A/N: Ahh! The SYOT is officially closed!

Thanks to LordShiro for Avia and S.H. Rekes for Al!

Enjoy!

Chapter 8 – District 8 Reaping

Avia Kasiani's POV

My parents need to learn to lock the front door.

They are always trying to find ways to keep me home. I think they should start by locking the front door. It won't do much, since I could just climb out a window, or break the lock, or go out through the backyard, but at least they would look like they were putting forth some semblance of effort.

I open the door quietly and slink out into the early morning light. The sun peaks over the city down below, but I can't see it very well. All of the beauty that 8 should have is blotted out by the pollution from the factories.

Our front yard is quaint and steep, going down the hill our house is built on. There are a few garden gnomes dotting the grass and the porch, which I guess is what you get for having a rich father who works hard to keep up appearances.

I don't really get why Dad thinks putting out strange little porcelain people is going to make our family suddenly liked by others. But then again, it doesn't matter to me how someone sees us. Even if they start out liking us, surely they won't by the time I'm finished with them.

I peek out from the porch, and upon seeing the curtains moving up in my parents room, my mother's face appearing in the window, I take off across the yard. It always feels more exhilarating when they actually see me run off—then they know immediately to go out and look for me.

And so I charge across the yard, knocking down one of the stupid little garden goblins on my way to the fence. I don't bother opening gate, instead just swinging my legs over the wrought iron and sliding right down the hill. I hear the front door bang open behind me, and I start running harder.

The grassy hill our home sits on gives way for the stark gray world of District 8's biggest city. All the houses look the same, some nicer than others, some practically missing a wall, but still, the same. However, it's a lot more interesting than back in the house, alone with Mom, Dad, Delilah, and all the maids and butlers.

A lone woman, standing on the steps outside a ramshackle little house, washing a pale purple dress that looks like it would fit me, looks up as I come past.

The wet dress in her hands reminds me that it's Reaping Day. Oh, well. I'm sure Mom and Dad will have me back long before that starts.

"Are you alright, dear?" the woman asks. "What are you running from?"

I smirk, my face hidden by my black hair, before jumping right into a nice little lie. "My father was hitting my brother! I think he was planning to go after me, too! I panicked, and I ran, and now…" I look around as if I didn't know where I was. "I'm here."

"Oh, that's terrible!" the woman exclaims, the purple dress momentarily forgotten. She speed walks across the path and moves to put a wet hand on my shoulder. I flinch away, really trying to sell the whole gig. "What's your name, dear?"

"My dad says I'm not supposed to tell strangers my name," I say matter-of-factly. "he says it's dangerous for others to know my name."

"Oh, but if your father beats you and your brother…" the woman trailed off. "Are you sure you won't tell me?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't." I stick out my bottom lip, tears welling in my eyes. "I just don't know what to do!" I wail, letting the tears spill over my cheeks. I dramatically choke back a sob. "My brother might be dead! I-I-I should have stayed with him! Oh, I'm such a terrible sister!" I sink to my knees, letting a sob escape from my throat.

"No, you're not!" the woman exclaims, kneeling down beside me. "Why don't you show me where you live? That way we can get you out of your bad situation."

"No, no," I say, still crying inconsolably. "I'll just go to the Peacekeepers—I'm sure they'll help me!" I stand up on shaky legs and stumble a few feet down the street.

"Oh—no, you don't have to go!" the woman cries, running to catch up with me.

A girl about my age pokes her out of the house. "Aunt Greta, are you finished with the dress—who is that?"

"I'm trying to help her," 'Aunt Greta' says. "Her father is abusing her and her brother."

"That's terrible!" the girl exclaims. "But can't you help her after the Reaping? I need my dress!"

Wow. I think I just met someone who's even more of a brat than I am.

Aunt Greta turns to the girl and walks a few steps away from me. In that moment, I wipe the tears from my face and sprint back the way I came, disappearing around the corner before the woman even realizes I left.

I slow my sprint to a light jog after I get a nice distance away from that woman and her niece. I decide to pretend that I never left the house—just to mess with Mom and Dad even more. I grin at the thought.

I hop the fence in the backyard, slinking back into the house through the patio door. I run the expanse of the living room and pound up the stairs. I throw myself onto my bed, landing with a boof on my bed. I sink back into the pillows and blankets, nestling deeper into the covers and pretending to be asleep.

