Hello! So, if any of you have watched what I upload, you've seen that this is not my first Hunger Games story, but this is my first big one.

I do not own the Hunger Games. I do, however, own the arena idea and all the characters not directly mentioned in the Hunger Game series.

Also, I apologize in advance if my story seems similar to any other HG fics in some way. It's unintentional. However, if you see any newer stories mirroring things in this story, or from things directly in this story, let me know.

Warning: It's the Hunger Games. That means blood, death, violence, angst, prep teams, and craziness.

**Revised July 2012**

There's a tree in our front yard. About ten yards up there's a spot where two branches just out, close enough at their bases for me to sit on. This has always been my spot.

"Dylan!"

I come up here whenever I want to be alone. To think. It's peaceful. Things seem simpler up here, away from the thick of things below. Usually I don't even look down, focusing on the ocean visible through the leaves, pretending I'm somewhere remote. Free.

"You have to get your salary today!"

I scowl. I know, you've only mentioned it…five times in the last hour.

But she's just anxious. She's always anxious on Reaping day. Even though most of the tributes are what those from some other districts referred to as Careers—ok, we call ourselves it, too, it has a nice ring to it—there were still times when someone was called and the designated volunteer doesn't step up to take their place for whatever reason. I think she's afraid that one of us will get called and no one will replace us. Today is the last time I will be entered into the reaping. My older brother, Luke, became safe the moment the male tribute was called last year.

However, this is the first year both of my younger siblings will be entered into the reaping. Lana just turned twelve and is the most peaceful child around. It's kind of freaky, as she's training so hard to be in the Hunger Games. Evan is thirteen now. He's as fiery as me, but has a rather caring disposition. Neither of them though is fit for the hardships of the Hunger Games. I am.

Looking at me, it's easy to tel. I am very skinny, not very big upstairs, but I've got muscles to show for years of work. I'm quick and nimble like a good range fighter. I've got more scars than I care to count and a hard look in my eyes almost all the time. Or so they tell me. Years of training hard can do that to a body.

I sigh, shaking my head. Why am I thinking like this? None of us will be going. The tributes today were decided two years ago.

"Dylan, if you don't get down here right now," She begins angrily, and I know it's time I get moving.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." I tell her and jump down.

"What were you doing up there?" She asks when I land.

"Thinking," I tell her. "What else?"

She sighs. "Just hurry up, please. I'll feel better when this is all over."

Oh yeah? When this is all over, my life's work will be gone forever. But I don't say that. She hates the fact I've been dreaming to compete in the Hunger Games since I was small.

I smile with just the right amount of sympathy in my voice, "I know, Mom. I'll be back soon." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek then race out of our yard and down the road before she can return any affection. Then I scowl down at the street.

As far as districts go, ours is one of the better ones. We are one of the largest districts. I think only District 11 is larger than us. Maybe District 2. Maybe. But it's a toss up. There are ten small fishing towns throughout the district, the main city, the Victor's Village where the Hunger Games victors live, and a town away from the water where the training grounds are. The hospital is there, though each town has their own clinic. I live in the main city where the Justice Building resides and the well-to-do folk live.

Starvation is very uncommon in this district. There are some poor areas, like Gull Cove and Dune, it's inevitable, and they sometimes go to bed hungry. We're kind of favored by the Capitol—not as much as they are in 2—but enough that it's not too bad everywhere, like here in Crest. In the event folks are short on money, there's no shortage of places to catch dinner. As long as you don't get caught breaking the law then you're good to go. If you get caught, well, at least the Mayor doesn't encourage whippings. It's hard to work around salt water when you've got open wounds. My father, brother, and I hold steady jobs so our family usually goes to bed with full stomachs.

In Crest at least, the only those who've trained for the Hunger Games really know what real hunger is. The trainers would purposefully deny us water or food for certain amounts of time because, in the arena, many tributes die from lack of water and food. They conditioned us, trained us…

I don't like to think about my training that often. It brings back too many memories I'm supposed to be forgetting. But I just can't bury them completely.

In District 4, every boy and girl, at the age of ten, is required to submit themselves for training to be part of the Hunger Games. I've heard that it's stricter in the other two districts that train their tributes, but I'm not sure. It's one of those little fickle things I've always wanted to know.

There are two separate groups. Those that are between ten and fourteen are in one and those who are fourteen to eighteen are in the other. Before the Preliminary, you are permitted to live at home as long as you commute to the training complex daily. Afterwards, if you're still in, you must live there.

