Reaping day. Comparing it to the warmth of the fire last night, it seems unfair. My third year, Beech's second and my brother finished last year. I guess it's a relief seeming he'd enter his name at least thirty times; I wonder how he never got picked. Beech is in ten times this year and I'm in sixteen.

My mum stands with the other parents. She doesn't look worried, but she never does. She always tells me 'people are in it more than you. The odds are in your favour, Maple'. I wouldn't say I'd agree with her, but I know, there is some truth to it. I make my way to the front of the 15's barrier and loop my arms around Beech's chest.

"Hey there." She responds

"Hey there," I respond. The new escort walks up to the mic. "Here we go then." My arms are shaking slightly. I quickly respond by removing them from Beech, fiddling with my hair before wrapping them over her shoulders, hoping she didn't notice.

"Welcome, district seven," The escort stands awkwardly onstage. I think of her position as funny because her arms are flexed out behind her as she talks into the mic; it makes her look like a bird. I decide to call her as 'Birdie' since I don't know her real name.

"It is time to select one young man and women to represent district seven in the 86th Hunger Games. For traditional purposes, ladies first." Birdie's arms jolt down to her sides and she straightens. Her dress is layered, fluffy and flaps in the breeze, which only strengthens my theory of 'Birdie'. She walks over to the glass bowl and dives her hand into it. When she retrieves a slip she stumbles back to the mic. As she opens the paper I draw a breath.

"Maple White."

I choke. My breath dies until it hurts so much I must breathe. I can feel Beech's chest building tension then I realise she's about to speak, to volunteer for me. I move my hand over her mouth then lean in to whisper: "No."

I slip my arms away from Beech and straighten my dress. Everyone around me shuffles away which angers me slightly. My pulse roars in my ears and everything inside me feels empty. I can't move. Eventually a peacekeeper startles me to walk. I take my place on stage and the escort talks again.

"Now we shall draw our tribute boy."

Everyone's voice becomes metallic and senseless. I only just make out Birdie's voice say "Tyke Leaf." because I want to know who I potentially have to kill.