I wait an annoyingly long amount of time—long enough I considered getting out of bed and finding my parents when the door finally opens.

"Avia!" Mom exclaims. "We were so worried about you?"

"Worried?" I ask, playing dumb. "Why were you worried? I've been in bed all morning!"

"Your mother said she saw you leave the house early this morning," Dad says, sitting down on the bed. "She said you ran down the hill and into the city. We went out looking for you! Imagine if you had been caught, out on Reaping Day like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say innocently. "I promise I've been here, in my room, all morning. I never left the house."

Mom and Dad exchange confused looks. "Well…" Mom says. "Maybe I was just seeing things."

"Yes," Dad says. "That's probably it." He smiles and pats my leg. "You should get ready to the Reaping, Av."

"O-kayyyy."

"Come on, Avia," Mom says kindly. "You're going to be fine."

"O-kayyyy." I stick out my bottom lip. "I-I-I-I don't want to go to the Reaping!" I let a few tears trail down my cheeks, wetting my shirt. "I wanna stay here!"

"Av," Dad says softly. "You have to go. The Peacekeepers make us."

"That's dumb!" I wail. "the Reaping's dumb! The Hunger Games are dumb! Everything's dumb!"

I start bawling and I curl my knees to my chest.

"Avia," Mom says again. "I promise you're not going to be picked. And when we come back, I'll give you a nice big bowl of ice cream!"

I pretend to contemplate it. "O-kayyyy."

Mom flashes me a warm smile. "Let's go get you ready, okay?"

I nod sweetly and follow Mom to my bathroom. Ten minutes later, we leave the house, with me dressed in a pretty, pale pink dress (as per my request). I run ahead of my parents, leaving them behind as I reach the square. I get my finger pricked, letting myself whimper a little bit. I expected the Peacekeeper, a woman, to offer me some sort of condolence, but she remains stoic. I nearly glare as I walk to the girls' section.

Jaques Medarios, our District escort, saunters onto the stage like he owns the place. "Hello, District 8!" He acts as if our district is enthusiastic about the Games. "Let's get right into the Reaping, shall we?" The video about the rebellion begins, and I immediately check out. I stay that way until something jolts me from my reverie:

My name.

"Avia Kasiani!" Jaques calls into the mic, looking expectantly at the crowd.

I freeze. All my joints lock up. The breath is stolen from my lungs. And then, like the words register with my slow mind, I turn tail and start running, pushing through the crowd desperately. The look around wildly, terrified, not really thinking about where I'm going or what I'm going to do when I get there.

A Peacekeeper tackles me to the cement, pinning me to the ground. I scream as the Peacekeeper—the same woman who checked me in—drags me to my feet and pulls me to the stage. She plants me on the wood beside Cassius. I shake a little, but I slowly calm down. I might… I might actually be able to win this. And, damn, even if I don't, it'll be a lot of fun.

Yeah. Let's do this.

Alby 'Al' Thatcher's POV

Two days. Two freaking days, and I would have been safe. But noooooo. I had to be born late. I couldn't've been born two freaking days earlier.

Even so, I have to drag myself out of bed on Reaping Day, pretending everything is fine. Every single day. It's the same routine. Wake up. Go to work. Go to bed. I don't even have a home to go to. Dad and I could never even afford a one room shack.

There was a time when things were better, I think. When Mom was alive. It was only a few years ago, but it already seems like it was just a dream. We had a nice house. Good food. I didn't have to work every day. I could just be a normal kid—such a novelty anymore I can hardly remember what that is.

Nine years of my life were spent like that. Only three of them have been like this. But it already feels like a lifetime.

Normally, I would get up and go immediately to work. Even with the regular factory accidents, it would at least be safer than hanging out in an alleyway all day. At least in a factory you won't get jumped by a gang and mugged.

But Reaping Day is always different.

There's no work on Reaping Day. It always surprises me. I prefer work. At work there's so much noise I can hardly even think. But out here, in this is eerily quiet alley, the silence is deafening, giving me too much leverage to think. I hate being alone with my thoughts.

Last year, I started singing to fill the silence. It works, too—all I have to do is focus on the lyrics and I can shut out my past.

I don't even have anything nice to wear to the Reaping. All my pants are dirty from sitting in an alley when I not wearing them and spending the day in a factory when I am. And don't even ask about my shirts. Those are even worse than my pants. I can hardly imagine what the Capitol will think if I get reaped. They'll probably all be falling over each other, unable to comprehend that someone could be dressed so horribly.

