Peeta tries to stand as tall as he can. It's a scary day, and he wants to look brave. His brother Ezra smiles over at him from the eighteen-year old section. He's standing next to Gale Hawthorne who's staring unwaveringly ahead, his back ramrod straight. Peeta wishes he could be that stoic.
Effie Trinket takes the stage. The sharp clacking of her high heels cuts through the air. She looks as chipper as ever. Peeta feels a sudden overwhelming urge to run, to grab Ezra and run. But he banishes the thought. He has nowhere to go. This day is inescapable.
He realizes that Effie's hand is in the bowl of girls' names so he tries to focus on her but he's too preoccupied now with the beautiful thought of a world with no Hunger Games. He's so preoccupied that he almost doesn't notice the female tribute's name being called. In fact, he doesn't catch the first name, but the last name is one that fills his heart with a terrible sinking dread. Because he doesn't want Katniss Everdeen to die. He's in love with her.
He looks up at the screens and realizes that they're not focused on Katniss but on a tiny girl with braids. Primrose. Peeta had forgotten about her, and now he feels a sudden rush of relief that Katniss won't have to die. He feels guilty for that selfish thought because Primrose is taking shaky steps toward the stage and Peeta realizes that for Katniss, losing her baby sister will probably feel worse than dying.
She seems to be thinking along these same lines because she runs forward suddenly and screams, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
She's onstage in a matter of seconds and Prim is being carried away by Gale, whose grey eyes look both scared and furious. The girl in his arms is shrieking, making noises of pure despair. Peeta wishes he could express his sadness like that. He wishes he knew Katniss well enough to have the right to cry for her.
Effie Trinket has waited for the commotion to die down but now she's got her hand digging around in another bowl. She picks out a name.
It's his.
What with all the turmoil Peeta had forgotten there was going to have to be a male tribute but now he's been picked and all eyes are on him. He can see himself on the screen. He realizes he should probably be walking forward but he can't bring himself to do it until a boy in his class called Zayd gives him a push.
As he takes the stage and is made to shake hands with Katniss he feels a crippling sorrow. He looks out to the audience. Ezra is there. He looks pale. He may even be crying, but it's hard to tell from this far away. He didn't volunteer, but Peeta didn't really expect him to because he's eighteen years old and now he will never have the threat of the Hunger Games hanging over his head.
A peacekeeper escorts him inside the large brick building. The room in which they deposit him is nicer than all the rooms in his house. He sits in a plushy armchair. Suddenly the air feels thick and Peeta touches his face and realizes that it's wet. He wonders how long he's been crying.
The door opens. Peeta looks up at his brothers. Ezra is crying; Yuri looks furious. Peeta hasn't even seen him frown since he moved out of the house but now he's pushing his way into the room and punching the wall and then there's a hole in the pretty paper. He turns to Peeta, glaring hard.
"Win." He says. And Peeta opens his mouth to say that he'll try but before he can get the words out he's being crushed in a hug.
"Peeta I'm so sorry. I should've volunteered. I wanted to but I was just standing there like an idiot." Ezra has stopped crying but he's hugging Peeta so tight that Peeta's afraid he might pop. He hits Ezra on the back to make him let go.
"Listen Ezra. You did the right thing. You never have to worry about the Games anymore." Ezra seems to think about this for a moment, and Peeta knows he's relieved even though he'd never admit it.
There's a knock at the door. The peacekeeper from before opens it before Peeta can respond and drags Yuri and Ezra away. Peeta's mother enters. Her face is hard.
"Well," she says, "maybe now district twelve will finally have a winner." Peeta's heart begins to soar. The cruel woman who raised him on daily beatings and told him he was worthless countless times actually believes he can win.
But then she says, "She's a survivor, that one."
Peeta feels like he's already dead.
(Break)
Cato stares at the wall of the train. He's not dancing but he really wants to. He's finally getting his chance to prove himself as a fighter.
He examines his partner, a fifteen-year-old girl named Clove, who's sullenly picking at her fingernail. She's tiny but Cato has seen her in the district training center, throwing knife after knife with deadly accuracy. He supposes she'll be useful.
There's a whoosh as the door to their car slides open and their mentors enter. Cato almost cheers. They've gotten Brutus and Enobaria, the most ruthless victors district two has ever seen.
Their blue-skinned escort Roberta tries to push past Brutus and into the car, but he's immovable. Roberta coughs. Enobaria rolls her eyes and steps aside to make room.
"Thank you Enobaria. So. Cato and Cove. Are you excited to participate in the Games?" Clove nods vigorously. She reminds Cato of an overexcited little kid. He looks at his mentors and realizes they seem to be waiting for some sort of response to Roberta's question so he grunts, which seems to please them. Roberta claps her hands together.
"Do you want to watch the other districts' reapings?" Cato nods. He wants to know exactly who his competition is.
Roberta walks over to a panel in the wall and pushes several buttons. Suddenly they can see the incredibly lavish town square of district one. The female tribute is a volunteer named Glimmer. She's stunningly pretty but Cato can't see her being much of a threat in the arena. Clove actually laughs aloud when Glimmer flounces onto the stage, standing up to imitate her gait.
The male tribute is called Marvel. He's tall and skinny and he looks totally unremarkable, but when someone raises their hand to volunteer he fixes them with a glare so hard that Cato has to suppress a shiver.
"He'll be useful. I can tell." Says Clove, and Cato nods absentmindedly.
The tributes from three are unimpressive, as are the ones from four (a boy named Fergus and a girl named Meread), but Enobaria tells them to keep their traditional alliance with four anyway.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, and Ten pass in a haze of sobbing and pleading, and Cato just can't help it. He begins to laugh aloud. Clove and Enobaria join him. It just seems like it'll be too easy, killing all these weak children.
The shabby-looking tributes from eleven and twelve are the most notable, surprisingly. First there's the tiny twelve-year old named Rue, and Cato knows he's not going to be able to kill her because she's like a little fairy and her bright eyes remind him of Lila, who helped him so long ago.
The boy from eleven is a massive behemoth called Thresh. Enobaria tells him to recruit Thresh for the career pack. Cato nods even though he feels like it would be a better idea to avoid this boy at all costs.
Another tiny girl is reaped in twelve but before she can take the stage a fierce grey-eyed beauty volunteers for her. She is revealed to be the tiny girl's sister, and Cato feels a surge of respect for her that he can't seem to quell. Her name is Katniss Everdeen, it seems.
Cato has just about decided that she's the most interesting tribute when the boy from twelve is picked. His name is Peeta. He's broad-shouldered and muscular, but is face is pinched as though he's trying very hard not to cry. His eyes are so brilliantly blue it almost hurts to look at them.
"Look at him! He's so pathetic!" says Clove. Cato laughs half-heartedly even though he doesn't find anything funny about it. He doesn't really know why, but this boy scares him more than Thresh or Marvel or even Clove.
He goes to sleep that night and has violent dreams about knives and killing and blood. He sees dead faces and they're getting closer and closer to him, their blank eyes staring at nothing. He wakes up screaming.
Clove is standing in his doorway, arms crossed. She looks at him like she's seeing him for the first time.
"You don't want to be here." She says. It's not a question. Cato thinks about it. A week ago, the thought of being in the Games gave him no pause. Well, a week ago it was just a thought.
Cato looks back up at Clove.
"No," he says, "No. I don't."