We call the program the Trials. All the previous victors and star students who never went to the Games are instructors. They teach each child skills they'll need in the arena. Unless, of course, you are simply horrible, in which case they send you packing with orders to never come back. More than a few kids do horribly on purpose for that very reason. Luke did, I didn't.

At first, many of the instructors thought I would be one of the first to leave. I proved them wrong. I wasn't as strong or big as the others but I was faster and more agile. I could weave through the most complex contraptions and still hit the target or escape from my pursuer. I had good aim, too. So when I trained I always had a set of knives on my belt and a quiver of arrows and the bow on my back. Hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting were difficult for me thanks to my size. There was only one exception: a trident. I'd been using them and playing with them since I could walk and I was taught to fish out of a pond.

All the training leads to our first real obstacle that I mentioned earlier: the Preliminary.

The Preliminary is the first hurdle one must pass to even get a shot a competing in the Hunger Games. Occurring every one hundred and eighty days, it's a competition amon trainees to earn a spot in the higher training courses. You can enter up three times—twice when you're twelve, once when you're thirteen. You only have two shots in the Finals. They're more lax in the Preliminary simply because, when you're that young, you could still do with more training.

In the Preliminary, the contestants are allowed to surrender if they know they cannot win the fight—that's mostly to ensure people don't refuse to train—however, if they don't surrender and end up dying then, well, it was their fault. If a contestant fails the Preliminary two times they're cast out from the training program and they go on to enter the industry or family business. Where would we be if half the future industry workers are killed off? The Preliminary is when a lot of people have to decide what they're going to do: try and continue or leave and go on with their lives.

Everyone who enters into the Preliminary is put into a circular room designed especially for battle. Anyone in the district could come to watch us, though usually only trainers or friends and family come. The contestants start on metal cylinders an equal distance from a wooden imitation of the Cornucopia that's in the real Hunger Games. That's where all the weapons we will have access to are located just like in the Games, and contestants have to wait on their cylinders for sixty seconds until someone fires a shotgun. Then they get to run forward and grab a weapon and duke it out. The last three girls standing are the winners of the girl's division and same for the boys. If it's your third time and you're not one of those six then you're out. Out of the Preliminary and out of the Trials.

I went in twice. The first time I was careless, overconfident. I didn't last long. The second time, I was thirteen, and I did much, much better. Instead of just fighting with the others I climbed on top of the cornucopia and shot my arrows and knives from there. I ended up dealing some serious blows to the others below me.

During the next three years my training was stepped up to almost brutal levels. From after the mandatory dawn runs 'till dinner at night they had those of us in training for the Finals in the gym practicing, except for the small food breaks, which sometimes never came. Whenever we were injured we were sent to the infirmary, patched up, and allowed an hour or more to rest, depending on the injury, then we were right back to training.

"You'll probably have many sponsors in the arena." Beril, one of the younger victors, told me and the others I trained with after Annie Cresta complained about not getting enough time to recover. "They'll be able to pay for medical supplies if you're seriously hurt. That's why we even let you rest at all. But you might not get help from your sponsors. You have to learn to tough it up!"

"But what if we're seriously hurt because we can't rest longer?" Annie had argued.

"Then you're not going to the Hunger Games." And that was that.

During those few years between the Primary and the Finals, when I turned fifteen, is when I really hit puberty. I shot up from a measly 4'9 to 5'10 within months. I was always expected to be tall, I'd been such a gangly child, and even now I'm long-limbed and skinny, but thanks to my muscles, I'm not so stringy.

I was perfectly lethal by the time I was sixteen and I had one hell of an ego. I could not only hit a small moving target, but I got a bulls-eye every time with both knives and arrows, and an awl during my brief stint with them. The mentors focused a lot on ranged combat with me, but there was no shortage of work on my strength training and large weapons. I struggled at first, but by the time the Finals came around, I could work with an axe, mace, and sword. I still preferred my ranged style, though, and the only two big weapons I felt comfortable with were a spear and trident. The heavy ones hindered me when I ran and when it comes right down to it, swift feet could save you more readily than a sword in the Games.

Willow Brooklyn, Sunny Lightwood, Lucille Wilde, Hilla Tawn, and Annie Cresta were the girls I primarily trained with. Annie, Lucille, and I were twelve, the others were thirteen. We all won our Preliminaries that year and we would enter the Finals together. It was cruel that I would have to fight, and possibly kill, the girls I'd learned with, stayed up late to talk and giggle with, celebrated birthdays and reapings with, but it was to emotionally and mentally prepare us in case we formed friendships in the arena. They would have to be forgotten eventually.

