Note: One of the characters calls Jecili 'Jece' (pronounced Jess) at certain points, and that contradicts with the spelling of her name. I've tried various spellings, but Jece is the best I could come up with.

District Two Reapings: Jecili Davini

"Dad, what are you doing?" My father picks up a flower vase in the hall and dumps the contents onto the floor. Dirt and daisies tumble out, causing a mess. He looks at me standing in the doorway of my room. "Dad, seriously, what's going on?" He stalks towards me and hits the vase against the end table to the left of the entrance to my room. I back away from the door and he walks in. His face is unreadable.

"Come here, Jeci," he says.

I back up until I hit my bed and fall upon it. My dad reaches the bed and pins me down by the throat. He raises the broken vase. "Dad, stop it!"

He ignores me and brings the vase down on my face. It breaks my nose and blood starts running down my face. It enters my mouth and I cough up more. He hits me a second time. My lip is bleeding badly, and he's knocked out a couple of teeth. I'm screaming as my father pummels me. He strikes my face a third time and punctures my right eye. I scream even louder than I thought possible at the pain. He lifts the broken vase again.

"Dad," I whisper, tears streaming from my eyes, "Please don't."

His face is deadpan as he brings the vase down for the fourth time, and I wake up with a gasp. I haven't had that dream in at least a year. It holds no relevance to anything; my father, Brucen, has never beaten me. He's really all I could ask for in a father. This dream is still unsettling, as any dream in which severe harm comes to you would.

I shake my head, sit up, and look around my room. There isn't much in the name of extravagance; I'm not much for decoration. There's my bed, my closet, and a couple of windows. It's not glamorous or anything, but it's familiar. I walk out of my bedroom and head down the hall to the bathroom. On the way there, I pass my brother Castor's room. It smells of rosemary. He only comes home for the reapings. Otherwise, he runs an organic spice store in the Capitol. His apartment is a floor above, so he's always surrounded by his herbs. He says they help him think. I say they help him be a nut. Other than the ridiculous amount of time he invests in his spices, my brother is a pretty cool guy. He used to work out and train for the Hunger Games, and planned on volunteering when he was seventeen. He ended up not because he broke his arm two weeks before the reapings during a training exercise. He still keeps in shape, though.

I move past Castor's room and walk into the bathroom. After a short shower I walk back to my room garbed in a towel, holding my pajamas. I throw the clothes into the hamper and walk into my closet. I choose a cobalt strapless dress from the very back and walk out of my closet. I drape the towel I was wearing on my bedpost and slip into the dress. I return to the bathroom and do my hair and makeup, and then return to my room to admire my figure. Due to years of training, I've developed a lean, athletic body. My hair is brown and straight; not very exciting, but I'm fine with that. My eyes are the color of dark chocolate and my face is angled, giving me a mischievous appearance. I give myself a knowing smile and walk out of my room. Just as I pass Castor's door, it opens and Castor comes out. I look behind me to see my big brother in a suit coat, blue dress shirt, and matching tie.

"You do know that you aren't eligible for the reapings anymore, right?" I inquire, raising my eyebrow in mock skepticism.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't dress up, does it?"

"I suppose, but you look more dressed up than me!" He looks himself over.

"Not really, all you need is like, a piece of jewelry or something."

I don't really wear jewelry. I don't hate jewelry, but I don't like it very much either. Especially those huge earrings I see people wearing. Some of those are so big that I'm surprised that they don't just rip right through the person's earlobe.

Castor walks back into his room. I follow and I see him rummaging through his suitcase. He opens up a small pocket and pulls out a bracelet. It's more of a gauntlet than a bracelet, really; It goes about six inches up my forearm. The pattern is latticed, all the tendrils interlacing around each other. The most impressive part of the gauntlet is that it seems to be 100% diamond.

"Castor, how in the world did you get this?" I look up at him and he shrugs.

"My shop is right next to a jewelry store. The owner is a frequent customer of mine, so I got the bracelet for a reduced price."

"That person must really love spices."

"Yes, she does." He sits down on his bed and I sit next to him. "In addition to the jewelry store, she is an avid cook, always looking for something new to try. She actually told me that the only reason she went into jewelry was because she inherited the shop from her mother and she couldn't bear to sell it. She has a couple of kids older than me, so once they get enough experience with the business, she plans on giving it to them and starting her own restaurant. Pretty interesting, huh?"

