive as extra help during the bloodbath. Then when the alliance begins to shatter our tributes are the first to be slaughtered. I don't intend to go quietly, like a lamb to the slaughter. I don't intend to join the Careers. It won't please my mentors but I am Summer Hayes and I'll do as I please. After all I'm dead already.

Cato

The Hunger Games are a joke. Even the Quarter Quell. We from Districts 1 and 2 have a deal of sorts made up almost since the games began. District 1 claims victory one year and District 2 the next. Occasionally a tribute from another, inferior, district wins but the schedule remains unchanged. Last year a District 1 boy named Marvel won. This year is my turn. Even with that pathetic rule change to make the Quarter Quell more 'exciting' (Two tributes can win the games provided that they are allies from the feast to the end) won't change anything. I will be the sole victor.

Beside me in our gaudy rooms at the Capitol, nothing like the militaristic appearance of District 2 homes, Antonia tosses her hair and gazes at the television with the same single minded devotion she gaze her reflection when she gazed in the mirror the entire ride here. She was young and vain, not as interested in training as she was her looks. It would be her downfall. They are replaying the Reapings but Antonia is only interested in seeing herself and Cornelia, the equally vain girl from District 1, on public television again. I am gauging the competition and waiting for the other tributes to arrive at the Capitol for the Tribute Parade.

The pair from 1, Regulus and the aforementioned Cornelia, take the stage in the glitz and glam typical of the spoiled brats from their district. During our Reaping Antonia is wearing almost enough glitter to put the pair to shame. She doesn't look intimidating. Instead she is a child trying to show off her new dress. The pair from 3 are young, weepy, and nervous. They will make easy targets. The girl from 4 has a wild mane of golden curls and icy eyes. She glares out into the crowd and refuses to shake her partner's hand. The girl from 5 has a twisted leg and the boy is only twelve. The pair from 6 are so skinny you can see their ribs through their clothing and no one seems to know who they are until they take the stage. The pair from 7 look lost and terrified. The girl from 8 flat out cries. The boy from 9 has to be dragged on stage. The two from 10 are twins. The boy from 11 is well bit but missing an arm and the girl limps. The pair from 12 are scrawny, underfed weaklings, as usual. The cycle begins again.

I turn to look out the window at the glamor of the Capitol. It really doesn't matter to me who is Reaped. We from District 2 will ally with Districts 1 and 4. There will be several bloody weeks of fighting and then in the end I will triumph, even if it means killing Antonia who, in truth, is my cousin. Finally our escort buzzes in, announcing that the last tributes have finally arrived so our stylists will consent to seeing us. I ignore mine as she and my prep team dress me in some sort of bronze armor. The historical significance is lost on me and for a moment I can almost hear fifteen year old Clove snapping, "Do you want to be an idiot for the rest of your life?" Then again Clove has always excelled in knowledge about historical battles, weapons, and armor.

My stylist prattles on and on about the history behind the armor and how it pertains to District 2 but I tune her out and after a half an hour her talk peters out as she realizes I'm not listening. Finally she finishes and our escort leads Antonia and I do to where the chariots wait. The pair from 1 are dressed entirely in gemstones that reflect the light that falls on them. The pair from 4 are dressed in various shades of blue that almost make them look like the waves I saw washing up against the beach behind the stage during their Reaping.

The parade is no more exciting for me to be in than it has ever been for me to watch. Similarly President Snow's speak is no more inspiring than it ever has been. Once our chariots have stopped back in the stables I make my way over to the pair from District 4 and lean against their chariot. After a moment the boy nervously greats me. "Hey." His voice is shaky, like he isn't sure if he can address me or not. His district partner is, for the most part, ignoring him and me as she slips off her dark blue gloves. She seems to be about Clove's current age; fifteen.

"I want to lay down some basic rules for our alliance," I tell him arrogantly, knowing he will go along with anything I tell him. "First we stick together, even in training. That's why we're called a Career pack. Second, no other alliances. If I find you making one with someone else you'll be the first to die in the bloodbath. Third, you hold the alliance until I say it's over." I pause for a moment to narrow my eyes at him. "Any questions?"

"N-none," he stammers out, looking terrified even though he's a good three or four inches taller than me.

"What about you, Water Girl?" I ask his partner.

"You can take your alliance and choke on it for all I care," she snaps at me but she doesn't once look up at me and her body language says she's uneasy. Despite her obvious nervousness her tone is venomous. For a moment I wonder what her mentor thinks of her refusal to join up with us before I shake off the thought. She's just being stubborn. She'll come around when she sees our training scores.

"You'll change your mind," I say and saunter off before I am tempted to choke this girl who has already decided to test my authority.