Chapter One was awful. Chapter Two will be horrible.

*Evil laugh*

Ugh…So, this story will be Lucaya 3. In the world of The Hater Games, it will be Everlark.

(Don't get me wrong, but I ship Catoniss…And Cat ships Finniss…)

Thank you, Guest, for your review!

Chapter by Tiramisu Zonedout

Disclaimer: We don't own GMW or THG, but Tiramisuspice should update before 2019 comes );

My heart stops as I hear the name. I seem to be in some trace or something as people around me freeze. My legs, my ears, everything feels like I'm underwater.

Riley Matthews. Riley, three slips among thousands. The odds were in her favor.

A girl next to me grips my arm, and I think I'd slowly started falling.

Then, I see her. Riley, all blood drained from her face, her eyes wide and shocked, slowly moving towards the stage.

"Come on up!" Isadora encourages her with the robotic accent, and I snap back into reality.

The shock that Riley, my Riley was the tribute for the games hits me, and I don't feel dizzy or sick—but determined. Determined that the Capitol won't take away my best friend, my sister from me.

"Riley?" I say in a small voice, but the area around me is so quiet my voice is absolutely audible. "Riley!" I shout, in a more significant voice, and I know that everyone can hear me.

I start forward, and for a moment I'm worried sick of the thought that I might have to push and shove through the enormous crowd with my height, but to their credit, the crowd parts, allowing me a clear path to Riley, who was now trembling.

"Riley, no!" I scream as I run toward her, now almost on the foot of the stairs to the stage. With all my strength, I push her behind me. I stare at the closet camera, straight in the eye of it.

"I volunteer as tribute."

~.~.~

Riley is screaming behind me, kicking and crying and wailing and yelling, "Peaches! Maya! NO!" at the top of her lungs, but I need her to stop. I need her to shut up so I can hold back my own tears. Tears in this stage of the Games can be fatal. Since the whole thing is being streamed, my tears can be noted and be a disadvantage in both sponsorship and the actual Games.

"Let go, Riley," I say in a harsh voice. "Let go."

The next minute goes by in a blur. Someone takes Riley off me, and I walk onto the stage in a dazed state. I can hear Isadora state in somewhat a delighted voice (probably this is the first time in decades that something exciting had happened in District 12) "Well, our first tribute from Twelve! Very nice! Now, what's your name?"

Isadora is shorter than I'd seen her from down the field. She is only two or three inches taller than me, but her five-inch heels do an excellent job of covering it. It's weird that someone my age and size can be standing in the stage, calling out tributes, when I and the others from the district are holding our breath, waiting for the names to be called, wishing that it isn't our name.

"Maya," I say into the mic, and I'm grateful that my voice sounds strong—angry and determined, even—rather than scared and trembling, which I'm feeling inside. "Maya Hart."

Isadora's eyebrow shoots up, and some people mutter quietly. Once a tribute is announced, another girl from the district can take a girl's place. Same goes for the boys.

In Districts 1, 2, and 4, which thinks that winning the Hater Games is a giant honor, people train their kids for the event their whole life, even though it's against the rules. We call them the Career Tributes or Careers for short. In their districts, people are fighting over to volunteer as tribute, to play in the Hater Games. But in the rest of the districts, volunteering for a tribute is rare, for it would be like a lamb to the slaughter. Even if someone volunteers, it's for their family at best—I've probably made another Hunger Games record by volunteering for a friend.

"Hmm?" Isadora hums into the mic. "How are you two connected?" She asks me with knitted brows.

"She's my best friend," I say, and I'm grateful that my voice sounds protective, angry even as if I'm mad at the fact that anyone would try to steal my best friend from me. "She's like my sister. I won't let anybody hurt her."

"Oh!" Isadora's professional smile slaps back into her face. "Okay! Everybody, let's give a round of applause to this young girl!"

To the credit of my district, nobody claps. Nobody claps nor says anything. It's the tiniest form of disagreement they could do. It's saying; No, we don't think so. We think this is wrong. We will not clap. By doing so. And I'm thankful for it.

Then, it starts, somewhere along the seventeen-year-olds—an old gesture of our district—putting three middle fingers against one's lips and holding them up into the air. It spreads around and around until almost everyone in the field has their hand in the air, three fingers up. It's a rarely used gesture, mostly for funerals and accidents. It's a gesture for someone who was your friend. Someone you cared for. Someone you love. Someone you're saying goodbye to.

Now I'm really on the verge of crying, but thankfully at that moment, Shawn decides to stand up.

"Wow!" his slur breaks the silence. "Look at this one!" He wobbles to the front of the stage, where Isadora and I are standing. "Like this one! Gotta lotta spunk!" Then he topples headfirst, off the stage.

While all the cameras are sure to be focused on Shawn and his drunk form, I let out a small, choked noise that was building up inside me. I am going to participate in the Hater Games.

"Now, now, now!" Isadora cries, anxious to bring the focus back to the reaping. "For the men…!"

She walks over to the bluish bowl, and I stare off into the distance, at the forest where Farkle and I were out, hunting, just a few hours ago. It feels like days had passed since then. I try to keep my eyes dry, and my cheeks out of an upset flush, and the cool District 12 wind helps.

"…Minkus." Isadora was reading.

