The Hunger Games were undoubtedly the bane of everyone's existence. It was almost Reaping Day, and that meant the 74th Hunger Games. At least these games would be standard; it was the Quarter Quell that you'd really have to worry about. I fidgeted on the bed, glancing down at the streets of District 3. As per usual, the streets were void of any activity; the adults were in factories or research plants making technology for the Capitol. The kids were off learning from their mentors, so that when they were older they would have a job. Then there were the kids like me; the ones who were more or less preparing for the Hunger Games. I was in no way skilled with weapons, but with Reaping Day coming up, I had made sure that I knew how to read body language, how to be persuasive, and of course I had brushed up on my technology skills. I could make a hydrogen bomb from some plastic and wires. It's not really a bomb, not quite; it uses electricity to break apart water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen. Then it uses a spark of electricity to explosively recombine the gases into high pressure steam, which propels a stream of water high into the air.

Basically, it was a water gun. But, if I engineered it just right I'm sure that I could make something dangerous out of it. I wrapped my arms around my legs, staring unseeingly at the gray streets below me. If I got picked for the Hunger Games, I didn't want to die. Not right off the bat anyways. I leaned against the unsteady wooden walls of our house another sigh escaping my lips. The Hunger Games were barbaric, there was no doubt about it, and if we had a choice I was certain we wouldn't participate. But that was just the point, wasn't it? We didn't have a choice. We had to participate.

I scratched at my arm. The door to my bedroom creaked open, and Bran stuck his head in a mischievous look in his green eyes. Bran was my older brother by two years, and I adored him, but his scheming often got us in trouble.

"What do you want Bran?" I sighed, looking at him tiredly.

"What do you mean, what do I want?" Bran asked, looking affronted. "Mom, told me to come and get you Larka. She said she wanted to talk to you about Reaping Day." He shrugged, "I dunno why though."

I sighed, climbing to her feet. "Probably hoping that I don't misbehave," I grumbled walking down the stairs with Bran closely shadowing me. I glanced over my shoulder, "You don't have to follow me, Bran. I'm sure I can find Mom on my own."

"Oh, but I do dear sister, because you my lovely little peach are a bit of a troublemaker." He cooed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Plus, Reaping Day is tomorrow and who knows if this is the last time we'll see each other?" He frowned, his arm tightening around my shoulders. "Let's be honest Larka-dear, you show the most potential for a victor District 3 has seen in years. You'll probably get picked."

"I know," I grumbled, shoving at him. "I really don't need you reminding me of that."

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered pressing his lips against the crown of my head. "I just worry about you Larka, you're my little sister."

"I appreciate it," I mumbled, walking into the kitchen.

Bran gave me a quick squeeze before heading out of the house; I assumed that he was going to one of the technology centers to help Beetee out. I watched him go, and once he was out of my line of sight turned my gaze to my Mom who was watching me a sorrowed look in her gray eyes. She combed her fingers through the darkly curly mess that was my hair and smiled soothingly at me.

"This is your last year to be Reaped, isn't it?" She murmured.

I shrugged, "Maybe."

She frowned, "Larka."

"Sorry," I apologized rocking back on my heels. "I think it is, but I'm not too sure. The Reaping rules have never really made much sense to me."

Her eyes softened, "That's because you are your father's daughter. The Reaping rules never made much sense to him, either. You both rely too much on logic."

I shrugged, a bashful smile on my face. I didn't see anything wrong with that; as a member of District 3, one could even argue that it was exceptionally useful. We were the technology district, we manufactured, invented and engineered things; I'd say that to do that one would obviously need logic. But maybe, Mom was saying that like my father, I looked too deep into things and what should be easy, I made too complicated.

"Oh, my dear sweet girl," she crooned wrapping her arms around me.

I laughed, hugging her back. "Don't worry, so much Mama." I smiled, pecking her on the cheek quickly. "The likelihood of being Reaped is about .001%, I think." I frowned, "That doesn't sound quite right. Let's see…" I tapped my finger against my chin as I thought. "There's about how many slips of paper? Three kids of eighteen who don't apply for tesserae, so that's…Twenty-one. Plus six seventeen-year-olds…" The frown on my face deepened. "There's about 234 slips total, so to split that in half for boys and girls that'd be 117 each. So the likelihood then of me being picked is .051%, isn't it? Since not a lot of people get tesserae."

Mom laughed, ruffling my hair and pulling me closer to her. "The statistics you provided don't alleviate my fears very much, Larka. Even .051% is still too high. I'd prefer if it was nothing."

"It can only be nothing once I'm nineteen," I mumbled. "I think." I turned to her with a grin, "Still, the odds are pretty low. I wouldn't worry much." I shrugged, "If I get picked, I get picked. There's no use in getting worked up about it."

