A/N: I know female tributes are usually drawn first, but I'm going to assume that it started out with males being drawn first for the sake of the story. You'll see why ;)

The first thing I feel upon awakening is confusion. There's always a brief feeling of disorientation after waking up from a nightmare in which you have to remind yourself that none of it was real. I make that connection, but I am still wondering how I ended up in a bedroom that is not my own. It is only when I feel my still-sleeping cousin press up against my back that I remember I slept over at my aunt's house. It's a Reaping Day tradition.

I pull myself out of the bed and look at my three cousins. I love them so much they might as well be my brother and sisters. We could pass for siblings; we all have the same blondish brown hair and blue eyes. They look so peaceful when they're sleeping, but I have to wake them up because the older two will be in the Reaping with me.

I smile to myself as I walk over to where the girls, Marilla and Hallie, are sleeping and pull the springy mattress off the bed.

"Mags! I'm going to kill you!" Marilla screams as she tumbles onto the wooden floor. Somehow Hallie managed to stay asleep for the fall, but her sister's scream jolts her awake.

"Oh, I'm so scared! Maybe if I'm lucky the Games will kill me first!" I reply. I was just kidding, but it came out all wrong. Silence follows. That was a bad joke. A really bad joke. I quickly change the subject so we can pretend it didn't happen. "You need to get up. You don't want to be late for your first Reaping, do you?"

"Guess not," Marilla replies thoughtfully. "Good luck waking up Kai, though," she says, motioning to her fifteen year old brother on the other side of the room.

"I know how to wake him up!" Hallie chirps in. She's only ten, so she is safe from the Reaping this year. I can't express how relieved that makes me feel because she is the youngest and I have always seen her as my baby, even though I'm only seven years older.

"Good, I'll leave you to that. Your sister and I have to get ready," I reply as I practically drag Marilla into the small bathroom.

We change into our Reaping Day clothes. Just like last year, I wear a knee- length green button down dress with a seashell necklace. I leave my long golden brown hair down as usual. I love the way the sea breeze blows through it and how the ocean water makes it wavy. I'm barely aware of Marilla's complaints about wearing a ruffled blouse and skirt because anxiety is already twisting my stomach. It feels like my insides are being turned into one big rope net, secured by painfully tight knots that my father and I make on the beach. I wish I was on the beach now so I could calm my nerves. No matter how much I act like I'm fine, the reality is I'm terrified. But it's my job to put on a brave face for my cousins. Despite this, I can't help but ask Marilla a quick question.

"Are you nervous?" I half whisper. My voice shakes a little on the last word.

"No. Our names aren't going to be picked. I don't see any point in worrying."

I examine her face for any sign that she's lying to cover up her fear, but I can't find any. Marilla has always been brave. It's embarrassing that a twelve year old can handle this situation better than me.

"Me neither," I lie as I look at our reflections in the mirror. She's almost as big as me now. I've always been petite, but not in an unhealthy way. Just in the way of someone who has a small frame. I see Kai walk in behind us in the reflection. I worry about him on Reaping Day because he is the kind of person who rushes into rash decisions. Last year all he could talk about was how much stronger he was than all the tributes that had been picked. Still, I'm sure he has enough common sense to not gamble with his life.

We exchange small talk as we finish getting ready and walk out the house. My aunt and uncle are with us as we go to meet up with my parents. On any other day of the year, the Square is bustling with fisherman making trades and families shopping at the market. Here in District Four, we have a spirit that is not easily crushed. It's only on days like this that people have dismal expressions on their faces and walk with their heads down. It makes me uncomfortable. I can't help but think back to the announcement of the first Hunger Games. The day I realized how capable of cruelty humans are. It's strange to think how far I've come since that day. There isn't one despicable act that surprises me anymore.

That's the kind of effect the Games have.

It is so crowded that I can barely put one foot forward without walking into someone. I catch sight of my parents and push my way through the crowd over to them. My mother embraces me and my father rests his sturdy hand on my shoulders.

"You're going to be just fine, Magnolia. I'm making shrimp stew later. We'll have a feast," he says with a smile, but I can see the worry in his deep blue eyes. I normally don't like it when he uses my full name, but his reassuring words are all I have to hold onto to keep from panicking.

"Thanks, Dad," I say and muster up a smile before walking over towards the other seventeen year olds. Last night's nightmare is still fresh in my mind as I anxiously wait for it to start. Isidora Satin, the District Four escort, skips onto the stage and theatrically waves to the audience. She's wearing a bright purple suit with pink stripes and matching lipstick. Her wildly curly pink hair is blowing in the breeze, and it keeps covering up her face as she talks. Long story short, she looks ridiculous.

"Welcome to the Reaping of the twelfth annual Hunger Games!" she says ecstatically. Only a few people cheer back in response. Most just glare at her. "Before I read the names of this year's tributes, we have a short video for all of you to watch! Isn't that exciting?"

It's the same video every year. President Burns reminds us how disgraceful our actions were in what he now calls the Dark Days of Rebellion and points out how we killed thousands of innocent people. It seems a little hypocritical considering the Capitol is about to select children who were too young to know the Rebellion was even going on to certain death. While the video is playing, I scan the area for Kai and Marilla without success.

"Okay, let's find out which young man will represent District Four this year! Maybe we can turn our duo of victors into a trio," Isidora says, motioning towards two young men that won the fifth and ninth Games, respectively. She then digs her hand into a huge glass ball. "I have a good feeling about this one!" she squeals as she pulls a slip out.

My stomach is in knots again. They get tighter and tighter with each passing second until I'm sure I won't be able to breathe. I am hoping with every fiber of my body that it won't be Kai. And, thankfully, it's not.

"Charles Flounder," Isidora bellows, and the knots loosen enough to allow myself a huge sigh of relief. A scrawny thirteen year old with glasses and freckles is forced onto the stage by Peacekeepers. I automatically feel sorry for him, and am a little ashamed that I felt so relieved at his death sentence.

"Is there anyone who would like to volunteer for this young man?" she asks.

"I volunteer!"

I automatically freeze. It isn't the words that shock me. No, I've heard them a few times before. This District is slowing gaining a population of people who actually want to go to the Games for honor and glory. No, it is the voice that takes me off guard. Because I would recognize my cousin's voice anywhere.

Why? It's the only thought I can think. So many emotions are running inside of me that I can't begin to place them. I feel my hands clasp over my mouth as Kai walks onto the stage, looking confident and eager. I'm supposed to protect him, and all I can do is watch as he volunteers himself for death.

"Ah, excellent!" Isidora gushes. "And what might your name be, handsome young lad?"

"Kai Merrick," he answers, not a swerve in his voice.

"Well, Kai, we are certainly happy to have you aboard. Now it's time to draw the name for the female tribute!"

I am past worrying about what name will come out of the bowl. All my attention is focused on my despair over Kai becoming a tribute in the Hunger Games. I'm almost positive that I won't even hear the girl's name called.

But I do.

It's like when you're in school talking with a friend while the teacher is going over a lesson. You are oblivious to everything that comes out of the teacher's mouth…until they say your name. That always gets your attention. At least it does for me.

It is my name that calls me back now.

"Magnolia Brine," she announces in her funny Capitol accent. I'm frozen again. That's my name. I am going to the Hunger Games. With my cousin. I think I am going to be sick when I realize that we won't be returning together, unless we are both in caskets. This is all wrong. This isn't how is was supposed to work.

I see two white clad Peacekeepers walking in my direction, and I will my legs to move. Impossibly, I make my way toward the stage. Hysteria is rising inside of me and the knots are so tight that I want to hunch over, but I keep a straight face. Now is not the time to be weak.

"Nice to meet you, Magnolia," Isidora chimes, and it takes everything I have to reply without letting emotions overcome me.

"Call me Mags," is all I manage to get out. I pray that someone will volunteer for me, but when the escort asks, there are no takers.

I cannot meet Kai's eyes. I stare out in the crowd, trying to look at nothing in particular so I won't have to see my family's faces.

"Mags, I'm sorry. How was I supposed to know?" I hear Kai say under his breath.

I give a little shake of my head in response. Isidora Satin addresses us one last time before closing the ceremony and tells us to shake hands.

As I grip Kai's hand, all I can think is that I had once again been wrong about life. The worst thing that could happen to me wasn't getting picked for the Games. It's one thing if I have to die. Being shipped off with a family member when you know there can only be one winner is something completely different.

How could I hope to win when it would mean a loved one must die?