A/N: I didn't expect any reviews, since this is my first story ever, but I got one review from abelon, so shout-out to him/her. Also shout-out to my friend Talita, who has been reading my story anonymously.

This chapter is from Andrew's POV. I hope I clear out any questions you might have had from the first chapter. This is not a one-shot; it's a real story. Enjoy. ;)

Chapter 2: Andrew

It's a normal, clear, Thursday morning. The sun is shining in the sky and the screams of the Capitol citizens is filling my ears, making me happy to be alive.

However, all is not well. And I may be the only one who knows why.

I couldn't help it, of course. It was, undeniably, the stupidest thing that I have ever done.

But worst of all, Carrie is going to have to pay for it just as much as I will.

These thoughts continue to run through my brain as Carrie I walk to school together. My backpack is heavy with unfinished homework and I forgot to take a shower this morning, since I was so stressed out over with I did.

It's still a beautiful morning though. Nothing, really, can change that. The Capitol controls the weather. If they knew what I did, though, it would be pouring buckets of rain right now. So obviously, they don't know. Yet.

Carrie comes to a slow stop all of a sudden. When I look up, I realize why. The building in which out fathers work in is standing right in front of us. Carrie fakes a smile and waves cheerily up to the tenth story, where her father is sitting right now, probably planning next year's reapings. Of course, he can't see her wave up at him, but I know why she did it.

Carrie doesn't really like either of her parents that much. I think she has a soft spot for her live-in worker, Waldo, thought I can't understand why. She also claims to love her older sister more than anything. But I know how terribly spoiled she is, spending money this way and that, like a regular Capitol person.

Look at her now! She is walking down the sidewalk with one hand in her designer Capitol purse and the other running through her hair. Speaking of which, her hair frames her upper body perfectly, like a model. It's slightly wavy and a lavish, rich reddish color, the only color we Capitol citizens claim is exquisite enough to keep. She's beautiful, and yet she has a touch of rebel in her.

I know I'm insane. Maybe it's all the java I drank last night. Or maybe my mother's whimsical thoughts are finally rubbing off on me. Whatever it is, I know this: She would never like me. I'm just her friend. Andrew Tassle. Class nobody.

Anyway, remember the terrible thing I have done? Yes, about that. I guess I might as well say what it is.

It all started, oh, about a few weeks ago after my sixteenth birthday. You see, what I really wanted as a gift was a new, high tech, state of the art laptop that I could use to email Carrie my other friends. Which I got. Currently it is sitting on my bed back in my room, on stand by.

My father, however, thought that wasn't a gift. Being my parents' only child, I admit that I am a bit spoiled as well. Growing up as Gamemaker's child doesn't exactly help tip the scale either. For my sixteenth birthday, my father wanted me to go on a simulated tour of last year's Hunger Games, which happened to be the Seventy-First Annual Games.

Let me repeat: It was all my father's idea. I guess he had wanted me to see how it's like for the tributes in the arena. At first I was like, Okay, why the hell do I care about 23 bloody dead children? But then, I began to think a little more about it and I finally decided I should go. I mean, it wasn't like I had that many better things to do on my birthday, right?

I decided that I didn't want to go alone though, I so invited Carrie to tag along. Fortunately, though, she had had a manicure that day. I say it was fortunate because if she'd seen the horrors of the arena like I did, she'd have died from the shock. Carrie Strikethrough does not realize how lucky we are to live in the Capitol. Safe from the Games.

It's not like I have never watched the Games. Of course I did. A few years ago, Carrie and I watched them together. But it wasn't the same. Being in a simulation is completely different than just watching something. Holding a weapon in your hands is different than just hearing it be depicted. Watching someone you love become lost is different than just feeling a stab in your heart.

The Seventy-First Hunger Games last year took place in an arena with no wood. Most of the tributes just froze to death because they couldn't construct a fire to keep themselves warm. I remember one boy, I think from District 5, was so desperate to build a fire that he nearly blew the whole arena up by causing an avalanche. It was a deathly sight to re-experience.

Seeing the exact spots where the deaths had occurred and the exact weapons that were used to murder changed me. I couldn't believe that we're that cruel. Killing 23 innocent children each year. It amazes me how it is done.

I'm not sure precisely what made me change me mind about the Games. Maybe it was meeting the victor from that year, the fifteen-year-old girl tribute from District 8, Semma. No one expected her to win, at all. District 8 may not be one of the poorest districts in Panem, but it's not the best either.

All I know now is that my actions are reckless and amiss.

I guess the tour made me do what I did later. I sat down at my new laptop and typed up a full letter to President Snow. Complaining about the Games. Signed it with my name and Carrie's. Then I stuck it in an envelope and shoved it in the mail yesterday.

And now, because of my thoughtless actions, Carrie and I are both, well, as dead as tributes.

My mind has started to wander again, I realize, as I walk straight into a telephone pole. Carrie begins to laugh and calls me a pretty rude name. I work to straighten myself as Carrie grabs my arm to help me.

"Hey," she says, ceasing her laughter. "I'm sorry. Here. Have some pretzel."

I take half of the buttery pretzel she is offering me and nod a small thanks. As I take a tentative bite into it, I hope she knows that it may be one of the last food items she may ever eat in the Capitol at least for a while.

We will have to run away.

Where? Well, any place except here. I'm getting sick of this high-rise, futuristic city anyway. Besides, if we don't leave soon, we'll both be dead. Executed for inciting a rebellion, protesting against the Capitol, etc.

Speaking about rebels, the Capitol hates them. In fact, it was because of a rebellion over seventy years ago that the Hunger Games were initiated. A rebellion that must never be repeated. Ever again.

I've already started planning our escape, packing everything that's important to me. Carrie is included.

I know the journey will be different for both of us. We're not used to hunting for our food or being in danger. That's something only the tributes know. But before I mailed the letter, I took a few archery lessons. I'm absolutely terrible at it. Still, it's better than nothing. Teaching Carrie will pose a problem, though.

Argh, I think. We're running out of time. Snow will probably get the letter by tomorrow. I have to get her to leave by tomorrow night, at the latest.

I look over at Carrie. She is looking up at me curiously. Uh oh, I think. She must have realized my mind is wandering.

"Andrew?" Carrie stops suddenly. "What's wrong with you?"

Crap! She found out! My life is officially over. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, sadly. It's a bruising trait for a boy. I'd never be a good contender in the Games. I'd be unable to win over sponsors.

"Nothing, Carrie," I say. Hopefully, she won't sense the slight cracking in my voice. I hate my flaws.

There's no point in really telling her now. She'd only get mad and insist on staying, even if it means death.

Carrie grins and continues skipping along. She has no idea about so many things. The letter. Surviving on your own. How much I love her.

Unfortunately for both of us, I don't love her enough to tell her what I have done. That's my second mistake.

After, of course, writing the damn letter in the first place. My life, in a word, sucks.

"Andy," Carrie calls out in a chirpy tone, after tapping my shoulder. "We're here. At school."

I sigh and slowly follow my best friend into the school. Here we go. Day one of my new life.

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