Bellamy just stood there. It was as if every wisp of air had been knocked from his lungs and he struggled to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. For a moment there he couldn't remember his name or how to speak, completely stunned as Octavia's name bounced around the inside of his skull.

There must have been some mistake. This can't be happening.

She was one slip of paper in thousands! Her chances of being chosen were so remote that he'd not even bothered to worry about her. Hadn't he done everything? Taken the tesserae, refused to let her do the same? One slip. One slip in thousands! The odds had been entirely in her favor.

Somewhere far away, Bellamy could hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always did when young girls got chosen because no one considered it fair. And then he saw her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing him, bringing him back to himself.

"Stop!" The strangled cry came out of his throat, and his muscles began to move again. "Stop!"

He didn't need to shove through the crowd; the other kids made way immediately allowing him a straight path to the stage. Bellamy reach Octavia just as she was about to mount the steps. With one sweep of his arm, he pushed her behind him.

"I volunteer!" he gasped. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There was some confusion on the stage. District 24 hadn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol had become rusty. But the truth was: they adored volunteers because they usually would put more of a fight and the show would be more entertaining.

Bellamy knew he wouldn't be refused when he saw Jeanine Matthews smile genuinely for the first time. "Lovely!" she said.

The mayor looked at Bellamy with a pained expression on his face. "Let him come forward."

Now it was Octavia's turn to come screaming hysterically. She wrapped her skinny arms around him like a vice. "No, Bell! No! You can't go!"

"O, let go," he said harshly, because this was upsetting him and he didn't want to see her cry. "Let go!"

Bellamy felt someone pulling her from his back, but he didn't turn to look. Instead he steeled himself and climbed the steps.

"Well, bravo!" gushed Jeanine Matthews. "That's the spirit of the Games, really!" She was pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"

He swallowed hard. "Bellamy Blake."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trilled her.

To the everlasting credit of the people, not one person clapped. Possibly because they knew Bellamy from the Hob, or knew his father, or had encountered Octavia, who no one could help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, Bellamy stood there unmoving while they took part in the boldest form of dissent they could manage: silence.

Which said we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

Then something else unexpected happened. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touched the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to Bellamy. It was an old and rarely used gesture of their district, occasionally seen at funerals. It meant thanks. It meant admiration. It meant good-bye to someone you love.

Something shifted inside Bellamy and he thought he might actually cry in front of these people, but he was saved by Haymitch who chose this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate him. "Look at him. Look at this one!" he hollered, throwing an arm around Bellamy's shoulders. "I like you, boy! Lots of... courage!" he said triumphantly. "More than you!" he started for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouted, pointing directly into a camera.

Was he addressing the audience or was he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? Bellamy never found out because just as he was opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocked himself unconscious.

Jeanine Matthew was trying to get the ball rolling again. "What an exciting day!" she warbled. She then asked the mayor to begin reading the long, dull Treaty of Treason as he did every year at this point, but Bellamy wasn't listening to a word.

The mayor finished the dreary Treaty of Treason and motioned for Bellamy to shake his hand. His were solid and warm, and he looked Bellamy right in the eye and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Or maybe it was just a nervous spasm. Bellamy couldn't tell.

They turned back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem played. The moment it was done, Bellamy was taken into custody. A group of Peacekeepers marched him through the front door of the Justice Building.

Once inside, he was conducted to a room and left alone. He tried to keep himself together. He couldn't afford to get upset, to leave this room with puffy eyes and a red nose. Not for his sake, not for his family's.

Octavia and his mom were allowed to see him. Bellamy reached out to Octavia and she climbed on his lap, her arms around his neck, head on his shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. Mother sat beside him and wrapped her arms around both her children. For a few minutes, they said nothing. Then Bellamy started telling them all the things they should remember to do now that he'd not be there to do it for them.

When he was done with instructions about fuel, and trading, and staying in school, Bellamy turned to his mother and gripped her arm, hard. "Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" She nodded, alarmed by his intensity. "You have to take care of her."

Mother's eyes found the floor. "I know. I will. I-"

"You can't clock out and leave Octavia on her own. There's no me now to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" His voice had risen to a shout. "Take care of her!"

"I'll be all right, Bell," said Octavia, clasping his face in her hands. "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."

He couldn't win. Octavia must've known that in her heart. The competition would be far beyond his abilities. There were kids from wealthier districts, where winning was a huge honor, who'd been trained their whole lives for this.

"Maybe," he said. At least it wasn't in his nature to go down without a fight, even when things seemed insurmountable. "Then we'd be rich as Haymitch."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home, big brother. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?" insisted Octavia.

"Really, really try. I swear it, O." And he knew that because of her, he'd have to.

Then the Peacekeeper was at the door, signaling their time was up, and they were all hugging one another so hard it hurt and all Bellamy was saying was "I love you. I love you both." And they were saying it back and then the Peacekeeper ordered them out and the door closed.

Someone else entered the room, and when Bellamy looked up, he was surprised to see the mayor. The man stood there awkwardly, then pulled a white paper package from his jacket pocket and held it out to Bellamy: it was filled with cookies.

"Thank you," Bellamy murmured.

"I'll keep an eye on the little girl," he promised suddenly. "Make sure she's eating."

Bellamy felt some of the pressure in his chest lighten at his words. People were genuinely fond of Octavia. Maybe there would be enough fondness to keep her alive.

It was a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station, which was swarming with reporters with their insect-like cameras trained directly on Bellamy's face. He had to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up his image, then he was allowed inside and the doors closed mercifully behind him. The train began to move at once.

Bellamy was given his own chambers that had a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water, something he was definitely not used to. Jeanine Matthews told him to be ready for supper in an hour.

Bellamy took a hot shower and then put on the clothes they got for him. He followed through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room where Jeanine was waiting for him.

"Where's Haymitch?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Last time I saw him, he said he'd take a nap." Bellamy thought she was actually relieved by Haymitch's absence.

The supper came in courses. Jeanine reminded him to save space, but Bellamy stuffed himself because he'd never had food like this, so good and so much.

"At least you have decent manners," she said watching him. "The one before you ate everything with his hands like a savage. It completely upset my digestion."

Bellamy remembered the boy from last year. It'd been a boy who'd never, not one day of his life, had enough to eat. And when he did, table manners were surely the last thing in his mind. Hating Jeanine for her comment, Bellamy made a point of eating the rest of his meal with his hands. Then he wiped his hands on the tablecloth.

Oh, she did not like that.

"I see," she muttered to herself. "Well, you and your mentor have a lot to learn about presentation. And about televised behavior."

Bellamy couldn't help but laugh. Jeanine made it sound like Haymitch just had somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her. "He was drunk. He's drunk every year. Every day, in fact."

"Yes," she hissed. "How odd you find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who devises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggered into the dining room. "Did I miss supper?" he asked in a slurred voice. Then he vomited all over the expensive carpet and fell in the mess.

"Let's see if you'll be laughing in a few days," threatened Jeanine Matthews before fleeing the room.