No matter how amusing that thought is, I don't crack a smile. I can't remember the last time I really smiled. Maybe some time I discovered a good song? Maybe before Mom died? Maybe never?

I stand up, stretching my back. My tailbone aches from the bad position I slept in last night. I look down at my dirty clothing. Good enough. There's hardly even a chance that I'll need to look presentable. Besides, half of District 8 dresses like this on a daily basis, and it's not like most of us can afford much better.

I walk lazily out of the alley, realizing just how late I must have slept in today. It's rare that I get to sleep any later than 6:00 a.m., so sleeping until 10:00 is a luxury. It probably would have felt better on a real mattress, in a real house, with real blankets covering my body instead sleeping against a wall with a tarp over my legs.

I wander down the street, wading through the crowd of people, already heading for the square. I feel like a salmon, swimming upstream, trying to find my dad.

He often leaves our alley very early in the morning, off to get food to eat before we have to work. A good meal for us consists of a loaf of bread (which we only eat a few slices of) an apple and some weak broth. Normally, though, we just have bread.

Some days there's not even that.

Eventually I come upon the bakery we usually buy from. It sells bread very, very cheap, so we can buy it very, very cheap. When we get a good paycheck, we buy a few loaves at once, even though it goes stale pretty fast.

I find Dad inside, haggling with a girl maybe a few years older than me over the price of day-old bread.

"I already told you," the girl says. "I am not lowering the price. My parents said I can't do that anymore."

Dad sighs and hands over the money. "Ah, Al," he says when he spots me at the door. "Let's have breakfast before the Reaping, shall we?"

We sit outside the bakery, out of the way of the crowds, eating our bread. "I hope you slept well last night, Al," Dad says with a chuckle. "You sure slept a lot."

I nod half-heartedly. "It was fine," I say before hurriedly shoving a piece of bread into my mouth. It tastes stale.

Dad looks up. "Oh, we better get a move on or else we'll be late for the Reaping." He climbs to his feet, beckoning me to follow him.

Jaques Medarios stands up at the stage, shouting, "Hello, District 8!" He grins at the crowd, seeming to think we are much more excited than we are. "Let's get right into the Reaping, shall we?"

The video plays, and then he picks a girl named Avia Kasiani. I've never met her—but I've heard of her. A lot of kids at my school hate her.

Only when he saunters over to the boys' bowl do things get serious.

"Alby Thatcher!" he cries.

My brow furrows a little bit, and I slowly make my way toward the stage. A sense of panic steals over my body, but for some reason, it doesn't show on my exterior. All I know is that the Capitol sees this scruffy, dirty, horribly-dressed boy stumbling for the stage, and it is not going to help my chances.

Avia Kasiani's POV

The first one through the door is Mom. She envelops me in a hug, sobbing. I fight the urge to throw her off and tell her that I've got it under control.

"Delilah isn't going to make it to say goodbye," Dad says. Fine by me, I think.

But that's not what I say. "You'll tell her I said goodbye, right? That I love her?"

"Oh, of course," Dad says softly. He pauses. "You'll get all the ice cream you can imagine when you come back."

I nearly smirk. "Oh, I can't wait!"

Dad hugs me, and I start forcing tears out of my eyes. I choke back a sob. The more terrified I seem, the better.

When they get pulled out the door, I sink back onto the cushions. Time to put on a show.

Alby 'Al' Thatcher's POV

Dad bursts through the door, still clutching the half-eaten loaf of bread from this morning. He hugs me, and I half-hug him back.

"You'll be okay, Al," Dad says reassuringly. I can't help but think that that this is exactly what other parents are telling my future opponents, right now. The idea freaks me out. "You'll make it out. I know you will."

I shrug. "The Capitol isn't going to like me."

"Oh, come on, Al!" Dad exclaims, going for a happy tone but epically failing. "Just let them get you cleaned up a little, and the Capitol will see the strapping young man underneath!"

"I guess."

A/N: Feel free to tell me what you think of Avia and Al! Reviews are always appreciated.

We're so close to actually finishing the Reapings! I know the Reapings are kind of boring from a reading standpoint (and least in my opinion) and they aren't the most interesting to write, either. But we're close!