First Fanfic. Basically it's Gallagher Girls in the Hunger Games world. I can promise you I'm not just going to rewrite the Hunger Games and substitute names.

Disclaimer.

Hope you like it! Reviews are very much appreciated.

Dec 20, 2015 - IMPORTANT UPDATE: OK, so here's how it's going on. If you had been here before the update, you would've known that this story had four chapters. And now there's not. See, all I did was combine those original four chapters into one. Why? Well, I'm going to quote our dear Zachy now: "I always finish what I start." To that end, I figured I was never going to finish this story the way it was going. For various reasons.

1) I don't want to write the inevitable gory scenes (ha! should've thought that through before starting this in the first place).

2) "It's too much effort." (This one's from Nanase Haruka, Free! Iwatobi Swim Club) Yeah, mostly this.

3) Something. I don't know. It looks cooler with three.

Anyways, the plot bunny is still going strong, so instead of dropping off the face of the earth, I've decided to do a Part 1 and a Part 2. Even if you've read the original four chapters, I'm going to suggest you go through Part 1 again, as I have done some major editing and revising (of course).

Part 2 will be out soon, I can promise you that, and you can even hold me to it if it doesn't come out within the next few weeks or so. Part 2 will be written in 3rd person rather than 1st person, will be set after the Games are over, should wrap up the story, and will have some serious flashback plot kinda-cliffhanger-but-not-really action. And stuff.

I'm also considering writing a short drabble-ish-thingy once Part 2 is done. Stay tuned for that.

Thanks for reading!

...

Of course, the black market was as busy as ever.

Which meant, of course, so was Bex.

"No, one fish for one loaf. This is quality meat. You can't expect me to pay five bloody squirrels for chunk of fluffy air!" A pause. "Pardon the pun."

As I walked towards her, my best friend for years, I tried and failed to pick up what the man, bearded and middle-aged, said, but evidently Bex had won, because a moment later the man was leaving, grumbling and defeated, with just one squirrel. Poor guy.

Bx waves when see notices me. "Hey, Cam! You won't believe the deal I pulled."

"You're a whiz, Bex. I bet I could."

"Oh, before I forget…" Bex ducks out of view for a moment before pulling out something wrapped in white cloth, handing it to me from over the table she uses as a booth. "Liz gave me some cheese from her goat,"

"And look what I got," I replied in a singy-song voice, lifting up my bag full of fish, greens, and mushy blackberries that were staining everything it touched violet. I tell Bex that they taste better than they look. Always the good sport, Bex just laughs.

"You went out this morning?"

I nodded. "Needed to clear my head. Get something nice for tonight."

"Totally," she said. Meanwhile, she had turned away from me to stir her big pot of soup. It smelled delicious.

By out, she was referring to the world past the District's supposedly electrified fence. The woods were the closest thing to freedom I had. Fresh air. I could think. I could run. In theory anyways. In reality though, I couldn't. I just couldn't.

It was easier to leave than be the one left behind.

"District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety," I say to myself.

"What'd you say?" Bex asked, whipping her head in my direction.

"Nothing. What's in the soup?"

"Beef," my best friend says with a wink. "You know, I really gotta thank you for those herbs you get. Gives it that little something. People are raving. Literally! Want some?"

Okay, so technically, all of this was illegal. Black market, poaching, crawling through the big gaping hole in the fence to forage for the night's dinner. Really though, a lot of the Peacekeepers were my best customers. Especially the Head Peacekeeper, who pays a pretty penny for some good poultry.

"Right though the eye," he says. "you're good Cameron."

"My father taught me." I reply.

"Ah, the miner who went missing a while back, huh?" He says as he returns to doing his paperwork. The already short conversation is over. "Take care, Cameron."

"Thanks," I reply, but it comes out only a little more than a whisper. In these parts of the country, it's best that things stay that way anyways.

That doesn't stop me from wondering though.

No one knows what happened. It was like Dad just walked out the doors and never came home, leaving a devastated me and Mom behind.

But more often than not I'll find myself thinking back to his words.

Someone knows.

…

A big bowl of soup, a chunk of bread, and twenty minutes later, as Bex was clearing our bowls, our conversation had somehow shifted from Liz's accident-proneness, to "hate the Capitol", to my Mom and all her awesomeness, to Josh, my long-time crush, and, in Bex's eyes anyway, boyfriend.

"Josh is not my boyfriend!" I snapped, trying not to blush (and, unfortunately, completely failing to do so). "Besides, he's from town! His family runs the pharmacy. His parents are never going to approve Josh dating a Seam girl! I know he's sweet, and kind, and that hair…" I felt my face go red again. "It's never going to work out!"

