I should probably have been doing homework instead of this. Oops. But, on the plus side, you've now seen 1/4 of the tributes. Yay!


Milo Heath, 13, District 12

"Milo!"

"They can't do this!"

"I'm so sorry I ever hated you."

"I won't be able to live without you!"

The stream of girls flooding into my room seems endless. One by one they run in, cry, apologise, and attempt to console me in ways I probably shouldn't allow, considering I do currently have a girlfriend. But to heck with it—I don't let that stop me normally, and even if I did, I figure today's circumstances entitle me to whatever the heck I want.

So I don't step back as a pretty, blonde girl barrels through the door and throws herself into my arms. What was her name again? Ashlyn? Embra?

Eh, it's not important.

"Oh, Milo. Milo, I-I can't . . . I can't believe . . . Oh, Milo."

"There, there," I say calmly, patting her back and glad she can't see my grin with her face buried in my shirt. I must say, realising how many people love me enough to miss me has been a wonderful boost to my ego. I feel all warm and fuzzy.

It's almost enough to make me forget about my situation.

Almost.

The girl looks up when my reassuring pats come to a stop. I try desperately to drag my trademark smirk back on my face, but judging by the pitying look in her eyes, my expression is still far too stricken for my liking. Not good. I'm supposed to be Milo Heath: ladies' man, bad boy orphan, prankster extraordinaire. Not a crying baby. I already hurt my reputation enough losing my cool at the reapings.

"You poor boy." The girl wraps me in her arms, squeezing the life from me with her hug. "You poor, brave boy. And to think, we've wasted so much time being angry with each other! Life really is too short."

Okay, now she's irritating me. First of all, we've been angry with each other? I don't even remember her name, and I certainly don't care about girls like her enough to feel any sort of emotion for them. Besides, what reason would I have to be mad? I broke up with her, like I do with every girl. No hard feelings on my part—they just get boring after a while.

Secondly, I don't like how she's talking about me like I'm going to die. I mean, everyone knows these Hunger Games are just a bluff. The Capitol wouldn't actually throw kids into some death arena, and even if they did, what kid in their right mind would leap to killing? No, we'll be taken away for a bit, paraded around while the Capitol makes a few baseless threats, then shipped right back home.

That has to be what'll happen. It has to.

"Look, I've got more friends waiting outside," I say, pushing the girl away none-too-gently. "You should probably get going."

She nods sadly. Darn it, stop staring at me like I'm already a corpse! It's making me breathe funny, and I don't like it.

But then she jumps back towards me, pressing her lips against mine, and I decide maybe she's not the worst visitor I've had today.

The Peacekeeper manning my door walks in while we're in the process of "saying goodbye", and once again her groan fills the room. I must admit, I have enjoyed watching her stoic expression grow more and more exasperated over the course of this hour as she lets each new girl into my room. These new Peacekeepers are such jerks, it's good to mess with them once in a while.

After a series of increasingly loud coughs I purposely ignore, the Peacekeeper finally approaches and physically separates us. "There are still more visitors waiting to get in," she grumbles to me, steering the girl towards the door. "Better see them now before you lose your last chance."

My smirk freezes on my face, unmoved even by the girl's proclamations of newfound love for me. The Peacekeeper rolls her eyes and drags her out the door.

Immediately, she's replaced by the only two people I really care about: Asher, my best friend in the world, and Caleb, who might as well be my big brother. With them comes Charlotte, my girlfriend of the month. But I don't care about her, I swear. Please, you think I'm stupid enough to actually involve emotion in my relationships? That's not what cool people do.

Nevertheless, I fake it really well by smiling as she comes to sit next to me on the couch, her hand automatically finding mine and squeezing it comfortingly. It actually feels kinda nice.

No, stop it, Milo. Don't be lame.

"About time you guys showed up," I say, keeping my attention on Caleb and Asher as they come to sit by us. "I've been waiting for ages."

Neither of them cracks a smile. Asher's eyes are still wet, as though he only just stopped crying two seconds before walking in here. Which sucks, because now my eyes are stinging, and tears are not something I need to deal with right now.

Thankfully Charlotte knows when to jump in. "We've been waiting a while too," she says with a smirk to rival my own. "Apparently there were a lot of visitors trying to get in to see you. I wonder who got in before us?" she adds, trailing her finger across my cheek. It comes away stained red with lipstick.

Blech. Which one of those girls was wearing lipstick? First off, kind of a disgusting way to spend your money when most of the district is starving to death. And also, makeup, really? That's for like, old ladies. Thirteen-year-olds don't need it, they're pretty enough as is. Just look at Charlotte.

Ahem. Pretend I didn't think that.

"Well, you know what a popular guy I am," I say. "I mean, everyone in the district knows my name."

"Mm, well, that doesn't necessarily mean you're popular, does it? Infamous, more like."

"'Least they know me. I bet—"

But before Charlotte and I can finish our teasing banter, Asher leaps from his chair and practically tackles me in a hug. Um . . . okay?

"Come on, man." I pat Asher's back awkwardly as he sobs into my already-damp shirt. "Don't . . . Listen, it's going to be fine, all right? The Hunger Games are just a bluff."

