THAT'S ALL, FOLKS! Now I can start writing super fast!

Jackie Hawkins, Age TBD (D4F)

Four was getting weird this year. Rumor had it they had some twist for the Games. Most of us thought it was just gossip, but the volunteer council at the Academy must have decided to be safe and not sorry, because the selection process was way different this year. Usually we all trained our hardest and the volunteer was notified a few weeks before the Games, though we could usually tell who it was far before that. It was three days from the Reaping, and my entire class had been summoned for a day of very odd tests.

The majority of the day was spent filling out a ton of questionnaires about ourselves. It wasn't math or science stuff, just a bunch of questions like you'd find in a teen magazine. I couldn't even tell what they wanted to hear, so I just answered honestly.

"Are you a leader or a follower? Be detailed." I can be a leader if I have to, I wrote. I'm not aggressive about it, though. I want to win, not to be powerful.

"What do you really think about your allies?" We all want to win, of course. If we were the last two, I'd try to kill them. Until then, I don't want to pick fights. Allies are good to have.

"What is your strategy in the Games?" I took longer to answer that one. If there was the slightest chance anyone else might see this paper, even my partner's mentor, it could shoot me in the foot. I settled on a vague, nearly true answer. Avoid unnecessary fights, but be tough when I have to.

Next was a series of 1-10 scales for a variety of attributes. Mindful that my scores would probably be compared to how my instructors scored me, I rated myself 8 for weapons, 4 for survival, 7 for speed, 7 for strength, 8 for sponsor popularity, 5 for ferocity, 6 for endurance, 8 for intuition, and 7 for intelligence. I tooted my own horn for "charisma" and gave myself a 10.

"What would most likely kill you?" Either I get mad at my allies and pull away, or natural causes.

"How would you most likely win?" I would keep one or two good allies until the last moment and then do what I had to.

"What is your greatest strength?" Social networking.

"What is your greatest weakness?" Sometimes I act out of emotion.

We all clustered in the halls after the tests were finished, whispering about how bizarre they were and wondering what it was about. I sat on a bench with my friends Marin and Ahi, both of whom also wanted to go to the Games.

"What was that about?" Ahi asked.

"Maybe the Capitol is going to vote for the winner this time," I said.

"Oh, no! They'll vote for One or Two," Ahi said.

"If they pick me, will you two send me lots of stuff?" Marin asked.

"We'll have a fundraiser. We'll send you a tank," I said. Marin was the least gung-ho of our trio, and Ahi was the most devoted. I did really want to go, and I trained my hardest, but I had back-up plans. This wasn't the only path in life.

Another day passed before I got called to the headmaster's office. My first thought was that I'd broken some rule during training. When I saw the five most senior instructors gathered around a table, I knew what was going on. I didn't know why, but they'd picked me. We'd find out their reasons, and whether or not they were good ones.

Reefe Mordecai, 16 (D4)

I could hold a spear or throw a javelin, but I could also hold a guitar or throw down a sick beat. I knew which one I preferred. I'd done my time in the Academy, but I was never the best. You could only be really good at one thing in life, and music just meant more to me. Getting to drop out was one of the better parts about being suddenly thrown into poverty. The only good part, really. The rest pretty much sucked.

It used to be I could spend half the day training and half the day playing instruments. After my mother died- she was the breadwinner- we couldn't afford to send me to the Academy, but we also couldn't afford to rent or buy instruments. Whatever money I could scrape together went toward saving my collection, and the rest I borrowed or begged from sympathetic tutors or richer music lovers.

Most kids in Panem were terrified today, but people in Four had nothing to worry about. We weren't as enthusiastic as One and Two, but there were always enough thrill-seekers or honor-lovers to cover us. The Reapings were only a formality here. It was only once every five years or so that anyone actually got Reaped. The rest all volunteered, and some of them even came home. Most of them were pretty chill, like Careen, but we did have a few weirdos like Shane.

Since I didn't have to spend the morning paralyzed with fear and frantically drawing up a will, I had time to organize my collection and clean them before I left. Some of my instruments were a little worse for the wear, since I salvaged damaged ones from people who would have thrown them out or because they were already ancient when the guy before me bought them, but they were always shiny and neat. I laid them all out prettily and left with Aria and Storm for the Reaping.

Reapings were a community event in Four. Proud parents and jealous second-stringers alike gathered to cheer on our noble representatives and gather their children afterward. We got checked in and I waited in a line with the other children my age. Our ancient escort Gaudius- the oldest escort in all twelve Districts- huffed onstage to pick some names. He alternated years, and this time the boys were first. He fished around in the bowl, his other hand supporting his back.

"Skimmer Jackson!" he called. The second the last letter left his mouth, someone burst out.

"I volunteer as Tribute!" I yelled. Everyone turned to gawk at me. I wasn't the chosen volunteer. I hadn't been at the Academy for years. A burst of profanity came from the eighteen-year-old section, where Thresher Morel had been politely waiting an instant before he would volunteer. One boy tried to calm him, but the rest got out of his way. They didn't want to stop him from what he wanted to do to me.

It was true that I wasn't the chosen volunteer and hadn't trained for years. I'd never wanted to volunteer anyway, and I hadn't made a secret of it. The others were as much confused as they were angry. My motivation was simple, though. Fame and fortune weren't important, but there was a lot of money involved in winning. A lot of money that could buy a lot of musical instruments.