I wake up, solemn in my bed. Today is the day of the reaping. My name is in the ball thing 97 times. I really don't want to be reaped. "Humble, wake up!" my mom calls from the kitchen, and I roll my eyes. She's so annoying. "I'M ALREADY uP MOM!" I call down to her. I can hear her sigh. She's so annoying, and always butts into my life. I brush my hair with our broken, jankety brush and put on a worn out dress. You'd think being from district 9, we'd have nice clothes, but we don't. Instead we have dingy clothes, and no food. Sometimes my stomach growls for days, but I can't eat. Still, my family is more well off than the other families. My mom works as a factory foreman, and so we get more money than the rest. My father used to say that we are blessed, or something, some old talk from the pre-capital days. That was before he got blown up in the factory fire. "Humblr, are you ready for your reaping this year? You're 15 this year." my mom says placidly as I walk down the stairs broodingly. I shoot her a look. It's just me and my mom in our apartment, and I hate her. I hate everyone, actually. I don't have any friends in the whole district. They're all dumb, drones in the factory, and my dad always said that I'm more cunning than everyone in the whole district of 8 combined. After my dad died, no one was there to tell me I'm pretty or smart, except my mom, but what she did was unforgivable. I ate my breakfast of cereal in silence. We didn't have milk today. Mom would probably buy some after the reaping. I bet she hopes that I'll be pulled. Of course she does, she never liked me, not even when I was a child. All of her hugs and kisses are forced. "Bye mom." I say as I walk out the door and into the street. OTher children mill around me. We're all nervous for the reaping. By the time I've reached the little place they hold us off at, I can't find him anywhere. Yumil, my best friend and ally, is gone. He comes next to me soon though. We hold hands in a platonic way as we wait for the names to be called from the ball things. A women with ridiculous green hair and yellow eyes and skin the color of the sky and high heels that are really tall reaches in, clawing around with her fake nails for a girl's slip. "Humble Braeg!" She calls, and my stomach drops. That's me. Yumil's hand tightens around mine. He secretly hopes he won't be called. She reaches into the other ball. She grabs a piece of paper. "Barley Thunder." SHe calls. I gasp. Not him!