"Oh, come on! You've liked him since 6th grade, when he took the blame for you when you broke a window. He so likes you!"

"Oh, and how do you know that?" The words come out whinier than expected.

"I just do," Bex huffs. I sigh. Cue silence.

"Look. Maybe half of this really isn't about Josh," Bex's voice is soft. She hesitates before continuing. "You say it's never going to work out because he's a perfectly normal boy who doesn't break the law, doesn't have to provide for his family, doesn't have to worry about anything but school and the family business, but that normal? Someone like you could get an even better guy!"

I was about to reply, say something I barely meant, but then something seemed to snap inside of Bex. Her volume is not what our teacher would consider an 'indoor voice.'

"This is Panem! This is District 12! In about 2 hours, 24 kids are going to be chosen to be treated like kings and queens for a week, then thrown in some awful arena to murder each other! Not to mention next year! And the year after that! And that's normal here!"

By now, half of the Hob was staring at her. At us. Because Bex said something everyone was thinking, but no one dared to say. Even in the woods.

I half-expected some peacekeepers that always hung out here to come running and arrest my best friend, but it was Reaping day. They were all off preparing for it.

I let her words sink in as Bex let out a sigh. Then a humorless chuckle. "Normal is undefinable." She let out a breath. "Normal doesn't exist ." She throws her hands up in surrender, but I can't help but wonder. About her words. About another world. About how funny life is.

Wonder about everything.

…

The crowd is tight. Peacekeepers line the town square, dressed in uniform white, with batons and guns and all. The mayor gives a long speech at the podium, but I don't pay attention. It's the same every year anyways. I look up at the clear blue sky and use my hands to shield my eyes from the bright sun. I don't want to look at the two large glass bowls beside him. Everyone, myself included, already knows what's in there without the mayor's explanation.

Slips of paper. Funny how something as simple as that decides your fate.

Once you're twelve, your name's in there. Every year after that, your name is an additional time. Since I was sixteen, five of them have my name written on it. Another five was Bex's. Another five Liz's. Among thousands of other slips. We're fortunate to not need to sign up for any extra, but…

But the odds…

I couldn't help but turn to Liz, my other best friend, a couple person's away from Bex and I after being pushed away by the crowd. Liz, with her soft blond hair and her cotton candy pink dress. Liz, who always listened so intently to the speech as if there was going to be a quiz later. Liz, and her one-too-many "Oopsie-daisy"s.

I turned back to Bex, in her black dress that used to be her mom's and all her beauty that I've always envied. The expression on her face was one I couldn't read.

Then I looked back, way back, where my mom stood. I could barely pick her out from the crowd, but she still sees me, gives me a small wave and a weary smile. It's enough to make me want to cry. I tear my eyes away from her and look at the ground instead. There's a dandelion growing out of a crack in the concrete.

The mayor drones on. About the disasters, the formation of Panem, and the Capitol that brought "peace and prosperity to its citizens." Then came the Dark Days, and the rebellion, and District 13 was destroyed, and the Treaty of Treason, and the Hunger Games, etc.

Then he reads a list of all the previous District 12 victors. It's a really short list though, if you could even call it that, as we've only ever had two victors. One has already died. The other is Joseph Solomon, who was a favourite during his Games.

The mayor then introduces Jessica, our district's escort. She had golden hair and high heels that hurt looking at them. She sounded bright and bubbly and actually happy to be here, and it was almost believable.

I wonder.

But I didn't know her. Maybe she too was just trying to get by. Maybe she too hated the system.

I didn't know her.

I didn't know a lot of people, the majority of the ocean of twelve to eighteen year olds I was surrounded by. Not really. All these names and the lives behind them. All of us hoping it was "anyone but me."

It was selfish. It was unfair. It was stupid. And I hated it.

"And now, the time has come, to choose the two tributes to represent District 12 in the 67th annual Hunger Games! Ladies first!"

Somehow, she manages to walk to the bowl on the right (those heels though), and dips her hand into it, twirling her hand around and making it all dramatic, before finally (the tension was killing everyone) plucking out a slip.

Time is a funny thing. There are theories about time travel and paradoxes that make it impossible. The colour red slows our perception of time. There are moments when everything goes by so quickly, and other moments when a few seconds seems to last hours. But at that moment, time seemed to stop as Jessica read the little piece of paper, and I heard the name "Rebecca Baxter."