As far the rules go, the Finals are exactly like the Preliminary. Only sixteen and seventeen year-olds can compete, there aren't enough weapons provided for everyone to be properly armed, only one boy and one girl can win, and it's annual instead of semi-annual. If you lose and you're young enough, you can try once more at the following one. It's one of the benefits given to those of us who win when we're twelve.

There were nine total in my round of the Finals: my group and the younger three from the group ahead of us.

While I stood on my cylinder I looked up at the crowd for a moment, searching for my friends and family. I was severely disappointed to see that Luke and my parents hadn't come, however Lana and Evan were there, as were my old childhood friends. I knew my mother and father didn't really approve of how hard I was working to be in the Hunger Games, and Luke wished that I would just get out of it and actually be a teenager, but it saddened me that they could've come to show their support.

When the gun went off, I shot forward mirroring the bullet that had flown from the barrel. My long legs propelled me forward and I scooped up three knives before Lucille, could get them. I managed to get atop the cornucopia again, away from the fray, while the others battled it out below. Within several minutes, it was down to four of us. Sunny, Annie, and two of the girls I didn't know had crawled away from the fighting and collapsed, waiting for a mentor to come collect them and take them to the infirmary. Except for Lucille, who was collapsed a perilous few feet from the fighting, unable to move, her brown hair sticky with blood.

By then I figured it was time to get in on the fight. I slid down and made a beeline for the three fighting girls. The blonde girl turned at the last moment, saw me coming at her, and jumped away to avoid me. Hilla was then in my path. I remember the look on her face as if it were yesterday; ruthless, cold, and almost feral, no sign of the years of memories between us. She was armed with a decent-sized spear that could easily skewer me. I half-expected her throw it—it's what she liked to do with spears—but she didn't. Instead she held it in front of her, to keep me away, to block anything I might throw, and to take a jab at me if I did throw.

I kept a few feet away from the spear head, feinting to the sides, trying to find an opening. After a few moments of that, and a yelp of pain from one of the injured girls nearby, I finally just let the knife fly. It hit her in the shoulder and I saw her grip loosen on the spear as she cried out in pain. While she was reaching up to remove my weapon from her flesh, I shot forward, grabbing her spear and snapping it. I had the end with the blade and she had my knife and a bleeding shoulder.

Her face was still twisted with rage but the pain in her eyes was clear. I decided to just risk it. I flew at her. She held the knife up parallel to her chest, ready to block my blows, but I didn't use my weapons. I dropped the spearhead, twisted to the side, grabbing her arm, and bit down. I felt my teeth sink through her flesh and muscles and tasted blood. The knife slipped through her fingers but she used the stuck to beat my back with as she screeched in pain. I let her go and kicked her in the stomach. She went down, gasping for air, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. I picked up the fallen knife and shoved it through her arm, pinning her to the ground.

I didn't hear the other girl coming over Hilla's screams, but I felt it when her weapon pierced my abdomen. I'd never been in more agony in my life than I had been in that moment. I stumbled away, momentarily blinded by pain. I tripped as I yanked the awl from my stomach and fell down. I raised the weapon to defend myself as I scrambled up, but the girl was much bigger boned and she got me down. I struggled, snapping at her with my teeth—hey, if Enobaria from District 2 won her Games with her teeth then why couldn't I?—but I couldn't get them into one her limbs.

"Give up?" she hissed. I refused, struggling more. I felt something pierce my leg but I still refused to surrender. Then something collided with my head and I blacked out.

When I woke up I was in the infirmary with the nurse bending over me. When my family had gathered around I was gently told the news. The girl, Luke called her Nita, had severed some major arteries in my leg, as well as several muscles and nerves. I wouldn't be able to walk properly for a long time. And, what mom said was 'the worst of all'; the awl that had been shoved into my abdomen had pierced my uterus and an ovary. The doctors had managed to save the uterus so I would still get the correct hormones, but I was never going to have children. I took some time to process that. It wasn't as if a family had been top on my list of priorities. I had…considered it a few times…but I'd always put training first. However, now that the choice was snatched away, I felt robbed. Then I realized that Nita had probably won. She was probably going on to be a tribute. But when I asked, they told me Willow had won and Nita, having already used up both chances, was out. That seemed like justice, but she still owed me big time.

