I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tracing an emerald eyeliner pencil around my green eyes. My mother wrapped my blonde hair around a curling iron. I had to look perfect. Today was the day of the Reaping and I had earned the right to volunteer and represent District One.

Every year in District One the eighteen year olds have a little pre-game competition and the best girl and boy get to volunteer for the Games. The trials include endurance, agility, skill in weaponry, and likeability. Few tributes knew the importance of looking pretty and saying exactly what the Capitol citizens wanted to hear.

My brother, Gloss, would be the ideal mentor. Just one short year ago, he had been the victor of the 63rd Hunger Games. He was young, fresh, and still highly lethal. He knew which camera to smile into, the precise moment when to run his fingers through his hair, and he was deadly accurate with throwing knives, spears, and swords. There was a reason he won.

We were always told that a proper victor knew exactly how to play the game. But, no victory was ever guaranteed. Tributes from the more unimpressive districts still won and none of them had the proper training like we did.

"Don't you look pretty?" Gloss said as he squeezed into the bathroom and kissed my cheek, "so much better than Ivory did last year." His breath smelled a little like alcohol. But I knew, like a lot of victors, he had started to drink more after he won. He wasn't a disgraceful drunk by any means, but he did enjoy a few early morning shots now and then.

"Why they kept her hair that icky, muddy brown color is beyond me," my mother chimed in, "I'm not surprised that she didn't receive any sponsor gifts. She was a true embarrassment to our district." Gloss didn't say anything. He didn't like to talk about Ivory too much. They had been allies and one afternoon she went scouting for food and never came back. The boom of the cannon, her picture in the sky, and that was it. Later he watched on a screen as another tribute stabbed her in the heart. Gloss would never admit it but I think he might have loved her or at least part of him did.

Today, Gloss was wearing a dark grey suit with a purple silk tie. He said he didn't want to take away any of the attention from me. To mimic his outfit, I wore a deep purple silk dress with a few layers of tulle to give it fullness and a silver ribbon wrapped around my waist. The only jewelry I wore was a necklace with a silver pendant. It would be my token just like it had been Gloss's.

The bells of city hall chimed, signally that all citizens should begin to make their way to the main square. Gloss walked next to me. Almost everyone I passed congratulated me on my future tribute status. Part of me felt like some of them were only saying congratulations because they knew that my volunteering meant their child was safe.

Atlas Overwhill was our Capitol escort. For the past few years he had sported a jaundice yellow skin tone. Whoever encouraged him to make that decision must have been colorblind. Today he wore a red suit with pink swirls all over the coat and pants and a pink matching tie. He smiled as he stood between two huge glass bowls on the stage that had been set up in the middle of the square while he waited for everyone to line up.

I searched the boys side to find Sterling. He would be the male tribute this year and could easily pass for Gloss's dark-haired twin. I knew the Capitol would love him.

After everyone was in place Atlas began, "welcome, thank you for coming," I always found it odd that he said that as if we had a choice of being here, "Happy Hunger Games everyone and may the odds be ever in your favor. Of course, ladies first." He knew that this was just a formality but still had to be done, he pulled out a slip of paper and read, "Elegance Fleet." There was a beat of silence. Elle was also in the Academy. She was twelve and in six years might make a fine tribute. But not today, today was my day.

I stepped out of the crowd of girls and said, "I volunteer as tribute." Two peace keepers immediately stepped behind me and lead me up to the stage with Atlas, Gloss, and Charm, another previous victor who would serve as the other mentor next to Gloss.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Atlas said and pulled me up to the microphone, "and what is your name, darling?"

"Cashmere Roxen," I said.

"Well, you wouldn't happen to be Gloss's sister?" Atlas asked.

"Yes, sir," I replied, "we were hoping to make this a family affair." Gloss and I gave each other highly scripted smiles.

"Well, congratulations, now let's get to the boys. Any more of your siblings?" he laughed and we playfully shook our heads, "very well," he pulled out a name, "Copper Wishart."

Almost immediately Sterling said, "I volunteer as tribute," he stepped out of the crowd and was quickly ushered to the stage where he introduced himself.

"Excellent!" Atlas exclaimed, "now shake hands and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Sterling and I clumsily shook hands and then turned to walk into the District One Justice Building. I had only been in this building one other time and that was to say goodbye to Gloss last year after he volunteered. I had started to choke up when I hugged him goodbye even though I tried to hold onto the idea that he would come home.

My parents and Gloss came into the room where they were holding me.

"Love, you looked so beautiful up there," my mom hugged me. When she let go she quickly tucked a stray curl behind my ear, apparently I didn't look perfect.

"We are so proud of you," my dad hugged me too. His hug was a little tighter than my mom and before he let go he whispered in my ear in a tone that no one else could hear, "we already did this once, why are you making us do this again?" He then looked at me, square in the eye. I thought that he was going to cry but instead he kissed my cheek, "we love you more than you can possibly know."

"You have your necklace, right?" my mother asked and I held up the pendant, "Good." There was a strange sadness in her eyes too. I thought they would both be happy for me, proud that I wanted to represent our district in the Games. They were proud of Gloss last year and he won. They weren't like the other parents who had to watch their children die last year. They watched their son win and become one of only sixty-three victors in the history of the Hunger Games. Why couldn't they be just as excited for me?

A peace keeper opened the door and told them that their time was up. The four of us did a quick group hug and then my parents left. It was now only Gloss and me.

"Why did mom and dad act like they didn't want me to volunteer? Isn't this supposed to be one of the proudest moments of my life?" I was confused. For eighteen years I had anxiously waited for this very moment and now my parents wouldn't share in my excitement.

"I guess watching your own kid compete isn't as much fun as watching other people's kids," he paused, "Come on. The train to the Capitol is waiting."