My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 16 years old. I live in District 1 with my father. The reaping is today and I will not get picked. I cannot get picked. I repeat the phrase over and over in my mind as I walk to pavilion where the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games will take place. I am not used to the District 1 world even though I have been here for as long as I can remember. I came to this district long before I even thought of having to deal with the stress of the Games. I was five, and my father was stationed here to dig up jewels for the Capitol. He had to leave my pregnant mother in District 12, and took me along to help with his pain. I've never met my younger sister, nor do I know anything about her. The Capitol prevents any major interactions between districts, even if it's family.
Since then, the lifestyle itself in District 1 is fantastic. I always have plenty to eat, a home big enough for my father and me, and even a steady job assisting gold miners with the transportation of their daily digs. It isn't home though. There's no District 12 scent that I long for, or the smell of my mother's hair: roses mixed with sweat. District 1 is too proper; too modern.
I make my way to the large group of 16-year-old girls in their pleated skirts and neat, wrinkle-free blouses. I'm not one for expensive clothing. If it keeps me warm, I'll wear it. I smooth out my blue cotton dress and bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself from worry.
"Katniss! Hey, Katniss!" My head snaps up and I follow the familiar voice with my head. Across the rope separating me stands my very good friend, and working partner, Gale Hawthorne. "You ready? I am. Big day! We've been preparing for this, and this is my last chance. Cross your fingers for me, it's my last year!" He pats my shoulder twice, and turns around to speak to the other boys. The truth is, I have been preparing for these Games just as a precaution. Actually participating is at the bottom of things I want to do. Slowly, I turn and walk back to a gap in the middle of my area. Everyone seems to be carrying about like this day is no big deal, but having to face the fact that my name might be called makes my heart race. The escort, Isaac Crumplton, makes his way to the seat next to a beautiful woman with cascading blonde curls and piercing blue eyes. I knew her from previous years; her name was Cashmere LeBoult, and she was the mentor for our two tributes.
"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Crowliss croons into the microphone. He lists out the previous winners of the Hunger Games from District 1, which is both extensive and male-dominated. When Cashmere's name is called, she gives a slight nod and blows a kiss to the audience. They roar with wolf whistles and cheers. I'm growing sick to my stomach and begin counting backwards from 100.
The mayor is finished now, and switches places with Isaac, who begins to reach into the glass bowl in front of him. "We will begin with the men!" Isaac cheerfully says. He digs around for a while, presumably for dramatic effect, and pulls out a small slip of paper. 65, 64, 63… He opens the slip and carefully reads out the name, "Marvel F. Prowdess!" I immediately feel my stomach drop. Marvel's a classmate of mine… a friend. More importantly, he's Gale's right hand man, and meant more to him than most other things. I snap my head towards Gale who has gone white. I'm unsure whether it's because he hasn't been called or if it's because his friend is walking to his death, but I follow his gaze as Marvel makes his way to the stage. Before he reaches the steps, Isaac's voice booms through the plaza, "let us give a round of applause to our newest tribute!" Citizens begin cheering and shouting, the typical District 1 behavior. Marvel is now standing up on the steps, shaking hands. "Now, is there any boy out there willing to volunteer for this young man? Willing to risk their life for this wonderful district and most importantly, to show their dedication to Panem?" The cheering dies down, and there's silence.
"Me. I do." Gale's voice echoes through the quiet, and he repeats himself, louder this time. "I do!" He breaks through the crowd and runs up the steps to Marvel, who is struck with confusion.
"No, no. I want to do the Games, Gale. Isaac, I want to be the District 1 tribute!" Marvel protests, attempting to push Gale down the steps. The audience breaks out into murmurs of awe and gossip. As it was, rules on volunteering weren't exactly set it stone, but there was never a time when the reaped tribute stood his ground when a volunteer came running along.
Isaac places a hand over his head and walked over to the mayor and three Peacekeepers. The unexpected turn of events makes my palms sweat, and I rub them anxiously on my dress. I finish counting down, and eventually begin counting up. Isaac hurries back to the microphone and carefully speaks. "According to the rules set up for the Games, the reaped tribute has final say." Gale longingly looks back and forth between Marvel and Isaac, and eventually stalks back down to his designated area.
"Well," Isaac continued, "that was unexpected. But that's just another part of the fun of the Hunger Games! Ladies next!" He digs his hand into the second glass bowl and pulls out a slip. 89, 90, 91… I squeeze my eyes close and wait for him to speak. "Katniss Everdeen." He says slowly into the microphone. The girls standing near me gasp and jump away, as if I was contagious. My heart stops, I'm sure of it. I hear nothing; my vision morphs everything together into a blurred ball. Breathe, Katniss, I tell myself. Step to your death. One foot, then the other. The faster you can get to the podium, the better. I slowly trudge my way through the groups of people and up the steps.