I felt that I was mentally ready to get back to training, but the doctors wouldn't let me. I had to take time to heal. So, once again, it was me, Sunny, Lucille, Hilla, and Annie together. This time we were working to overcome the injuries we'd sustained. Sunny, Hilla, and I were hurt the worst. While Annie and Lucille went back to train just a few days later so they could try again the next time around, we were stuck in the infirmary to recover. Sunny was learning to cope with only one ear and only three fingers on her left hand—the brown-haired girl she'd fought apparently had a thing for butchering her opponents. Hilla was in a lot of pain because of me—I apologized profusely, but she'd always just wave it off, already having forgiven me. I was trying to get my leg to cooperate again so I could walk, then I had to get it well enough so I could run. My arm was much easier and was better in no time. It was just that damn leg…

Out of all of us, only Lu and Annie got to go back for the next round. Sunny and Hilla were too old to get enough training in time and try as I might, I wasn't ready to compete during the next Finals. My leg wasn't cooperative enough in time to train for them. That was it. It was over. Six years of my life, my ability to have children…gone, all gone, for nothing. Annie won that following round and she and Willow got more training. They were set to be tributes in consecutive years, which worked our perfectly due to their ages. And it was Willow's turn this year.

After I'd recovered enough I was sent home. And, of course, by then, I was able to walk like always, with only occasional pains. My parents and siblings were thrilled to have me living with them again, but they weren't sure what to do with me.

Luke and my father's jobs and the little tasks Evan and Lana got paid for brought in enough money to sustain our family of six so I really didn't have to do anything. And it was recommended that any former trainee was given up to six months to readjust to normal life before reentering the industry or otherwise because life out here was so much different than the one within the compound.

My mother gave Evan and Lana the job of "fixing" me. They were supposed to revert the hard, fierce young woman I'd become into the kind but feisty girl that they remembered. I tried, I really did, and in some ways, I succeeded, but my heart never left that gym where I trained until my sweat was sweating. I ran every morning like they made us do at the center and I swam a lot. I swiped a switchblade from a store and kept it with me almost all the time in my pocket.

Mother disapproved, of course, and she went ballistic when she caught me giving Evan a knife-throwing lesson. I'd tried to reason with her, he was already in the Trials, after all. But she wouldn't have it and our little lessons ended. Good thing she didn't ask me where I got the blade from.

I finally understood why we were given time to readjust. I just couldn't believe how soft everyone around me was. Even my old friends, Ryin, Spence, Heather, and Catia were somewhat distant from me.

After the six months was up, I tried to go back to the job I'd left when I turned ten. The manager had been a nice older woman and I liked her and her husband. I was like a granddaughter to them. But apparently they'd died two years beforehand and since I was in the Trials I hadn't been informed. Their eldest son and his wife were in charge and the moment I shook their hands I knew I was wasting my time.

They didn't even seem to care that I'd devoted three years of my youth to this place and had been one of the best net makers. The woman kept asking me what weapons I used, how many people I'd killed, did I like violence? . I finally told her, "I can hit the target every time with my arrows and knives. I can skewer anyone with a trident and walk away spotless. I know, I've checked." Maybe I shouldn't have sounded so cold, but I couldn't help it. I figured by then that I wasn't getting my old job back so I decided to enjoy myself. "I can make a noose for any size person. I know sixteen ways to kill someone with my bare hands. I can make a hook out of anything and mutilate a person with it."

Needless to say, I'm not exactly welcome around that dock anymore.

No matter where I went, someone there always recognized me for what I was and I was given the boot. No one wanted someone like me around. Someone who could pull out a knife and let it fly at any moment. Someone trained to identify and exploit weakness. Someone who could frighten you to the core in a single look.

Around that time, Mrs. Hanson, my friend Catia's mother, passed away. Catia, the oldest of four children, became the mother figure of the household and as a result, had to quit her job at the fish trapping company her father owned. Catia knew I was in need of a job so she recommended I take her place on the workforce.

Her father, Brok, was a little wary at first. He was very connected to the Trials program—he's got connections everywhere—but he supplied many of our meals at the center. He knows a lot about trainees and who's doing what and such. But he'd never really considered hiring a former trainee, I guess. Unlike pretty much everyone else, though, when Catia dragged me into his office for an interview, he respected me. After he watched me diving, my nimble fingers working knots, and my quick wrists flinging knives, spears, and tridents into fish, well…he decided to give me a job. Now I work at one of the largest fishing companies in Panem. My job is to dive down and set and retrieve traps, inspect nets with my friend Leathan and I also help out on the boat deck if needed.