"How much did you end up paying?"

"A small sum of $180,000."

My mouth hits the floor. "$180,000? THAT'S NOT SMALL!"

"Actually, it is." He leaned in close to me and lowers his voice. "Don't tell Mom and Dad, Jece, because they'll want to get in on this. A couple months back, I bought a lottery ticket. Not something I normally do, but I decided, hey, I might as well try it. Can't hurt much; it's only $10. So I bought the ticket and went home. I scratched off the filmy stuff on the ticket, and in big red numbers it said $350,000.27."

"Really? 27 cents?" I give him the skeptical face for the third time. "And also, a $180,000 bracelet still isn't cheap, no matter how much you win the lottery."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but it was still cheap enough for me not to spend any money other than the lotto money. So anyway, long story short, I won the lottery. Here's the ticket." He reaches into the smallest pocket of his suitcase and pulls out a little yellow card. Sure enough, $350,000.27 was printed on the front is big, red numbers.

"Huh. You weren't kidding, Castor." He smiles and bows his head. He looks up at me and hands me the bracelet.

"Nope. Also, they've got some interesting stuff in Capitol. You should check it out sometime. I'm assuming you're volunteering?"

"Yeah."

"Good, then I didn't bring this for nothing." He reaches into his suitcase again and pulls out a wad of bills. "That's $5,000 for you to spend at the Capitol." He hands it to me and my eyes go wide.

"Wait, really? How do you know that I'll even be able to go out and do anything?"

"I've seen tributes walk around the Capitol prior to the Games in years past, though they were mostly District 1, 2, and 4 tributes. None of them came into the store, though."

"Oh. Did you get to talk to any of them otherwise?"

"I would've told you about it if I did," he replies. He looks at his watch. "What time do the reapings start? 12:00?"

"You're close; they start at 11:30," I say.

He looks at his watch again. "Well then we should get going. It's 10:29 right now."

I stand up and he reaches out his hand, the lazy bum. I roll my eyes and pull him up. As I'm pulling him up, he hits my shoulder, causing him to fall to the floor. He starts laughing and I just smile and roll my eyes. My brother is such a performer. I reach out my hand a second time, and he laughs and shakes his head.

"No, I'm good this time!"

He gets up and we head downstairs. My father is sitting there, eating a plate of eggs and toast while my mother, Phoxia, cooks at the stove. My father looks up and grins.

"There she is, my little girl!" He gets up and pulls me in for a big bear hug. My mom turns around.

"You ready for the reapings, Honey?" she queries. I'm about to say yes when my dad interjects.

"Of course she is!" He turns back towards me and grabs my shoulders. "I've seen you in training, Jecili. You could win this game blindfolded."

"Thanks, Dad." I look over his shoulder at Mom. "And yes, Mom, I'm ready. I'll make you guys proud!" I look at Castor and he shuffles awkwardly. Dad was not happy when Castor broke his arm in training. He was counting on having Castor to cheer on that year. When Castor went off to the Capitol to sell spices, Dad took it as an act of defiance, like he broke his arm on purpose so that he didn't have to go to the Hunger Games, which of course isn't true. Castor was furious with himself after he broke his arm. Nevertheless, things have been tense between the two of them ever since. My mom and dad look at Castor. I clear my throat to draw back some attention. "Hey, Mom, what's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and toast, dear, and some cranberry oatmeal if you'd like it." She gestures to the pot she's stirring.

"Eggs and toast should be fine, Mom, thanks," I say. I pick up my plate from the table and start towards the counter where the food is, but my mother stops me.

"Oh, you don't have to get up, honey, I can get you breakfast. What about you, Castor?" Castor looks at Mom. He hasn't moved from his spot at the base of the stairs. "Come and sit down." He sets himself down in the chair opposite mine.

"I'll just have oatmeal, thanks." Mom nods and brings the pot over to Castor's bowl, which he put in front of him after pushing his plate aside. She sets the oatmeal down on the stove and takes the pan with the eggs off of the burner it was on. As she's delivering some to my plate, Castor speaks up again. "Do we have any cinnamon?"

