Gobber turns to Gia and gives her a quick up and down.

"Stand over 'ere. Both o' ye." He demands us. We both obey again, but give each other a quick glance, sharing our confusion with Gobber's new interest. We stand side by side as the man circles us, all the while poking at us, squeezing our muscles, checking our faces.

I feel like a piece of merchandise that's on sale. Disposable and cheap.

"Well, yer both fit, that's good. And yer not ugly, but once the stylists ge' a hold of ye, yer'll look decent enou'." He says after he's done circling.

Wow. The guy can really make you feel special.

"Then what?" I ask.

"Then I'll figure ou' wha' to do wit' ye two." He says.

My mind reels at his change of attitude. Not barely five minutes ago he was acting like a drunk who didn't give a damn about anything. But now he looks at us like we might actually have a chance. The idea makes me smile inwardly.

"But there's a catch." He says pointing a finger at us.

Well, should've seen that one coming.

"If yer don't mess wit my drinkin, then I'll stay sober enou' to help yer." He says with a crooked grin. "Got i'?" He adds. We both nod our heads in a agreement. He reaches over and grabs the bottles once again and heads out the door he came through. Gia and I stand there in silence for an awkwardly long time, neither of us sure what to do next.

"Well, that was invigorating." Tooth speaks up with her hands on her hips. She looks and sounds just as confused and shocked as us.

Later on, we decide to watch the reaping recaps. We find our way to a living area with a giant tv suspended in mid air. We watch one by one the different tributes that step up to the stage. District 1, District 2, and so on.

I keep in mind the ones that will most likely be the most dangerous and threatening. A monster of a man from District 1 steps up, practically overflowing with pride. He wears a smug grin that for some strange reason makes me feel anger at the sight. A fox girl from District 3 with mischievous eyes and a sleek, blazing coat of red fur. A boy from District 8 with a bad leg. Tribute after tribute, child after child. They all walk, or stumble, up the staircase. Some nearly brawl for the spotlight in the higher districts. Others, not so much.

Fire suddenly ignites in my chest when a small girl is called up the stage for District 11. She has brown skin and amazing green eyes that are partly hidden behind a curtain of short, curly hair. She can't be older than twelve.

In most districts, or so were told, it's considered unfair that a mere child is forced to go through this torture. But rules are rules, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Then we watch our own district. Marty being called, me running up and volunteering. I look mortified, but determined.

Thank goodness. I have give myself some credit for that, right?

Then Gia appears looking as scared as ever. The anthem plays and the program ends.

Afterwards, we go our separate ways and I enter my room. My eyes find the small box of cookies that I was given. Such a delicacy would be treasured in our house, back in District 12.

District 12? It's strange to think that I actually miss the wretched place I had called home.

I guess it's not because of where it's located, but the people inside. The Peacekeepers, the traders at the Hob, my family and friends.

I wonder what they're doing right now?Most likely sitting in our sorry excuse of a house with the old, battered shutters drawn in tight. All of the house lights must be off to conserve as much energy as possible.

Did they eat the food brought in this morning or did it remain on their plates, untouched and unwanted? Did they too watch the recaps and watch today's events? Marty, Gloria, Melman, my mom. They all must be worried sick, scared silly. I can't even imagine what they're going through.

And what of Gia and her family? From what little encounters I have had with the exotic cat, I've learned quite a bit; She's kind, polite, headstrong-

Oh no! No! I can't think of her that way. People like Gia are dangerous. They have a way of worming their way into your heads, forcing you to think of them as if they would never hurt a fly. Gia is my enemy, not my friend. Her actions will determine how I think of her and what will happen to us in the arena.

I snatch the box of cookies off the bed and fling it across the room. The contents burst on impact, spilling bits of cardboard and cookie all over the floor.

Whether I had done it out of anger or irrationality, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to.

Without even changing, I crawl under the thick blanket of my bed and settle in for the night. My bed back in District 12 is a joke compared to this bad boy. Winning by a landslide. The comforter is thick and fluffy, as if I were sleeping on clouds. My head sinks into the pillow, enveloping my cranium in a comforting warmth.

If there was ever a time cry my eyes out, now would be it. But no tears come. My tear ducts are as dry as a desert. And trust me when I say I want to cry. I wanted to bawl and howl with snot and all of that jazz. I want to cry till I make myself sick. I want to cry till I fall asleep.

But my wish does not come true. So instead I close my eyes and lay there in silence.

I end up fidgeting with the mockingjay pin clipped to my shirt. The smooth edges and cold chill of medal calms me till ever so slowly, I drift into a deep sleep.