A/N: Sorry for the delay-like wait for this chapter. I've had major District Eleven writers block… it doesn't mean the tributes are bad; it just means I've had writers block for the story.

You're going to love this escort. Not the male banana, but the ridiculously annoying male plant, Dede Eyey. He is—other than Polka Dot and Bonanza Bonanzo—my favorite escort.

Check out IAmBeautifulBecauseOfMyFlaws!

But anyway, let's. Get. These. Reapings. DONE.

D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)

Fregh, my only friend, jumps up from under the tree across the yard and calls, "We forgot about the reaping! Twenty minutes!"

We jump up. He goes to his house and I go to mine. In mine, my sister/mother, Louise, says, "We forgot, too. Now hurry if you don't want to be shot." I grunt in return and just throw on a gray shirt and plain brown pants. I go back outside my room, and Louise asks, "Ready?"

With fifty-six names in there, why would I be ready? But if it means showing my biological father that I still care, so be it. It's not like I am to be reaped, right? This is a district filled with more people than any, and it's a poor one at that.

"Sure," I answer.

I'll explain the "sister/mother": When I was born, I had a birth defect, and my mother died. I was bullied for years afterwards because I was so small. But when I turned eleven, I had a growth spurt and beat up those who bullied me. My father—an overly prideful man—disowned me because of the embarrassment. Left me to die. Fregh helped me through that, and then my sister and her husband adopted me when she was twenty-three, and I was thirteen.

Ever since I've lived with them: Josef and Louise. And every year, so my father knows that there are no hard feelings, that I still care, I get fifty tesserae slips and send them to him. Though I should probably use them to support Louise, Josef, and I, I don't.

Anyway, we rush to the square, where Louise and Josef stay in the back, close, and afraid for me. I go to my section after being the last to sign in, and try to find Fregh, but end up just standing between a petite little seventeen-year-old with long, wavy locks and a large, furious-looking boy who towers over even me. He looks like he's an adult, not a teenager. He looks like he doesn't belong in the Games.

But you never know.

The escort finds his way to the stage in yet another plant costume. But this year it's not just a plant, but an orchid. A white orchid, for which I would want to name my daughter if I am ever to have one someday.

Anyway, he—Dede Eyey—squeals like a girl and says, "May I introduce your mayor, Mayor Dobbadothee!"

It's actually Mayor Donnertee, but no one ever thinks to correct Dede Eyey. I would if I knew him. It's annoying and peculiarly child-like, as if he's doing it purposefully.

The mayor goes through his speech and smiles falsely—we all have a loathing for Dede's annoyingness—as he returns the attention to Dede Eyey, whom is "all the way from the Capitol!"

"Thank you, thank you!" he calls. "Well, may the odds be ever in your favor! Ladies first!"

"Roslynn Ellis!" A girl goes to the stage. She has long dark brown curly hair that reaches about halfway down her back and has dark green eyes. She's skinny and around 5'6—8", maybe.

Then the males' names are being dug into.

D11- 17- (Roslynn Ellis)

I exit my room, yawning. I have time to spare before the reaping, thankfully. Most years, we're late.

In the living room, my nineteen-year-old brother, Aiden, is sitting on the couch, drinking something from a mug. He looks over at me, leans down, pats the couch next to him, and leans back, sipping his drink again. I sit down reluctantly. He has a lecture coming or something.

Before he can start, I say, "So, Dad didn't get off work for the reaping?"

"He could have," