Chapter 2

Foxface POV

I didn't think that it was possible for a good, well-behaved, smart and sporty girl like me to get expelled.

But obviously it is.

I suppose I did squish Mrs. Craydo and now she has 3 broken fingers, concussion and 7 broken textbooks.

I only have myself to blame.

As I get dressed for the reaping, I start to wonder.

Maybe I should volunteer.

I mean seriously, does anyone ever sneak around unseen yet surviving?

Johanna Mason did it.

But that's not stopping me.

Not in the slightest.

There is hope that I could win.

But what weapon would I use to my advantage if I got to the final battle?

What does it matter now anyway, I'll think about it later.

I head for the door.

"Mum, Dad, Seritan, I'm volunteering."

That's when I hear his shriek.

I just turn my back and walk away.

How could I just leave Seritan to yell and scream my name, desperate for me to return?

I just did.

After my blood had been printed and Halloway Gretson had played one of those cheesy Capitol videos, I new it was time.

Time to show the capitol what I'm made of.

But can I push myself enough to leave my family behind?

And maybe return with a whole new life?

Am I a chicken or a champ?

When I push myself to volunteer, I realise one thing.

I'm a champ.

Thresh POV

My Grandma wailed for me to never, ever enter The Hunger Games.

My Grandfather was dead.

My Mother hated me.

My Father is still in the justice building suffering from a mental condition called Hessed.

He has never been the same since my Grandfather died.

I crunch up the acorns in my hand and spill them onto the ground.

Powdered.

Crunched to smithereens.

I fill my bucket with the stupid acorns and repulsive, sickening berries into my sloppy, mouldy, grotesque bucket.

Eew.

I'm not a wuss, but it's disgusting.

I don't go "Eew, Dirt!' or shriek "Mud! Mud! Mud!"

I'm tough.

That's why I pray to get reaped.

I rush back home and put on my shirt and pants.

They are so uncomfortable crooked seeing that they are nearly too small.

I walk solitary towards the justice building.

I get blood sucked viciously out of my hand.

Lovely.

I line up next to two sick, skinny and dirty boys.

One looks about 13

The other, 18.

Isayl Mitter blabs on and on until finally she heads towards the massive tubs that retain all of our names in it.

Please reap me.

Please, please, please.

For the girls, a tiny little 12 year old named Rue got reaped.

The poor kid.

She is the one that signals the end of the working day by whistling to the Mockingjays.

I hope I can help her.

Isayl dips her hand into the boys tub.

As she reads out the name my face lights up.

I've been blessed.