"Yes, Castor, it's up in the cupboard," she says as she points to the cupboard above and to the right of the stove. Castor stands and gets the cinnamon. He brings it back and sprinkles it on his oatmeal. I take a few bites of eggs and then look up. Castor is still putting cinnamon on his oatmeal. My father, who sat down to the right of me, glares at Castor.

"Son, I think that's plenty of cinnamon."

Castor looks at Dad. "Sorry, Dad, It's just that working at the spice shop has numbed my senses to some spices, so it takes more for it to have the same potency."

"Still, Castor, spices are expensive. Let's try showing some control."

"Ok, Dad." Castor puts down the cinnamon. He then reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a vial. I know where he got the vial from; there's a mini spice rack clipped to his shirt pocket. I didn't think he'd be bringing it here, though.

He gave me a tour of his building a couple of years ago when he first started. While speaking to a customer, he had the spice rack on his shirt pocket, which I thought was odd, so I asked him about it. "It's so that my customers can sample one of the spices I have on sale. It's my own invention!" The spice rack had room for four vials, and in each vial he kept a sample of each of the four spices he had on sale at that time.

I look at Castor as he takes the stopper off of the vial and taps it slightly; allowing whatever spice it is that he has to sprinkle out on his oatmeal. My dad has an annoyed look on his face.

"Now what is it?" he demands, pointing at the vial. "I just said you don't need so much spice. Put that away."

"It's just cardamom, Dad, relax." Castor taps the vial once more before putting the stopper back on and putting it back on his mini spice rack. This, however, sets my dad off.

Dad raises his voice and slams a hand down on the table. "Don't smart off to me, boy. I said put it away!"

"It is away!" my brother protests.

"After I said to quit it with the cinnamon, and after I said to put it away. Twice!"

"I put it away when you told me the first time!"

"Dammit, Castor, I said stop smarting off! That's twice now that you've disobeyed me!"

"Is it a crime for me to enjoy putting flavor on my food?"

Dad is about to say something when my mom interrupts. "STOP IT!" Castor and my dad look at my mom. She rarely yells. "Everybody, just stop it! Castor, eat your oatmeal as it is and apologize to your father." Castor looks at Dad.

"Mm sorry," he mumbles.

Dad looks at Castor and his expression softens ever so slightly. "I'm sorry too, son. I shouldn't have yelled at you. It must be the stress of the reapings."

My dad is right. As exciting as the reapings are, there's always the awareness of the fact that 22 other kids from other districts are also going into the arena, and none of them want to die. My mother sits down with a bowl of oatmeal and some toast and we finish our breakfast in silence. After taking the last bite of toast, I look up at the clock and see that it is 11:05. When the rest of the family is finished with their breakfast, we drive down to the town square. Dad parks the car, we all get out and I head over to the eighteen-year-old section while my parents and Castor head off in another direction.

The district escort, Amneeta Bendoli, wobbles out onstage. I say wobble because it's really impossible to place any other word on her gait. The reason for this is her shoes. Amneeta is wearing enormously tall heels; they have to be at least ten inches. They're scarlet, along with the scarf she has around her neck. She has on a dress skirt of the plainest blue that is much too short, which is horrible because it leaves her bloated kneecaps in plain view. They have often been described as the kneecaps from Hell. Her makeup was surprisingly simple, with just some dull red lipstick and blush on her face. Her eyebrows are dyed a very shiny golden color, along with her curly hair, which (thankfully) is tucked underneath a hat, also blue. She wobbles up to the podium and taps the microphone. She smiles and shouts, "Hello, District Two, and happy Hunger Games!" She's greeted by thunderous applause from all around. "Before we find out who our lucky tributes are, let's hear a word from the mayor."

The mayor of District Two, Pontius Grewman, is a very well-built man; it's obvious how much he works out. His improvements on the Nut made it even stronger than before the Revolt of the Mockingjay. He even poured thousands of dollars from his own pocket into a second training facility. He only has one problem, and that's his monotonous tone. The man has the most monotonous voice in the district. It's almost as if he's a robot. The speech he gives every year is always different, and if it wasn't for his tone, he might actually be able to keep some people awake.

