CHAPTER 1
I wake up to the smell of fresh bread wafting up the stairs, slithering under my door and into my room. I slip into my hand-me-down boots, still a bit too big but I will grow into them. I trudge slowly down the stairs half-asleep and a bit grouchy. I love helping my father in the early mornings when my witch of a mother is still asleep. Sometimes I wonder why he even married her in the first place.
I had to stay up and help my mother with a cake for Mayor Undersee's daughter. It's Madge's birthday, and it had to be perfect because the next day was the reaping and the last day for two people in this district. A boy and a girl, one of each, will be chosen to fight a brutal bloody battle to the death in a unique arena. There will be one winner no matter what. The games are produced by gamemakers and approved by President Snow. President Snow is in charge of all of Panem. Panem is the area of what was once America. After a major civil rebellion, the 12 losing districts were enslaved by "the Capitol" and severely punished. One of the ongoing punishments was that annually one boy and one girl from each district must be sent to a gladiator-type fight to death for the entertainment of the Capitol. Only one of 24 would survive. This is the reason I had made that cake perfect. This might be Madge's last day in District 12.
I finally make it down the stairs and see my father unusually silent instead of his quite, joyful whistle. Like a telescope coming into focus, I remember. "The reaping," I whisper almost silently, but my father hears. "Well, at least you don't have to take tesserae like the poor Everdeen girl in the Seam." He smiles at me knowingly, and I blush and turn away, feeling guilty. She probably thinks I live a soft life with no cares. She's kind of right, though. I really have enough to eat, too much. I think of her diminutive form at school and compare it to mine and feel terrible. She almost never has enough to eat; I almost never miss a meal. I wish I could give her something, anything to help her. But I was shaken from my thoughts at the sound of my mother's screaming: "Best clothes, PEETA!" I cringe when she yells down at me. "You want to look nice for the reaping." I don't want to, but I can't tell her that unless I want a red welt on my face. So I reply softly, "Yes, mother," and return to my room to get ready.
I dig out a button up shirt and a bright red tie. I find pants that are actually part of my school uniform. They are a bit tight, but they will have to do for today, only today, the reaping. My mother, growing impatient yells up the stairs, "Hurry up, young man; we can't be late." I rush down and out the door where my parents wait for me. We walk in silence on the short walk to the justice building. On a dais in the square Mayor Undersee sits in his throne-like chair; two other people, a women with pink hair and large, slightly drunk man, are sitting beside him. We stand in the square. Waiting with camera men on roof tops, watching our every move, only adds to the feeling of dread. I stand feeling sick to my stomach, afraid that it could be me, me plucked from my home and dropped into an arena with 23 people who wish to, in fact, must kill me. Effie Trinket, an extremely odd woman who comes every year from the Capital with different colored hair, stands up. Her powdered white face and pink hair make her look like an evil clown. She giggles, manically and says so everyone can hear: "Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She reaches in the jar and plucks out a name: "Primorse Everdeen."
I gasp in recognition. That's Katniss' little sister. In the sharp silence, I hear Katniss screaming, "I volunteer as tribute!" and she rushes to the platform after her sister. The peacekeepers pull her away from Prim. At that moment, Haymitch Abernathy, one of our two district victors, falls off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. The cameras are directed to him, but I see Katniss let out a choked cry which she is hoping goes unnoticed. No one did, but me. Now Effie prepares to choose the boy. Without tesserae, I hope the odds are in my favor. But they are not.