My eyes widen. I feel my body go numb, feel my brain processing everything too quickly. Or slowly. My internal clock was starting to malfunction. I wonder how Bex was feeling. I could see her mouth open, then close. Her hand clenched together, then opened back out again. Somehow, she manged to inch her way, slowly, toward the stage.

And as Bex stood there, up in front of everyone, I didn't see her the way I usually did. I'd always thought she was the toughest girl in the world, and maybe she still was. She was still beautiful and super talented and my best friend. But she didn't look like a princess then. I realized that in another life, maybe she would've been. But at that moment, she looked terrified.

And maybe it was for all of those reasons, or maybe it was just because, that when Jessica asked for volunteers like they do every year, I raised my hand.

"I volunteer as tribute."

The words sliced through the air. I surprised myself at how steady my voice sounded. My footsteps were quiet and firm as I made my way to the stage.

I'm so sorry Mom.

When I stepped onto the stage, Bex was still there.

"No, no, no, Cam! You can't to this! You can't…" Her voice cracks. Her next words are barely audible. "You can't do this."

I give her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry Bex."

The Peacekeepers drag her off the stage. Bex still looks terrified.

It is utterly silent.

"What's your name?"

I swallow hard. "Cameron Ann Morgan."

A cloud passes by overhead, making a shadow slice through the crowd. And the crowd, first one, then another, followed by the rest, touches their lips with their three middle fingers of their left hand and holds it out to me. It's a sign of gratitude. Of admiration. Of goodbye to someone precious.

I have always been a chameleon. Now, it seems all the cameras were pointed in my direction. All eyes were on me.

I stand there dumbstruck, hands shaking, on the verge of tears, and before I know it, Jessica has already done the dramatic hand twirl thing again and she reads out the name on the slip of paper.

"Zachary Goode!"

Suddenly, I smell the earth and the scent of green.

I taste the metallic taste of blood on my lip.

I feel the dirt and the moss underneath me. I feel pain throbbing in my ankle. I feel my bow in my hand, an arrow already in place, but there was no danger, was there?

I see the shadows of the thick foliage. I see leaves falling. I see ants climbing up a tree. I see a hand that is held out towards me. I see a boy with brown hair and dark eyes.

I hear soft rains. I hear a mockingjay singing in the distance. I hear the words, "Someone knows."

Suddenly, the mayor is already done reading the Treaty of Treason (and some part of me wonders who came up with the name), and he, Zach, is standing right beside me. The mayor motions for us to shake hands, and it takes me a second longer than it should have to grasp his outstretched hand.

...Just like that time.

…

The moment the door closes, I lean back on the polished wooden door and sink to the ground.

The peacekeepers herded Zach and me into separate rooms in the Justice Building after they play the anthem. To say goodbye to friends and family before going off into the death games and, well… dying. I run my hand through the thick, deep fibers of the carpet underneath me. The couch across from me is a rich velvet.

'Cause our government's so screwed up that they put "fancy goodbye room" higher on the priorities list than "taking care of our citizens so they stop dying off on a daily basis for reasons that could easily be prevented if it wasn't for aforementioned screwed up government."

It's kind of awkward when mom comes in. I jump when the door moves, and the force of it opening makes me faceplant on the carpet. Mom apologizes. I tell her I was just being stupid because of course someone was going to come in sooner or later and there's a really comfy looking sofa literally a meter away from me and I had no idea what was doing on the floor behind the door.

I stop my rambling when I notice my mom's red, puffy eyes. But then she smiles, and I find myself smiling and crying right along with her.

We talk for a while after my hiccuping crying dies down a bit. We say all the usual things one would say after one wins the death lotto. Or… you know… volunteers for it.

I'm so sorry Mom.

But then Mom tells me she's proud of me.

And I'm so, so happy.

At one point, Mom puts something in my hand and tells me: "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. To remind you of home. Take this... It used to be your father's."

In my hand, the delicate yet sturdy silver chain was such a contrast to the old cloth it was wrapped in, and at the end of it hung a matching silver charm. A shield divided into two, like a seal of some sort. A large tree covered the charm's center, its branches touching both sides.

We had a little while longer, but eventually, the door opens, and a peacekeeper signals that our time is up.

I panic. "I love you Mom!" I throw my arms over her shoulders and give her the tightest hug ever and she hugs me back even tighter, and I hear my mom say "I love you too kiddo" for the millionth time since she made me faceplant to the floor, but it's still not enough and I don't want to let go, and Mom's crying again, and I'm crying again, but the Peacekeeper prys her away anyway.