He only wails louder at that. Darn it, my exceptional charisma never extends to situations with crying people. What am I supposed to say?

Desperate, I look to Caleb for aid. He's a whole four years older than the rest of us, so he's got to know everything.

He looks at his shoes, not meeting my gaze as he mumbles, "That's what we said last time."

"What?"

"Last time. When they arrested all those people. We said that was just a bluff too."

My heart sinks; I remember now. Only a few weeks after the war ended, the Peacekeepers rounded up a bunch of adults suspected of being involved in the rebellion. What they were really after was a group of innocent men and women as hostages to spur the real rebels into giving themselves up. Otherwise everyone the Peacekeepers had arrested would be executed.

Asher's father was one of those people. We told him the Peacekeepers were just bluffing, trying to spook the rebels out of hiding. Nothing would actually happen to his last living family member.

The execution was public. Lasted all day. Every single captured man and woman was shot.

Is that my fate now? Or something worse?

"N-no." I curse myself for not being able to keep the stutter from my voice as I face my friends. "Doesn't matter what we said last time, this has to be a joke. Right? Come on, killing kids? Forcing them to kill each other? That . . . That would never happen. I mean, even the Capitol isn't that stupid." I try to laugh. It doesn't come out right. "It's all just some dumb prank. Like the ones we play on the Peacekeepers. Right, guys? Guys?"

I need them to agree; more than anything, I need them to agree. But Asher's still busy crying, and Caleb has always been brutally honest with me, right from the beginning. I didn't think today could get any scarier than when that flouncy Capitol lady called my name, but the moment Caleb breaks eye contact, I feel terror seep into my veins like I've never felt before.

"Well, I guess it was a tie, then. Pity."

Charlotte's words come out of nowhere, so sudden and confusing they shock me out of my panic. "Wh-what?"

"The race to see who would break up with who first. The reapings so rudely interrupted it."

"I-I didn't know we were racing. And, hey!" I turn my attention from Caleb to stare incredulously and Charlotte over Asher's shoulder. "You were planning on breaking up with me?"

"Weren't you planning on breaking up with me?"

"Well, yeah, but . . . I mean, I always do that with girls."

"I know, which is why I wanted to be prepared. I mean, being broken up with is like being declared the loser in a relationship. It's a competition." Charlotte smiles. "And you know how I get with competitions."

Do I ever. Us Seam kids used to race all the time back when we were little, and I swear Charlotte nearly pulled my hair out when I first beat her.

"Such a pity," she continues, shaking her head sadly. "I was so looking forward to coming first."

"Uh, there's no way you would have been first."

"Oh, really?"

"Have you seen my dumping skills? I have mad dumping skills."

"Big deal. I'm awesome. I'd win."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Guys!" Asher cries, finally pulling himself off of my shirt to stare at the both of us.

In response, he gets two simultaneous "What"s as our heads turn to him.

"Could you maybe not be idiots for once? They're taking you away, Milo, to the Capitol! And then they want to . . . they want to . . . oh God, they want to kill you! They want to kill twenty-three kids, and one of them is you! I-I can't take that, not a-again, not after D-D-Dad. Please, you guys are the only family I have l-left."

His words dissolve into sobs, and he sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands. I should comfort him, but all I can do is stare in shock and listen to his words repeat in my head.

He really believes these Hunger Games are going to happen. So why shouldn't I?

"We should go," Charlotte says, her eyes flitting between Asher's trembling form and my panicked expression. She hops to her feet and tugs on Caleb's arm. "Right?"

He may hate it when we pretend to have light hearts in a serious time, but he's also kind enough to accept that's how we cope. "Right," he says, rising from the chair as Charlotte helps a shaking Asher stand. "Peacekeepers said we have limited time. You've still got more visitors."

"Popular guy," Charlotte says, smiling back at me as she leads Asher towards the door.

My heart leaps in my throat because I don't want them to go. It's like a dam has burst in my head, and all the fears I've been pushing back are flooding into my heart. What if this Hunger Games is real? What if they do want to kill kids? What if this is the last time I see my friends?

What if I'm going to d-die?

But before I can break down like Asher, I'm wrapped up in a hug I never thought I'd get.

"Look," Caleb mumbles, squeezing me tighter between his arms. "Whatever they plan on doing, just stay safe, all right? I don't trust those Capitol bastards."

"You and me both." I try to say it casually, but my breath catches in my throat. "Caleb, I—"

"Don't. Don't freak yourself out. Just take it one step at a time, all right? The Heath House way."

Yeah, okay, but there's a big different between worrying where your next beating will come from at the orphanage and freaking out about your maybe-impending doom. "But—"

"You're a douche, all right?"

"Ex-excuse me?"

"A giant douche, and you're only thirteen. Honestly, you're way too young to be cool, so stop trying, 'cause it's fucking irritating." He holds me tighter, his voice breaking slightly when he continues, "I don't know why I've kept you around all these years."

I can't help but smile. "Phew. I was worried you were going soft."

He pulls out of the hug and punches me on the shoulder. "You're the only soft one, Scrawny. Now, seriously, stay safe, 'cause I will come after you if you don't."