I have to pick up my pay now and see what the quotas are this coming week. Reaping or not, there is work to do around here and life goes on after the train leaves. It isn't that far from my home, through a neighborhood, to the docks where Brok's office is. It's like a decent sized shack, really. Oh well. It's not like I spend much time in there anyway.

The moment I walk in, the dark-haired assistant, Asil, latterly springs out of no where. The switchblade, which is mostly for precaution now, is out and ready before I realize who it is.

She shrieks, leaping away as quickly as she'd arrived. She leaned against the desk. "Don't do that!" She gasped, holding her chest.

"You know better," I snap, flipping the blade shut.

She's flustered. "Mr. Hanson needs to see you right away."

"No kidding."

Asil isn't an idiot. She knows when to let things go. "Mr. Hanson needs you in there right away." She says quickly, blinking those murky green eyes of hers. "Huge order from the Capitol. Double the usual quota."

My eyes widen then I storm past her, through the door to the other room in the shack, Brok's office. It's a quaint little room. There are two windows, one facing the sea and one providing a clear view of the boats. There is a fake fish on the wall plus his entire fishhook collection in a glass case. A trident hangs innocently on the wall. In one spot near the window are pictures of his family: his mother and father, sisters and brother, his late wife, and his four children, Catia, Krista, Zach, and Margo.

"I thought that was you." The middle-aged man behind the desk says. "You're the only one who can make her scream."

"You know, there's a couple ways that could be taken…"

Brok sighs, placing his hand on his forehead. "I swear. Those damn sailors corrupted you."

"Hey, you're the one that stuck me with them. Now what's this about a double quota? We do have to sleep sometime this week, you know."

Brok Hanson is a lot like his daughter. They both have light green eyes and dark brown hair and tanned, almost bronze skin. They're both compassionate and understanding. Brok is one of the only employers in probably the whole district who will hire children and actually pay them good money for their lighter jobs.

He nods. "I know that, but tell it to the Capitol. There's some big to-do to celebrate the Games this year. It's only six years until the third Quarter Quell, you know. I heard, through various sources, that this years Games will be…exciting. Well, for the audience anyway."

My heart flutters. Exciting for the audience means challenging for tributes. I like a challenge.

"So…um…" I bite my lip. "We have to get three hundred pounds of cod and sardines, four hundred pounds of shrimp and lobster, six hundred pounds of tuna and herring?"

"And six hundred pounds of salmon," He adds brightly.

"Of course." I mutter. "Damned pigs. Looks like we'll be sleeping on the boats."

"Bring your pillow."

I snort.

"So, a bit of small talk before I send you off, I think. Are you excited?"

"Why?"

"It's your last Reaping in the pens. Most kids would be thrilled."

"Oh, yeah. I'm totally thrilled." I say sarcastically, dropping into the chair in front of his desk. I put my elbow on the top, leaning my head in my hand.

"Sorry," he says apologetically.

"It's not your fault." I mutter.

"So, what do you think of this years tributes?"

"Well, who's the boy? Do you know?"

"Pisces…Pisces something…Quil…Kwin…Kwan…"

My head snaps up and my arm falls flat onto the desk. "Pisces Quin?"

"Yes! That's it. …I take it you know him?"

Know him? How could I not? He's an old friend. Former friend, really. We were really close back in the day. But then we became teenagers and he just…well, he wasn't nice anymore. Sometimes, he was downright mean. Honestly, if I had to pick between him and Willow, I'd pick Willow.

"Yeah." I say. "And the girl, Willow, is a friend of mine."

Brok's face changes the moment I say Willow's name. Confusion, disbelief, then understanding. "You don't know. Of course you don't, you don't exactly keep up with these things anymore, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Willow cannot volunteer anymore."

Like the first rays of sunlight peaking over the horizon after a cold night, hope flares inside me. What do they do, I wonder, when the intended tribute cannot compete? I have never heard of such a thing occurring, at least not within my lifetime. I keep my face composed. "Why?"

"She was helping a group of eleven-year-olds yesterday—you know how they get to handle bigger weapons at that age—and there was an accident." Brok's eyes search my face. "One of them was being foolish, swinging a mace around like a baseball bat and it slipped. Willow caught it before it before it could hit one of the kids but she got stabbed in the process."

"Is she alright?" I gasp.

"She'll live. But she's in no condition to go into the arena."

"So…who's going to volunteer?" I try to sound uninterested but I don't fool Brok. He smiles just a bit.

"Nita Mayflower has been asked to volunteer. She isn't quite nineteen yet so she is eligible and she won second place that go round. Ah, you know her, too?"

"Of course I do." I say, only barely containing the anger rising up. "I got third place."