"You've grown up a lot my little lark," Mom whispered, her arms tightening around me. "Since when did you get so mature and levelheaded?"

"I don't know," I smiled playfully. "Probably after Bran tried to make a bomb out a watermelon, while I was trying to create cheaper, more efficient ways for electricity."

She shoved me, "Go read. Honestly, the two of you are so much trouble."

The next morning, the lighthearted atmosphere that had enveloped the house had been replaced by a sense of dread. Bran was unusually silent, and Mama was already close to tears. I tried to comfort them as best as I could, but it honestly didn't do that good. The nice dress that Mama had made me wear, made me feel like a lamb ready to go to the slaughter. My fingers clenched in the fabric of the skirt, and I startled when Bran grabbed my hand. This was how it always was on Reaping Day; nerves and wariness, dread and happiness. The happiness only come from the families who didn't have someone Reaped, but underneath that all there was still an underlying sadness for the families who did have someone chosen.

Bran squeezed my hand, a soft look in his green eyes – eyes that I shared – and I squeezed back, managing somehow to make my lips curl into a smile. He released me and I headed to the seventeen-year-old age group. The air was hot and sweltering, made all the worse by the bodies crowding around me. Looking around I thought that perhaps I had underestimated the number of slips, which would put the odds of me being picked a lot lower than I had estimated. Our escort was named something stupid like Sugar Greenpath (or something like that) and as usual, was dressed ostentatiously like all Capitol residents. Her hair was bright pink like cotton candy (something I had only read about in books) and her clothes were bright and flashy.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and lilting, yet at the same time a little annoying. "Let's go with ladies first!" She ruffled around in the glass ball, pulling out a name slip. Her painted orange lips pulled into a smile, "Larka Everhill!"

Behind me I could hear my Mom screaming, and Bran yelling. But I didn't react. I just moved toward the stage, crossing my arms over my chest once I was standing beside Sugar. She sent me another smile, a smile that I could only believe was fake, and rummaged through the glass ball containing the boy's slips.

"Micro Fairfall!"

A small, dark-haired boy stumbled forward. While he looked young, I guessed that he had to actually be around fifteen or sixteen. I frowned, watching him as he ascended the steps onto the stage. He wasn't much to look at, but then again neither was I. I was a little tall, had a fair amount of muscle, but in no way, did I look like a winning tribute. We shook hands and then we were escorted into the government building behind us where our friends and family would get to say goodbye to us. I paced the confines of the small room waiting for Mama and Bran to arrive. The door open and they both shot in; I paid little attention to the Peacekeeper as he told us how much time we had left together.

"I thought you said the odds were low!" Bran huffed, hugging me.

"Guess, I miscalculated." I mumbled, burying my face in his shoulder and trying to fight off my own tears.

"Evidently," he growled.

Mama was holding onto the both of us, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Don't argue you two!" She sniffled, "This might be the last time you see your sister alive, Bran."

"Then he might as well argue with me," I said flippantly. Her eyes narrowed at me in a glare and I shrunk away from her. "Or not."

Bran managed a shaky, watery laugh. "God, Larka I hope you aren't this mouthy once you get to the Capitol. If you are, you're going to get eaten alive."

"Eh, they wouldn't like me anyways. Not enough meat on my bones," I shrugged still trying to keep up the façade that I was okay with this and hiding that internally I was dying inside.

Unfortunately, Mama and Bran were entirely too adept at reading me, and my mask crumbled. Tears welled up in my eyes and I hurriedly tried to scrub them away. Bran cooed softly, crushing me to his chest and whispering soothing words in my ears. While they alleviated my fear right now, I knew that his words wouldn't stick.

"Get to the Cornucopia, grab a bag and then get the hell out of there," Bran told me hoarsely. "Don't engage anyone. If you see someone coming after you, get out of there. They aren't worth your life." His entire body was shaking as he held me, and I tried to get closer to my older brother, my safe haven. "Avoid the Careers. They'll take you out in a heartbeat, you know that." He rested his chin on my head, rocking us back and forth. "Try to rig up a trap…Use your brain, Larka. That's going to be your biggest advantage."

I nodded against his chest, absorbing his words and promising myself that I would remember them. Then the Peacekeepers came in and ripped them away from me, leaving me in the room by myself. I don't know how long I was alone – probably not very long – and then the Peacekeepers came back, escorting me to the train that would take us to the Capitol. I crawled onto one of the plushy seats, curling and trying to make myself as small as possible. Micro, my partner, sat at the table tentatively nibbling on a croissant.

My stomach rumbled in protest but I made no move to get up, not even when Beetee and Wiress appeared. Beetee's eyes as they always were, were sympathetic and kind. Underneath that was something that I couldn't identify but I didn't look too hard into it. Wiress was mumbling something under her breath that I couldn't hear, and Beetee whispered to her in low, comforting tones calming the other Victor down. Wiress sat down at the table, across from Micro but didn't outwardly acknowledge.

