I stood in the town square. It was a hot summer day, and being surrounded by all these other girls well we waited for the Reaping was causing me to sweat. It was the 100th annual Hunger Games – the first Quarter Quell since the Capitol had retaken all of Panem.

To honor this Quarter Quell, forty-eight children would be thrown into an arena, similar to what had happened in the 50th Hunger Games. Except that each child picked would be forced to pick someone else. Such as, if my name was drawn from the Reaping Ball, then I would have to pick the other female tribute. Terrible, right?

The announcer, a tall woman in a short gray skirt and matching gray blouse with fluffy blond hair and gray eyes – I think her name was Samara – pulled out the slip with the first female tribute's name on it. My heart pounded in my chest well I prayed and prayed that it wouldn't be me.

"Verbena Hunter." Samara called out.

The seventeen-year-old stalked forward, her hands clenched tightly and her eyes closed as she tried to stop the tears. Once she got up on stage, though, she smiled and opened her eyes. She looked like she was happy to be there.

"Who do you want to go with you?" Samara asked.

Verbena leaned in to the microphone and called out in a loud, clear voice; "Rosemary." She coughed, "Rosemary Piedra."

For a moment, I just stood there. Then someone pushed me towards the stage and I remembered that that was my name. That I was Rosemary Piedra.

My heart pounded in my chest as I walked forward and mounted the stage, I vaguely remember Samara pulling out another slip of paper and a boy named Fennel mounting the stage, he then chose Tarragon.

Of course, my mind was in a completely different place.

Samara herded us into a limo and took us to the Justice Building. I was given a small room to say goodbye to my family and friends (although I had no friends and the only family I had was my mother and father.)

When my mother and father walked in, we all hugged and cried until the Peacekeeper made them leave.

"Take this, my little Rose," my mother said and gave me a necklace that had a small golden flower on it. I smiled and slipped it on, mouthing "Thank you" since I knew that if I tried to talk, I would start crying.

No one else came to visit me. I vaguely remember the Peacekeeper escorting me back to Samara and the other three tributes, and then us being loaded onto the train that would take us to the Capitol. I looked at the other tributes. Yes, Verbena hated me. Why? I couldn't remember exactly... I think I humiliated her in 1st grade or something...? And I had never seen Tarragon or Fennel around before.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts after we were out of the cameras' flashing lights. And then I cried.

"It's ok," one of the boy tributes – I think Tarragon? – said and hugged me. It helped. A little.

"Why don't we watch the Reaping recaps and then I'll introduce you guys to your mentors?" Samara asked, a smile on her pale face.

What mentors? We've had exactly two winners in the past twenty-five years. I was going to die. And so was Verbena and Tarragon and Fennel.

We sat down on the couch, me on the very end next to Tarragon. I glanced over at him. He was tall and thin, I think he was sixteen or seventeen. He had black hair and dark brown eyes that were trained on the TV screen. I had seen him once or twice.

I turned to the TV screen and made mental notes of who to watch out for. A black-haired girl from District 1. All the tributes from District 4…

What really caught my attention was the District 10 Reaping. Their announcer pulled out a slip and called out; "Rosalie Merca!" A young, twelve-year-old girl walked slowly up to the stage, her head lowered so that her dark hair covered her face. A strangled cry rose up from the audience – no, not from the audience. From the group of boy tributes. The cameras focused on a tall boy who was probably around fourteen or fifteen. His eyes were wild with fright as he watched the little girl make her way to the stage. Obviously, he was her older brother, and he wanted to do something. But he couldn't.

Rosalie picked some girl named Anise, and then the announcer pulled out the boy's slip. She coughed and frowned before she called out; "Seth Merca." A twelve-year-old boy who looked exactly like Rosalie walked up to the stage. Twins… I thought.

"Seth, who do you pick?" the announcer asked. Seth locked eyes with the teenage boy in the audience, who was shaking his head.

"My brother – Jace Merca." Seth said, and the fifteen-year-old mounted the stage, a sad, tired look in his face as he stood beside his little brother and little sister.

We watched the 11 and 12 Reapings, but I couldn't stop thinking about the District 10 Reaping. Their poor parents, who would be forced to watch as their three children fought it out in an arena filled with forty-five other tributes.

And knowing that only one tribute could come out alive, that for one of your kids to come home, meant that the other two must die…