Her? Why her? Why not me? I've stayed fit, kept my skills sharp. I didn't blow both chances, damn, I lost once. I didn't get to use my second chance and she lost twice. She doesn't deserve it after what she took from me.

Brok chuckles, "Ah, yes, I remember that. That was…"

I lean my chin on my fist, arching one eyebrow.

He clears his throat. "Sorry. So, I have to ask, what are you planning?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you and I know you want to go. Don't even bother denying it. And now here's the perfect opportunity."

I say nothing.

"Uh huh. Thought so. Well, I don't know if you have anything solid, yet, but you know you could always play innocent." He says. "Volunteer and say you heard about Willow but you didn't know about Nita. Hell, if you want, I could ask Catia to find a way to keep Nita from volunteering before you."

"Why?"

"It's your life. You and I both know what could happen. I say, if you want to risk it then it's up to you. Of course, if you were my daughter, I'd put packaging tape over your mouth before you went to the Reaping pens today."

I laugh and he smiles, taking an envelope out of one of the drawers of his desk and a piece of paper, scrawling on it. "Your usual salary and you can take ten pounds today."

"Thanks," I say, standing up.

"Oh, by the way, Dylan," he says as my hand is on the door knob. "If you die, don't worry, I'll give your brother or sister your job. Happy Hunger Games!"

I roll my eyes.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor." He adds as I shut the door.

Just off the pier is a fish market. Most of the stalls here are owned by Brok. The slip he gave me granted me ten pounds of fish from any of the shops. I decide to treat my family. I get three pounds of lobster for Mom and Dad, two pounds of salmon for Lana and Luke, and a pound of perch for Evan, and a pound of tuna for me so it won't look odd. And, as a special treat, three pounds of rainbow trout. A family favorite.

At home, Lana squeals in delight when I tell her I bought salmon for her.

"Sweet Poseidon!" Mother gasps. "You got ten pounds? Did you save someone from dying or something?"

I shrug. "Don't know. Maybe an early birthday present?"

For the first time, I don't dress in the nice outfit that my mother, an excellent seamstress, made for me. It consists of a tunic and a skirt that falls just past my knees. The fabric is light blue, like the shallows where I'd learned to swim, and silky. It goes well with my darker blue eyes. Part of me wants to wear it, but I don't want my first impression to be soft and girly.

I rummage through my closet looking for something—anything—else that I could wear that would make me appear normal to my district, but slightly intimidating to the other eleven. After a minute of searching, I give in and throw off my green shirt and slip the tunic over my head. I pull on tan corduroy shorts and slip on a pair of white sandals. I leave it down, brushing it behind my shoulders. Like this, it falls about to my waist, slightly wavy.

I slip the switchblade into my pocket and leave the room. My sister is just now leaving her room, too, so cute in her light pink dress and pigtails, brings up a ripple of disgust. My face twists for a second. She wants to be one of our tributes? Her big green eyes widen at my expression and she hurries back into her room. I feel a twinge of regret for upsetting her, and it throws me off. I'm about to volunteer for the Hunger Games. This is not the time to let something like upsetting my sister bug me.

Mother is surprised when I'm not in the outfit. She puts her hands on her hips. "Dylan, why aren't you—"

"I don't want to wear it," I snap.

"Watch how you speak to your mother."

If our faces weren't similar, it would be hard to know he was my father. He has brown hair and green eyes, like Luke and Lana. Evan got his eyes from Dad and his dark red hair is a mixture of Dad's dark hair and Mom's auburn hair. I inherited Mom's hair and eyes.

"Sorry." I mumble to her. "I've got the tunic on, though."

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me through the house, out through the front door. "What?" I grumble when we're outside.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"It's my last reaping," I say.

"Be happy."

"I'm not."

"You'll get over it. Apply to be a trainer in a few months if it means so much to you."

I had considered that. When you turn nineteen, if you showed exceptional skills, you can apply to join the ranks of trainers in the Trials—but you have to be good. It's even better if they ask you to come back. At least my skills wouldn't be wasted them. But I will always envy the ones who get the chance to go to the Capitol, I know it.

"I think I will." I say. Only, I won't be just a trainer. I'll be a victor.

They have never supported my training. They didn't even come to see me fight. I hope they'll at least have the decency to cheer me on in the coming weeks and maybe, just maybe, be proud of me.

So, like it so far? I know this was a bit slow, but I have to get this all out of the way. This story will start to pick up soon. :)

Ok now review, favorite, subscribe...the whole sha-bang.