At 4:01, I decide to get up and recolor the dye in my hair.

I grab a brand new bottle from under the sink in my bathroom, and I sit on the cold marble floor and read the instructions.

When I get to the warnings, I see this:

Warning: Exposure to extreme outdoor/weather conditions may cause dye color to fade. Natural hair color may resurface.

If I dye my hair and then go into the arena, will my hair go back to blonde? If it does, then I better not do it.

What am I, crazy? I wasn't chosen to volunteer this year. I won't be on a train to the Capitol this afternoon.

When I'm done, I stand back and admire my chocolate brown hair in the mirror. Goodbye, blonde ditz hair, hello intelligence.

After that, I wash my face and put cream that helps keep my pores clear (not that I need it- I have no acne at all). Then I sit on the toilet and open the cabinet across from me.

Inside, there are rows and rows of makeup and nail polish. There's also a little section for different color contacts. Looking at the two shelves full of lipstick, I feel that tiny pang of regret I always feel whenever I open the cabinet.

Every year on my birthday, my mother buys me even more makeup. I never use it. Except on Reaping Day.

Realizing I have to pick out my dress before I can pick makeup and nail polish to match, I sigh before heading back into my room.

I throw open my closet and walk into it. Every year on my birthday, while my mother is busy buying me makeup I don't use, my uncle keeps himself occupied by purchasing dresses that I don't wear. Except on Reaping day.

All I ever wear is the Academy's training uniform, for school, and jeans and sweatshirts every other time. And pajamas, but I don't think that counts.

I run my hand across the row of hangers, searching for a dress that isn't too revealing or gaudy. Finally, I find one. It simply flows, only hugging my body at the waist. Its plunging neckline's middle name is practically sexy but sophisticated.

And the colors. Oh, the colors. On the bottom, it is a deep navy blue, but as it gets closer to the top, it fades to ivory.

I find a pair of blue flats with little cream-colored bows on them, and then I lay them out on the bed.

I search through my box of contacts until I find the ones labeled –baby blue-. I quickly unscrew the case and pop them into my eyes. It actually covers up my emerald greens pretty nicely. Then I look for nail polish.

Rule #1 of my house: Always do your nails first and then wait for them to dry before putting on your clothes. If you put the dress on before you paint your nails, you might accidentally spill polish on your dress (or purposely, as I once did).

After skimming through the bottles of polish, I select two, a navy blue and a peachy-yellow so pale it looks like ivory. Sitting on the cold marble floor once again, I alternate the colors on my smooth, perfectly buffed toenails. I also put a clear coat over it. Then I repeat the process on my finger nails.

If it was up to me, my nails would be bitten down to the nub. But no. Every time my mother sees me biting my nails, I get a ten minute lecture on how I have to uphold the reputation of my family.

After surveying myself in the mirror, I head downstairs to make breakfast. I don't like the way the maid cooks breakfast, so I always make my own.

I tread lightly down the stairs, trying not to wake my younger sister and my older brother.

I fry bacon as quietly as possible, and then slip back up to my room. After finishing my bacon, I glance at the clock. 5:59. Uh-oh. My family is about to be-

Beep beep beep beep beep beep..

Four alarm clocks go off simultaneously. I can hear my brother groan and slam his hand into his dresser, hoping to hit the clock and turn it off.

"Rise and shine, Kal. It's- oh. You're already awake," my mother says, yawning.

"Been up since three in the morning. Had a nightmare." I yawn. "Already eaten breakfast, too."

"Do me a favor, then, and help Jinx get ready while I go finish some business I had to put on hold last night."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and wake your brother up, too."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, ma'am." I know not to disagree with my mother. The last time I did, I wound up with red slap marks that stayed on my face for a week. I was teased relentlessly for that at the Academy.

I head to Jasper's bedroom and open the door. And immediately close it. I seize the headband from my hair and put it over my nose, then open the door again. At least this time I can still breath. It smells of alcohol and smoke. I close his window, which is wide open, its drapes fluttering in the wind, then head over to his bed to wake him up.

I lean over to wake him up, but then I see it. A pair of hot pink, frilly lace underwear. I pick up a hanger from the floor and use it to pick up the underwear. Then I steel myself from what I'm about to do; I think of all the things Jasper has done to me.

When I was ten, he broke my arm on purpose. Afterwards, he laughed when he saw me crying, and then proceeded to take a video of it and share it with all his friends.

When I was fourteen, he joined other trainees at the academy in throwing rocks at me. Carla Sanders had already opened a gash on my cheek by throwing a rock to my head. Jasper broke my nose with his rock.

After that, he started being a little nicer, but I still haven't forgiven him for putting me out of training for five months by breaking my arm.

So this pair of underwear is my golden ticket. Because, and it's just my luck that this should happen now, Jasper was selected as this year's volunteer for the Hunger Games.

But if he was injured by someone, he wouldn't be able to volunteer, and that would crush him on the inside.

"Mom!" I holler at the top of my lungs.

"What the hell?" Jasper says suddenly, groaning and opening his eyes to glare at me. But when he sees the underwear, he bolts up.

"No, Kal. You can't." He sounds panicked.

"Oh, I can't? Watch me," I taunt.

"Please, I'll do anything," he says desperately.

"Oh, Jas, I don't think so. I bet you regret breaking my arm and throwing stones at me now."

And I run out of the room, with him right behind me.