Surprise! Read and review please!

Yeah, I'm obsessed with The Hunger Games and the district's heroine being in District 12. I just wanna keep it that way.

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins and Phineas and Ferb belongs to Swampy Marsh and Dan Povenmire.

Isabella POV

It's the day of the reaping. I'm dressed in the traditional reaping clothes. Good attire.

Just a white pleated button-up and a grey pencil skirt. My hair's in a braided up-do that my mother uses for the reaping. I hate this.

I'd rather be hunting right now. Oh, by the way, I'm Isabella Garcia-Shapiro. I have a really depressed mother and a very sweet sister. My mother doesn't care for us. I do. I took over a head of the family when I was only eleven. That was five years ago. I'm sixteen now. My mother is a sore subject to talk about, because I'm still angry that she just sits there, in her faded old wooden rocking chair, mumbling nonsense and staring at the wall for years after our father died. The only time she gets up is to eat, prepare our clothes, or for the reaping. I hate it. I don't trust her anymore.

My family lives in District 12, the poorest district in Panem. There are 13 – oops, was 13- districts, but the 13th obliterated during the war. My sister, Marigold, is the absolute only person I'm sure I love. I call her Marie for short. She's twelve. It's her first reaping. She's scared.

"Shh, Marie. Everything's okay. Your name's only in there once. They're not going to pick you. The odds are against it," I say.

She only gives me a half smile with teary eyes. "Okay," she replies.

Actually, I'm scared myself. Marie and I have – actually, had – a brother, and his name was Willark. He was chosen in the reaping two years ago; he was twelve, I fourteen, Marie ten. He hunted with me sometimes, he knew a bit of archery, and he was good with a knife. He earned a seven in training. He made it to the final eight. He was the last to die. All because the District 7 girl struck him from behind with an axe when he was down examining his leg wound out in the Cornucopia's field. I didn't want Marie to die like that.

We head to the town square. The girls are separated from the boys, and we are separated according to our age group.

We sign up. The Capitol's guards, the Peacekeepers, insert needles in our fingers and we press our thumbs onto an ink pad then stamp it on a piece of paper. They put a drop of our blood from the needle on a scanner and it says our name and age. "Isabella Garcia-Shapiro, 16," the scanner beeps. It verifies if we are still eligible for the reaping or if we aren't. The Peacekeepers in charge of signing up then writes my name on the blank lines beside my thumbprint. "Next," says the Peacekeeper. I scramble to my place in the crowd. Marie's already in her place.

Our district escort, Jenia Rolands, climbs up the stage. She's in her mid-thirties, and she wears extravagant fashions from the Capitol, which is okay there, but kind of bizarre to the districts. She's wearing a spiky wig, blue with streaks of purple. Her heels are five inches tall and her dress seems tight around the hips. Her dress is patterned with the Capitol seal all over in gold, the dress is black. The Capitol is the boss of these districts. It takes joy in seeing the Hunger Games. President Mitch Snow, the leader of Panem, our country, decreed that each year, the twelve districts will offer in tribute one young man and woman, aged 12- 18 to be trained in the art of survival and be prepared to fight to the death. It's a reminder of the war. And, if you defy the Capitol in any way, no matter how big or small, they will destroy you, or, as I put it, 'Mess with us and we'll do something worse and mess with you. We'll mess with your children.' And this is where the Hunger Games come from.

"Welcome!" she says into the microphone. "Happy Hunger Games!" she announces. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Phineas POV

As I button up my reaping shirt, I think about my odds. If I get chosen at the reaping, I'm sure to die. I'm not buff like anybody else. I only work at District 12's bakery. I don't even know if I have muscles. My sister, Candace, is 18. It's her last year of the reaping. I'm glad. If she isn't chosen, that's fine. If I'm chosen, it's definitely not fine. If Candace was chosen, I can't do anything. I can't volunteer for her, she's a girl. And if I'm chosen…I just don't want to think about it.

I follow my mother and sister to the town square. We sign up, not saying a word, and I run to my place and Candace to hers as our escort testifies the microphone.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she says. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I hate the Capitol. Always wanting to see Panem's yearly tributes die. Makes me sick.

"Today we are here to announce the tributes for the 35th annual Hunger Games! And now, it's time to watch a film straight from the Capitol!" Jenia says. On the screen, they show the same dull film. Boring.

