"Have you ever liked a boy who wasn't a merchant's son?"

"What, you mean a boy from the Seam?" Maysilee looks up at me from the hairbrush she has been meticulously cleaning. Her face does not have as much surprise in it as I had anticipated.

"Not necessarily," I reply, shrugging.

"Well, if he isn't a merchant boy, and he isn't a Seam boy, who is he supposed to be, Alys? Have you got it bad for Titus?" She laughs at the very thought, and I can't help but smile. Titus has been the Head Peacekeeper since before we were born. He is at least fifty, I think, and probably married. Are Peacekeepers allowed to be married? I've never thought about it, and I've also never seen Titus with a companion.

"It's hypothetical, Maysilee, I was just wondering."

"Well, I'll ignore that blatant lie for now and remind you that I've never liked any boy, anyway," Maysilee retorts, setting the hairbrush down on my bedside table, next to the solitary candle that lights us.

Occasionally, Maysilee sleeps over at my house. I don't have a twin sister that I have to share a bedroom with, which makes my room prime sleepover real estate. There's also the fact that Maysilee's parents are much more relaxed than my own; they don't mind if she's half an hour late to her pre-school candy duties the next morning because she was sleeping here.

"So, who is it, then?" Maysilee asks after a few moments of my silence. She reclines on my bed, her long, flaxen hair spilling over the pillow as if pleased to be released from its usual braids. While the majority of the merchant class is all blonde, I feel as though Maysilee and I have particularly similar shades. I like to think we're very closely related and just don't have the paperwork to prove it—bonded not only by friendship, but by blood as well.

"I don't even like him that much," I stammer, lying next to her, our faces less than a foot apart. The candle behind her head makes her hair a golden halo, but leaves her face dark. "It's not a huge deal."

"Al. You know I'm not going to let you rest until you tell me. Who knows all your secrets?"

"You do." I can't help but smile.

"And who keeps all of them? No matter what?"

"You do."

"And who are you madly in love with at the moment?"

I pause and take a moment to roll onto my back and stare up at a knot in the wooden ceiling. It's much easier to confess to an inanimate object, I've found. "Clay Everdeen," I breathe and turn back over quickly to explain myself. "And I'm not madly in—"

"Al. Cool down. I don't blame you—at all. I mean, sure, he's a Seam guy. But, he is good to look at. Oh, and that voice!"

I don't know what she's talking about, and it must be clear in my face.

"His voice, Alys! Have you never heard him sing?"

"No," I mutter.

"That's a small wonder in itself, honestly. I think he's been singing every time I've ever seen him. You know, walking through town and whatnot, with that bag of his. Always singing! Maybe you make him nervous, so he shuts up around you."

"I make him nervous?" I scoff.

"Don't play dumb, Al. You're the prettiest girl in the whole district, practically."

I open my mouth to protest, and she quickly clasps her hand over it to stop me.

"There's a reason the Mellark boys always sit with us at lunch, you know. And it isn't to watch me push my peas around my plate. Boys like you, Al. I'm not jealous. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. You're my best friend, and it's high time you realized your advantages in life; everyone has them. I have my charisma and my peppermints. Clay Everdeen has his voice. You have your disgustingly beautiful face."

Maysilee removes her hand from my mouth and discovers the smile on my face.

I want to argue, but she's right. If I'm not pretty, what do I have to offer? I'm not exceptionally witty, or funny, or brave. I'd consider myself more thoughtful than the average person, but that's most likely just a product of growing up as an apothecary's daughter, tending to the sick. I've never taken a lily to a girl I hardly know, in honor of her dead grandmother.

"Let's just hope your new boyfriend doesn't get reaped next week," Maysilee adds, her tone a little darker. My throat suddenly feels dry, and I nod. I pull the covers over us in hopes of ridding my skin of its crawling sensation.

I haven't thought about the reaping since Wednesday night, when President Snow came on our television to announce the terms of this Quarter Quell. "On the fiftieth anniversary," he announced, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district is required to send twice as many tributes: two male and two female from each." My parents both continued to watch the screen silently, but I looked at my father and saw his jaw tense, and a single vein near his temple bulged. It isn't fair. But how can you expect fairness in a life where you're not even promised the safety of your children?

I purposely don't ruminate on things that upset me. I have a talent for ignoring problems, which may or may not be a good thing. It keeps my mental state in check, at least. So, I haven't given myself the chance to really worry about the Quarter Quell. I've opted to not think about the fact that I have double the odds of going to the Games, as does Maysilee, her sister, and all of the children of our district.

"Let's go to sleep," I murmur. "Six o'clock comes early." Maysilee blows out the bedside candle in agreement and settles into the bed.

I dream of two Cornucopias, filled to the brim with peppermints, in an arena that reeks of sickly-sweet honey and cloves. I awake suddenly and the sky outside is still black. Maysilee has laid her head on my shoulder in her sleep, and her hair has the same aroma as the air in my dream arena. She whimpers quietly, and I know that she, too, must be fighting in the arena right now.

I can only hope that our nightmare remains just that—only a nightmare.

The odds are not in our favor.