My name is Hillary Hartworth. I'm 12. I'm the skinniest girl at school.
My mom made us both, my and my 13-year-old brother, Mitchell, take fourteen slips in tessarae.
At the reaping, my mom stands behind me with her hand on the droopy shoulder of my faded yellow hand-me-down dress. My brother wears the striped shirt my dad had. It's a bit saggy on him.
"Ladies first now, haha! Let's see... the girl tribute for District four shall be..." Ms. Humpkin roots her fingers around the glass bowl. I, however, am transfixed by the shiny uniforms worn by the peacekeepers. My mom pushes my forward suddenly, and a pathway before me opens in the crowd. "Mommy..."
The peacekeeps grab my arms and pull me forward. I start screaming. "MOMMY! MITCHELL! DON'T LET THEM TAKE ME! PLEASE NO! TAKE ME BACK! STOP! MOMMY!"
Weary eyes gaze at my in pity. I have no voulenteers.
I gulp, about to vomit, and shake Ms. Humpkin's hand. I'm shaking so hard and I'm so dizzy I don't even notice the boy tribute. I have to screw up my ears to listen.
But I see the tribute in the crowd. "Mitchell Liam!"