And as Mom is being forcefully escorted to the door, she says, "Trust Joe Solomon. He-" But the Peacekeeper slams the door shut and I'll never know what she had to say.

Bex and Liz come in next. No awkward faceplanting this time.

Liz is in tears. Bex looks pissed.

"I can't believe you did that!"

"I'm sorry Bex. I'm so sorry. I just… I just had to."

For a moment, the room is completely silent. That is, except for Liz's sobbing.

I smile. "I love you guys, you know that, right?"

And then I swear Rebecca Baxter started crying.

Lots of hugging followed suit. And more crying. And quite a bit of "I-love-you-too-ing." We tell stories of happy times, and we laugh and cry and I just drink it all in, cherishing it, knowing that soon, they'd have to let me go. Eventually, we all do.

And as the Peacekeeper drags Bex and Liz out, Bex calls over her shoulder "Knock 'em dead!" and I wonder if those will be the last words I ever hear from her again.

A bunch of other people come in after Bex, some alone and some in a group. Teary-eyed classmates and people I've traded with at the Hob. And as I say goodbye to all of them, I wonder about all the goodbyes that happened in this same room before. Nostalgia from past memories. Broken promises about coming home.

"Last visitor," the peacekeeper calls out.

I'm surprised to see who it is.

"Josh…"

Josh just smiles. "Hi, Cammie." There's an awkward pause before he continues. "How… How are you?"

Which was probably one of the stupidest questions that could've been asked at that moment, but I still replied, "Well, considering what just happened a while ago…"

"Sorry… Just small talk… I guess." Another pause. "I'm sorry what happened." "I just…" he trailed off. "I just came to say goodbye."

I forced a smile. "Why? Don't think I can win?" I quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

But Josh took it seriously. "Then just for now. You can forage in the woods, you can hunt, you can kill. You're a strong person, Cam. I've seen it. If… If you think you can win, you'll win. I-I… I guess that's why I fell in love with you."

I was half-sitting, half-standing at that point. My mouth was half-open, as if I was uncertain of whether or not to say "thank you," or "okay," or "I love you too," or stay dumbfounded, or maybe just doubt everything I thought I knew.

But evidently, receiving a death sentence changes a lot of things.

I didn't care that my face was red and puffy from crying, wasn't really trying to look cool anymore. I realize all the simple things I'd taken for granted, but I suppose it was too late now. My crush on Josh seemed like such a stupid thing now.

Because on any other day, the heavens would've opened up just then, and the sun would've shone through the dark clouds. The carpet would've turned into rose petals, and my heart would've beat out of my chest. Or something like that.

But the Hunger Games were anything but that.

Murder.

Blood.

Horror.

It was more along those lines.

And I couldn't help but think, that after years of daydreaming about my happily ever after, it really could've happened. It actually could've happened. If things were a little different, I really could worry about the trivial things, really could confess my undying love for Josh and one day, we would've rode off into the sunset. To try our luck at one of the happily ever afters I've only ever seen in fairytales.

But then Bex's name was drawn. So I had to volunteer. And I just hope she gets a happily ever after, because my fate has already been decided.

I've always thought, always knew, my Josh fantasies were always going to be just that. Some far off fantasies. But knowing that maybe, just maybe, it actually could've happened, then having it ripped away from me… It felt a lot different.

And win or lose, I was never going to get my happily ever after.

…

There was an occasional bump as the car made its way to the train station.

I perched my elbow on the edge of the window and watched the scenery pass by, taking in my last sight of District 12. I thought about the Games. Thought about life. Forced myself to stop thinking when it all felt like too much.

I look at the others instead.

In the front, Joe was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed. I doubt I'll ever be able comprehend his thoughts.

A peacekeeper was driving.

Beside me, Jessica was telling us about the Capitol, interesting facts about the districts, among other things. Maybe she was trying to get us into the spirit of the Games. Maybe she just wanted to break the silence and lighten the mood. Maybe she was trying to help us. But just couldn't bring myself to give her my full attention.

Beside Jessica, I notice that Zach was doing exactly the same thing I was doing just a moment ago. Elbow perched, lost in thought and not really here. One difference: He hadn't been crying. I wonder how strong his Poker Face is. I wonder what he's thinking about. I wonder who he's had to say goodbye to.

A part of me wants to say something, anything, and I didn't realize I was staring until he turned to me and smirked. "Something on my face?"

"Coal dust," I mumbled, turning away from him and sinking into my seat.

"You know-" he started, but he was cut off by Joe.

"We're here."