As he drones on about Panem's history, I slip into my own thoughts. I think of what the arena will be like, what sort of weapons I could get my hands on, and what my strategy will be when the Career alliance goes kaput. I look over to the boys' section to see what sort of district partner I might have. I crane my neck to look at the twelve-year-old section, but no luck; I am too short. I can only see up to the fifteen-year-olds, so I'll only be able to gain insight on possible volunteers. I glaze over the sixteen-year-olds, and I still see no one that could be of use. A few of them have a decent layer of muscle, but that's about it. The same goes for those in the seventeen-year-olds, except for a few boys I recognize from the training facility. As I start to look into the eighteen-year-old section, I see one particularly burly boy right behind the wall of seventeen-year-olds. He's strawberry-blonde and makes the mayor look like a toothpick. He's staring intensely at the stage, just waiting for the chance to bolt up there. Unless one of those fifteen-year-olds is really quick, I can tell that the strawberry blonde one will definitely be this year's tribute.

A large blast of feedback from the microphone diverts my attention back to the stage. Everyone covers their ears in annoyance, and Amneeta once again wobbles up to the podium. "Thank you for that extravagant speech, Mr. Mayor. Now then, who would like to see the lucky two tributes are this year?" Amneeta receives a throng of shouts as a response and scoots over to the girls' bowl. She pulls out a slip of paper and slowly unfolds it. The tension is palpable. Finally, she tosses her hair back, looks out among the kids of the district, and reads the name on the slip of paper.

"Valeria Lockhearst!" Her Capitolite accent, as ridiculous as it is, rings clear. A tall girl with olive skin from the sixteen-year-old section starts striding towards the stage. As soon as she gets there, the volunteers will start running. I make my way towards the left of my section so that I'm right next to the center aisle, and see that a couple of girls I don't know are doing the same. Valeria steps up onstage and Amneeta says, "Now is the time for volunteers."

As soon as she says the word 'volunteers' I begin heading towards the stage. I see a girl in the fifteen-year-old section struggling to reach the main aisle, so I pick up the pace. Just as the girl reaches the main aisle, I give her the coldest stare I can muster, and she stops short. My brother told me I have that effect on people when I shoot them my 'you will die right now' stare, as he's become so fond to call it.

I walk calmly up to the center of the stage, right up to Amneeta. "And what might your name be, young lady?" I divert my eyes over to the side of the district escort for fear that I might burst out laughing at her ridiculous getup.

She points the microphone at me and I respond coolly, "My name is Jecili Davini."

"Let's give Jecili, your newest female tribute, a round of applause!" The crowd responds, and I look towards the back where my family is standing. My father is clapping like crazy. Castor is standing next to him with his arms crossed, looking at me. Knowing him, he's probably rolling his eyes at my father's enthusiasm. He gives me a thumbs-up. For lack of a better word, Amneeta wobbles over to the boys' bowl.

"Voss Czaikov!" A tall, wiry teenager from the seventeen-year-old section starts making his way up to the stage. Once he steps up next to me, Amneeta asks for volunteers. Immediately a little boy standing right up front bolts onstage. Amneeta looks very surprised. She sputters a bit, and then collects herself. "What might you be doing, young man?"

"I'm volunteering! My name is Hudson Dashiel, and I'm going to win the Hunger Games," he says with confidence.

"I admire your eagerness Hudson," says Amneeta, "but only those fifteen years of age and up may volunteer. I'm sorry, but you can't volunteer this year."

Hudson's ears turn a deep pink and a bewildered look comes across his face. "But, b-but," he starts to protest, but Amneeta takes back the microphone and asks if there are any other volunteers. Three boys in the thirteen-year-old section raise their hands, but I can see from the looks on their snickering faces that it's just a joke. Hudson's entire face turns scarlet and he stomps back to his place in the twelve-year-old section.

Amneeta smiles at these three boys. "Any more volunteers that are of age," she says. Immediately, there's a shout in the back.

"I volunteer!" Sure enough, my prediction came true. The ginger boy sprints up to the stage, as if he has the fear that somebody from the other eligible sections might try to get there first. It's highly doubtful, though, considering the boy's size and overall intimidating appearance.