"I'll be mentoring both of you," Beetee murmured. "What skills do the two of you have?"

"The usual," I spoke up causing Beetee and Micro to look at me. "What? It's true. We're skilled at technology but beyond that we're useless with weapons." Grudgingly, Micro nodded in confirmation with my words. "See?" I said pointing at him. "We're going to get torn apart, aren't we Beetee?"

"No, you aren't," Beetee said sharply. "Unless you continue to have that attitude, Larka." I flushed, looking away from him. "We'll talk more later." He sighed, shaking his head. "If you are thirsty, there's a drinking car but I'd be wary. There may be other tributes there."

Micro shook his head, "I think I'll stay here."

I rose to my feet, "I'm a little thirsty, actually. Where is it, Beetee?"

I wasn't exactly eager to run into any other tributes, but I also didn't want to stay here any longer. More than anything I just wanted a drink, preferably something alcoholic to sate my nerves until we got to the Capitol. Which, it seemed would take quite a while if we were picking up other tributes. I slipped into the drink car, stumbling slightly and made my way over to the bar. The first thing I noticed was that I wasn't alone.

There were four other tributes here, a blonde girl, a tall tribute (six-foot-one, I'd estimate) with brown hair and green eyes, a much smaller dark-haired girl with a sadistic gleam in her dark eyes as she stared at me, and a much taller male with blond hair and icy blue eyes. He easily towered over everyone in the car, but the other boy was around his height. My eyes darted around the room nervously, as I grabbed a glass of Scotch from the bartender. Clearly, the tall blond male was the alpha of their little Career group. His eyes landed on me, icy cold and I flinched away from him my cheeks flushing a little when his lips twitched into a smirk.

"Are you lost?" he teased me, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

"Nope," I answered, downing the alcohol quickly. "Just thirsty, and I was told that this was the drinking car."

He arched a blond brow, "It is. But what makes you think you can come in here?" He crossed his burly arms over his muscular chest, and I almost rolled my eyes.

He was very clearly trying to intimidate me. "I wasn't aware that I needed your permission…" I hesitated and then smiled, "Two."

His eyes briefly widened, "How'd you know he wasn't from Two?" He jerked his head toward the only other male in the car.

"Easy," I chirped, grabbing a bottle of water. I turned back around to see him eyeing me curiously, obviously waiting for an answer. "He doesn't look the part."

An amused glint flashed through his eyes before he quickly smothered it. "Really," he drawled.

"Mm-hm," I nodded. I skirted around the bar, running my eyes over the four Career tributes. "Just like blondie is from One, and the dark-haired one is also from Two," I said pointing at the two girls in question. "No offense, but she looks too soft to be in Two," I continued my eyes on the blonde girl. I was quite aware that I was possibly digging myself a hole that I would have no hope of getting out of, but if I said the right things I could keep Two's interest on me, which would help me in the long run. "But, she," I pointed at the dark-haired girl who was watching me with interest, "looks deadly. I bet she uses knives, right?" There was a slight glimmer of surprise and grudging respect in her eyes as she continued to stare at me. "Told you, it was easy to figure out." Those words I directed toward Two, who was now smirking.

"Interesting," he mumbled his voice husky. "And what about me?"

I edged closer to the door, "Hm?"

"Don't play stupid Three, it doesn't fit you," Two snarled moving toward me, almost faster than I could track. I found myself pressed against the wall by the door, his body caging me in. My heart thundered in my chest, and it was so loud that I briefly wondered if he could hear it. "You figured out all that about those two, and now I'm wondering about me. Don't make me spell it out again."

I swallowed, turning my head away from him finding that he was entirely too close for my comfort. My brief façade of bravery and confidence faded now that I was cornered by him. He reached up, tugging at a lock of my hair and my cheeks flushed bright red.

"I already told you that you're from Two, I don't know what else you want me to say," I murmured, shying away as he leaned closer to me, his breath fanning over my skin.

"Pity," he mumbled.

I was glad when he backed away from me, yet at the same time some part of me – an insane part, I would guess – craved his touch. It was illogical and stupid, especially since in a week or two we'd be in the arena. This was a stupid attraction, I concluded slipping out of the car with the Careers in it, and I couldn't allow it to get the best of me. If I did, I'd end up dead during the first day. Beetee escorted Micro and I to the car exclusive for District 3 – if you weren't affiliated with the District you couldn't get into the rooms – and once he was gone, I curled up on the bed mind spinning and fighting back tears.

I was going to die in the arena. I just knew it. At least I knew who would be my killer, I thought morbidly.

Two.