Wait. My eyes dart and immediately find Farkle's pale form in the group of seventeen, which were now parting to let him through. I almost faint at the bad luck. What was this? Fuck-up-Maya-Hart-and-her-friends day?

I can see that some of the crowd are looking at me, then I realize behind me at mayor Minkus. He also looks pale and grim, and my heart stings in sadness, and my head goes white at the realization that I am going to have to kill my best friend for my survival.

I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I know the cameras will be rolling. My hands curl up into fists. No, no, no. This can't be true. Riley and Farkle as tributes? Even worse, I volunteered for Riley and can't take Farkle's place, nor he can survive without me dying. I desperately work hard not to fall or cry. I have to stay strong for now. I can think of other things later.

Then, suddenly, a clear, strong voice is ringing out, desperation and a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

My eyes fly open as I search the source of the voice. It's Lucas Friar, Farkle Minkus' best friend. His eyes are wild and his hand high in the air, but twitching, as if it's conflicted, as it's not sure if this is a good idea or not. Of course, it's not. The Hater Games itself is a bad idea.

God, every fucking thing is a bad idea at this stage.

It looks like Lucas Friar going into the arena in with me.

~.~.~

Mom, for my sake, tries to be as badass as she can be, which I'm grateful for.

"Maya," she says, hugging me tight in the room the tributes were supposed to be locked in until the train from the Capitol arrives. The tributes are allowed to say goodbye for the last hour. "You…My Babygirl…Stay strong. I know you can survive." Then, her voice wavers, but she catches it. "You've got your father's blood. And mine." She grabs me by the shoulders and looks at me in the eye.

"Come back. I love you so, so much."

Mom still doesn't cry, and I am absolutely gratified. Mom—who had gone in a mental trance when my father died, the woman who sat in front of the fireplace, weeping, while ten-year-old I ran the house—she was gone. She cared about me, she was staying strong for me, and she believed in me.

"Maya." My mom says, and her stern voice jolts me back to reality. Hard. "Stay alive. Please. Promise me you would. Please try your best."

I can't help but nod.

"I need your word on this, Babygirl. Please, try to stay alive. I don't know what I'd do if—"

Her words finally choke, and a tear slips out—my mom hurries to wipe it with the back of her hand, and that's when I know that I will try. I'll try my best to stay alive. I'm going to live. For my mother if not for myself.

"Yeah, mom. I'll live. I'll try my best to survive. To come back." I whisper, determination creeping in my voice. And because I gave her my word, because I had made up my mind to live, I'm going to. And my stubbornness will help me do it.

"Mom, thanks for the pin," I say, looking down at the mockingjay pin on my left chest. "I'll keep it in the arena." The tributes can each take one token in the arena—a reminder to their district, their lives.

Mom strokes my cheek. "Gammy and my treat. For good luck."

There she was, my mom. Caring for me more than anything, trying extremely hard to make up for the lost time she wasn't around. Now, I may never have the chance to forgive her…But I do, I do forgive her, I realize.

The gong that tells that my mom's time is up rings, and I hug her, hard. She squeezes back with equal strength and kisses my forehead. "I love you Babygirl." Mom whispers one last time in my year. "See you again."

Despite the whole situation, I smile in her hair. "Yeah. I love you too. I forgive you too, for—you know."

Then the peacekeepers come in, and mom's gone, but before she disappears completely, I can hear her cry, "I love you so much!"

I stare at an empty space in the middle of the room. I cannot cry now. I can't.

The door opens, and the next visitor comes in.

~.~.~

Riley bursts into tears as soon as she enters the room.

"Maya," she sobs. "I'm sorry, I have to stay strong but—"

I bring her into my arms, and stroke her hair, hating that I have to leave her, hating that she's hurting because of me.

But well, it's the Hater Games, and spreading hate is their game.

"I'm s-so sorry." Riley cries into my shoulders. "I shouldn't—you shouldn't have volunteered—I-I—"

"Honey," I murmur, feeling better and worse hugging her, because it feels so good, so safe, and I know that I'll never be able to do it again if I don't survive. "C'mon, it's not your fault, now shh…I'm gonna try to win, okay? So stay safe…"

Then Riley looks up at me. "Maya, you can win. You really can. I mean, Peaches, you're amazing, you can win. Please, try to win—come back home." She sniffles.

I nod.

Riley kisses me on the cheek. "Okay Peaches…Remember me…"

We stay like that, hugging each other tightly, quietly murmuring reassuring words to each other.

The gong rings.

~.~.~

When Riley's hysteric screams subside outside my room, the door opens once again, and Farkle walks in. He looks grim.

There's nothing romantic going on between us—but I can't help but run into his arms at the sight of him.

We hug tightly, and Farkle whispers into my ear, "You have to win. Lucas is my best friend—but—I don't think I'll live with you gone. I'll take care of Riley, don't worry too much."

We pull apart, and he looks at me sternly. "Maya, listen, I calculated the all the Hater Games I've ever watched, and the odds are, there's always going to be wood. Also, get your hands on a bow—" I open my mouth, but Farkle continues on firmly. "—if there's no bow, make one. You're amazing with those. Then, find water. Survive, no matter what."

I choke out a weak "Yes," and Farkle hugs me again. He presses a soft kiss on my cheek. "I love you, Maya. Stay alive."

Then the gong rings, and Farkle is taken away.