The ginger haired boy finally gets up to the stage, and I finally get a good look at my competition. I can immediately tell this one trains at the Nut. His face is battered up a bit and his nose is squashed, like someone had recently flung a chair at it. He has layer upon layer of muscles practically everywhere, but his focus in his training has definitely been the upper body. That much is easy to tell. He's trying to hide it, but that sprint from the eighteen-year-old section to the stage left him a bit winded, so if there's any sort of situation in which the Career Pack will have to run for a while, this one is going to have some difficulty. "And your name is?" Amneeta inquires.

"Gore Sardi." Gore Sardi? What sort of a person names their kid Gore? Before I can mull it over, Amneeta stands between us. She raises my right arm and Gore's left.

"Let's have another round of applause for your tributes this year: Jecili Davini and Gore Sardi!" Gore has his other hand in the air clasped in a fist. He brings it down and thumps his chest twice. I simply stand there, looking over the crowd. I look at Hudson, who's pouting and refusing to look at the stage. I shift my gaze back towards my family. My dad has his fingers in his mouth, and I can hear him whistling over everybody's clapping. Amneeta brings our arms down, and Gore and I shake hands. We are then led off to the Justice Building and set in different waiting rooms.

As soon as I sit down on one of the couches, my mother and father walk in. My father picks me up in his signature bear hug. "Excellent idea, Dad," I say as he's hugging me, "A few bruised ribs will definitely intimidate the other tributes." He puts me down and rubs the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Jeci, I guess I'm just a bit excited." He claps me on the shoulder. "You're going to the Hunger Games!" The three of us sit down on the couch. "Ok, now the first thing I want you to do when you get to the Capitol is find the other tributes from one and four, and team up. Get familiar with them. See how they behave, how they respond to things they don't like, what their strengths are, etc., because eventually, they will be your biggest competition. Ne-" He stops short. Dad looks at the diamond gauntlet Castor gave me.

"Dad?" I ask. "You were saying?"

"Hon, where did you get this? I've never seen it before." He lifts my arm up to get a closer look. "Is this all diamond?"

"I think so, I'm not sure," I reply. He looks at me.

"Where did you get this, this looks extremely expensive!" I don't want to expose Castor's winnings from the lottery, but I also don't want my parents to think I went and stole the gauntlet. "Come on now, spit it out! Where did you get this?"

I bite my lip and say, "Somebody gave it to me."

"Ok, honey, but who?" my mom inquires.

"Castor gave it to me, mom, as a District token." At this point, Castor walks in. My dad turns to look at him.

"So how much did this cost you, huh?" He grabs my wrist and shoves it towards my older brother. "Don't tell me your spices got you enough money for this."

"It wasn't very much, Dad!" he protests. "I got it for a reduced price."

"Of?"

"The lady who owns the jewelry shop next to me sold it to me for $20,000." Dad doesn't believe it.

"Don't lie to me, that's way too much diamond for $20,000. How much did you pay for this?" he shakes my wrist and I lose my balance. My mom stands up.

"Bruce!"

Dad turns around. "Shut it, Phoxy!" He looks back at my brother. "How much did you pay for it, really?"

Castor sighs and says, "$180,000."

Dad lets go of my arm and puts his hands on his head. "A hundred and eighty-" he put them down "Where did you get that sort of money?"

Castor hesitates for a bit and says, "I acquired it through a means of chance." Dad's face went dark.

"You were gambling?" Castor raises his hands and shakes his head.

"No, not gambling," he says, "I just bought a lotto ticket, that's all."

"And it never occurred to you to tell us this?" my mom asks.

"How many other tickets did you buy before that, huh?" My father is very angry now. He and Castor are standing toe to toe. "Ten? Twenty? Do you know how much money people waste on lotto tickets? What else are you getting into at the Capitol that we don't know about?"

"Nothing!" At this point, three Peacekeepers barge in and begin to take my mom, my dad, and Castor away. My dad turns to me as he's being led out.

"Fight hard, Jeci. You can do this." My brother turns to me as well.

"You got this, Jece!" My father turns back to Castor.

"We are not finished. I'm extremely disappointed in your choices."

And on that note, the doors close, and I'm left alone. My father and Castor have been at ends with each other ever since the broken arm incident, and seeing this fight today, I wonder if they'll ever be able to make amends. Happy Hunger Games, Jecili.