"Noted."

"Caleb?" It's Charlotte, peeking her head through the open door. "The Peacekeeper says we've got to go."

For half a second, I think he'll object, but he knows better than that. No one wants to get in trouble with the Peacekeepers.

So instead he simply ruffles my hair like he used to all the time and heads for the door. No goodbyes, 'cause this isn't goodbye. It can't be.

Charlotte steps out of the way to let Caleb pass, and after a wink and a wave, she leaves as well. It takes all of my willpower to resist the urge to run out there after them. I already tried running once today, when the Capitol escort called my name, and it didn't exactly work out. Have to try and salvage what's left of my cool reputation.

So when the door opens again, I try for my best smirk, only to falter as my eyes find the faces of a strange man and woman walking in. Undoubtedly the strangest couple I've seen in a long time—him with his Seam hair and eyes, her with her fine merchant's features. They don't stand close together, so maybe they aren't involved romantically, but then who the heck are they? I've never seen either of these people in my life.

No, wait . . . she's the woman who always drops by the orphanage. Never adopts a kid, just hangs around for a while before leaving. And him, he's that creepy stalker who watches me go to school.

Oh God, what are they here to do, kidnap me?

Actually, as messed up as that sounds, I wouldn't really mind.

For the longest time, neither of them says anything, just stands by the doorway staring at me with tears brimming in their eyes. I fidget nervously with the hem of my shirt, waiting for them to explain who they are and why they're here, but it seems like that's not going to happen anytime soon.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I snap, maybe a little ruder than I intended, but seriously, I could have spent this time with my friends. "Look, if you're just going to stare, maybe you could do that somewhere else—"

"Milo," the man says without warning. "Milo Heath."

"Uh, yeah. Look, unless you're here to get me out of this, I—"

"They kept the name," the man says, tears trickling down his cheeks. "The one you suggested. I hated it so much, but it. . . it fits."

Okay, what the heck is going on? "Look, your time is ticking," I say, bouncing up and down on the couch. I don't know why, but these people are making me nervous. "Either start making sense or get lost."

"Of course," the woman says, and now she's crying too. What is up these people? "M-maybe you recognise us from around town. My name is Penelope Marriet, and this is K-Keith Hartlow. We're . . . well, we're . . ."

She can't continue and breaks off, sobbing. It's the man, Keith, who finished. "Your parents. We're your p-p-parents, Milo."

Oh.

O-oh dear.

I thought this day couldn't get any worse. First my name is called for a death match, then I have to watch my friends suffer, then of course I am freaking out. And now . . . no. No, no, no. I can't deal with this. My heart has been twisted enough today, random strangers, so stop lying and please leave. Now.

I can't manage to say this, though, and they take it as their opportunity to tell me their story, which makes it worse because with each sentence, it gets harder and harder to believe they're messing with me.

Penelope Marriet and Keith Hartlow, from the merchant's sector and the Seam, respectively. Had a fling to defy society's laws, nothing new, nothing serious, until Penelope got pregnant. Suddenly things became too real, and they were just teenagers, what were they to do? They couldn't raise a kid. So off to the orphanage, but giving away the baby was no way to get rid of the memories. It was impossible to stay away, and while they'd split up, they still each found their own way to keep an eye on their kid. Because they couldn't leave him alone. They couldn't leave me alone, and now they're here, ruining my life more by finally talking to me on the day I might be sent off to die.

Who does that? Who waits until their kid is doomed to pop in and say, "Oh, by the way, those parents you missed for thirteen years? Yeah, hi!" No, no. They passed the point of no return a long time ago; they don't get to show up now and pretend everything's all right.

I want to yell at them, to interrupt their story and scream in their faces for toying with my emotions on what's already been a way-too-crazy day. But I also want to leap up and run to them, because aren't parents supposed to comfort their kids? I spied on some families today while waiting to sign-in, and, oh God, the longing I felt when a dad held his kid close or a mom said everything would be all right. I want that, more than anything. But not from these people, who thought it'd be okay to stay out of my life until now.

But I also don't have the heart to tell them to leave, because I can't help but want them here with me.

So I remain silent, unable to say anything. Even as they finish their story, even as they hug me and cry, I can't react. I don't know how.

I'm not sure if I should be happy when the Peacekeeper comes back and tells Penelope and Keith to leave. Part of me is thinking thank goodness as they rise from the couch, though I still feel cold without their arms around me.

"Wait." Penelope has stopped midway to the door, her fingers fiddling madly with something at her wrist. "Hold on . . . he's allowed something from home, right? A token?"

The ever-exasperated Peacekeeper simply shrugs, which I guess Penelope takes as a go-ahead, because she hurries back to me and places something in my lap.

It's a bracelet. A bracelet from . . . from my m-mother.

"I know this is a lot to take in, and I know we've made some huge mistakes," she murmurs, kneeling down to look me in the eye. "But if . . . when, when you come back, we're going to make this right. I promise."

She smiles sadly and leans over to kiss me on the cheek. The world seems to go white just then, and when my senses return, I realise I'm alone in the Justice Building room once more. But this time, with a bracelet, and the lingering heat of a mother's kiss on my cheek.