Chapter 2

The next two days passed in a surreal blur as I tried to come to terms with the fact that I was going to have to volunteer for the reap. I tried desperately to hide my fear from my family. My mother was proud of me and was bragging to anyone who would listen about her brilliant daughter who was chosen to volunteer for District One. My father had lapsed into a moody silence since the visit of the man. He could barely look at me and I couldn't blame him. I knew how hard it was going to be for him seeing me raise my hand and call out those echoing, impossible words 'I volunteer'.

As I tried to continue my life as normal, I couldn't help but notice the men in uniform following me around. So it was true, they were going to force me to volunteer whether I liked it or not. I tried desperately to ignore them.

At training I didn't share this information with anyone. I wasn't particularly close to anyone in my training centre; I wasn't competitive enough and had always been a bit of a loner. But I saw the growing restlessness of the girls who had been hoping to be picked. First there was the tension. Then people started asking each other if they had received a visit. Then there was the all out brawling as tempers flared with disappointment and, for them, the mystery of who was pre-reap tribute remained.

On the day of the reap, my mother cooked so much food that anyone would have thought she was trying to feed the whole of District One. I sat sullenly at the kitchen table, trying to ignore the crashes coming from my father's workshop. The crashes had been getting louder, so had his cursing and yells.

"Eat up," my mother said, shaking slightly. The realities of the games had started to hit home for her and she was having trouble making eye contact with me. I tried to force food into my mouth, but somehow I had forgotten how to chew. In the end, I just gave up on eating and instead went up to my bedroom to get ready.

I stood in front of my mirror. A beautiful cream and gold dress sat on my bed. My mother must have put it there. The site of it made my stomach clench.

I pushed aside my anxiety and concentrated. There was only an hour until the reap and I would say goodbye to my family, maybe forever. I looked at myself in the mirror.

My tired blue eyes stared back at me. I knew exactly what I was in for, and somehow that didn't make it any easier. For a little while I would be a celebrity and then I would be thrust into the arena. If I survived, I would be showered with riches and become a celebrity in District 1, if I didn't… then I didn't.

I sat down and started to put a fine dusty powder over my face, my mother would expect me to look presentable. I pulled my hair back into small plaits and tied the whole thing up away from my neck. I checked myself in the mirror. Yes, I definitely looked more confident than I was feeling and, more importantly, I looked like a victor.

I had spent the entire night before mulling over my strategy for the games. I wasn't a good fighter, I mean, I was definitely going to be better than the lesser districts, but up against the careers from two I wouldn't stand a chance. I would be expected to join up with the other careers to form a hunting pack at the beginning, that much was certain. But after that, there was not much chance I would survive against the others.

I stepped into the beautiful dress, it fit me perfectly and I had to admire my mother's work, she had never been the best sewer so she definitely hadn't made the flowing dress, but she must have managed to find someone somewhere in District One who could make textiles because I hadn't seen anything like this before.

I looked at myself again in the mirror. Yes, this was going to work.

Staring back at me was a fierce, yet beautiful tribute. She looked nothing like me of course, but that was the joy of the make up made in District 1, it could do amazing things.

This was going to be my strategy: pretend to be better than I am. It was the only thing that I could think to do, maybe some sponsor would see me, find me attractive and give me things. It was worth a shot. The older female District 1 tributes often used this method, why couldn't I do the same?

A loud trumpet called through the town and I knew that it was time… had it really been a whole hour? I took one last look around my bedroom with a sigh and made my way downstairs.

My mother was at the door, waiting to escort me to the reap.

"Where's father?" I asked quietly. She shook her head and I felt the breath knock out of me. He wasn't even coming to see it. I choked back tears as I headed towards the door.

"You look beautiful, darling." My mother said but I barely heard her.

We made our way through the cobbled streets to where the reap would be held. It was a large concrete outdoor space with a huge arcing roof over it to keep us cool or dry, depending on which was needed. At the front was the podium, which had sometimes been used as a stage by the schools to put on performances for capitol visitors. I had been in one once, but I wasn't a very good singer so had been all the way up the back. I signed in, said a quick goodbye to my mother and joined the lines of young people crowding up in front of the stage.

I could see a couple of people looking at me curiously. It was often easy to tell who was going to volunteer because of how well they were dressed and I certainly stood out, but I was glad to see I wasn't the only one so I could avoid all of their eyes for as long as possible.

I looked over to the boys, trying to pick out who would be the male volunteer. I couldn't see well enough to make any sort of decision.

Before I could think any more, fifteen people filed onto the stage, immaculately dressed and beautiful. These were the previous victors; all rich, all stunning and all deadly. There were five men and ten women, some of them fairly old now. For some reason, District One had a much stronger habit of producing female victors than male ones. The thought gave me a small ray of comfort.

Beryl Banner, the District One spokeswoman from the capitol came up to a microphone at the front of the stage, swirling in neon green fabric. I was starting to feel very sick. I tried to concentrate and tell myself that the games wouldn't be for a while yet and so I had nothing to fear, and then nearly laughed at myself as I realised that what I was most afraid of was tripping over the stairs in front of everyone.

Beryl welcomed everyone to the 70th Hunger Games. There was the stereotypical film about why the games were important for the unity of Panem and I watched distractedly as some of the young boys theatrically mocked the film. It was pretty funny.

Then, all too soon, the moment had come. Next to Beryl there were two big bowls full of slips of paper with names on them. But these were just a formality. Beryl licked her lips with excitement.

"Now, before we select a tribute, District One has a rich history of volunteers. So, to save us time, do we have a female volunteer?" She asked in an excited, bubbly voice.

This was it, people looked around at the other girls. It was my turn to speak, but I couldn't breath. I thought of my mother and what they would do to her if I couldn't open my mouth, but still nothing came out. People were getting restless. I saw a peacekeeper shuffle his gun. Still I couldn't speak. Then, at the front of the crowd I saw my father and his haggard face. He was there after all. I could do this.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yelled, almost too loud and made my way up to the podium. There was a hushed silence, no one had expected it to be me. I saw Velour's angry face from the crowd and could tell that she felt that she had been cheated.

I made my way to the dreaded steps and somehow, miraculously, didn't fall over myself up them. I reached Beryl and turned back to the people watching. They started to clap and cheer, and I felt relief flood through me. At least my district was behind me.

I lifted up my chin and managed a triumphant smile even though my stomach felt like it had fallen down, far below me, somewhere near the centre of the earth.

I faintly heard Beryl ask if there were any male victors and a tall blonde, muscled boy who really looked like more of an adult stepped forward. I recognised him. His name was Jasper and most of the girls in my class had a bit of a crush on him. He swaggered up to the stage and smiled winningly at the people below us. He was charming, and from what I had seen of him, he was a very, very good fighter. He would make a good ally… and a deadly foe.

The crowd finally stopped cheering and Jasper and me were led off the stage into a building where Beryl Banner and the victors were waiting for us.