As the film ends, it's still silent. Jenia continues smiling.

"Ladies first!" she says into silence. She always says that every year.

She walks over to a huge glass globe. There are two of them, one containing the girls' names and the other boys' names. She removes her gloves gingerly and puts a perfect, slender pale hand inside the globe. She snatches a piece of paper and unfolds it as she reaches the microphone.

"Marigold Garcia-Shapiro!" she announces. I know her. She admires the frosted cakes at the bakery during Christmastime with her sister, Isabella. Isabella is the girl of my dreams. She's a knockout. She is perfect for me. My father buys her game from when she hunts. She and Marie had a brother – what was his name? William? Willark? - who died during the Games two years ago. I feel sorry for Marigold. Unless someone volunteers for her.

"Marie!" I hear a voice. Why does it sound so familiar? "Marie!" Marigold has just been put in the hands of the Peacekeepers when the voice shouted. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I look up at the screen – I was looking down at my shoes - and know why it's familiar.

It's Isabella's voice.

Ferb POV

I hate the reaping. I have one day to myself, and then – boom. It's reaping day. I tuck my flash drive with all my blueprints in my pants pocket and head to District 3's town square.

Our escort, Donald Underland, is much better than all the other districts' escorts. He's much more civilized and speaks normally. No Capitol accent. But he still wears the bizarre fashions, though.

"Ladies first!" he says. He pulls a slip from the glass globe.

"Brenna Minalc!" She's 18. She's good with technology, and she's good in survival skills every time our school has a camping event.

She has fine blonde, almost white hair, and irresistible hazel eyes and pale skin. She's not good with people.

She climbs up the stage, trembling a bit, and I feel almost sorry for her.

Donald then walks over to the other globe opposite the other one. He snatches a slip from the top.

"Ferb Fletcher!"

I'm frozen. Did they call me? Did they just call me?

I blindly step outside into the aisle and the Peacekeepers take care of me, since a tribute tried to escape before.

I climb up the steps and I face the crowd. I can see my brother with shiny eyes looking at me and my grandmother looking at me, shaking her head, tears running down the side of her face.

The mayor then reads the Treaty of Treason, then Donald motions for us to shake hands. Brenna looks me in the eye and mouths, "Please win. For me. I don't want to kill. Please." I widen my eyes, but then they revert back to their original form. I nod. I even squeeze her hand before going inside the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers lead us inside a room with a couch and two chairs with armrests. I sit on the couch and wait for visitors. They're allowed only three minutes before being led out of the room.

The first ones in are family. My grandmother hugs me and I hold her gaze. "Please work harder. I don't want Greg to starve," I whisper. She hugs me in reply. She works in an electronics factory, but she gets so little pay in a month that you can buy candy with it.

I crouch down to Greg's size. He's seven, and he's years away from his name being put in the globes.

"Greg, listen to me. Behave for grandmother. She's old and our mum and dad are dead. Please listen. Behave. Don't let her get tired. She might die," I say, tears spilling out.

Greg hugs me tightly before pulling away and saying "Yes. I promise." The Peacekeepers then drag them away, shutting the door behind them.

The next in is my friend, Cole. He shakes my hand then hugs me. "Good luck out there, man. Win this. Do it for District 3," he says quickly. Then he goes out. I realize that Cole left a slip of paper in my hands. I unfold it and I realize what it is.

It's a train ticket leaving for District 5. We planned to leave – to escape the district along with our families after the ceremonies – but our plan failed. I was picked. I shove the ticket in my pocket, feeling the cold metal flash drive. Oh no! I had to give that to my last visitor. I had to give it to Greg, but in the midst of everything, of shock, I forgot. I'll just give it to my mentor then.

The Head Peacekeeper opens the door and motions for me to leave. The Head Peacekeeper is as mean and as cruel as our mayor. Always on a budget. That's why we don't have much money in District 3, since supplies are so expensive. At least that's what they say. The supplies are cheap, though sturdy, my grandmother once said. The mayor just uses the excess money to buy useless material possessions.

Brenna and I are led to a car, along with Donald. We step in and suddenly we're being driven off to the Capitol train which will eventually lead us to our death.

Note: Isabella's POV and Phineas' POV will continue in the next chapter, along with another character's POV. Yeah, I gave you a glimpse of what I thought District 3 would be like and why they would have an uprising. Next chapter might be up next week.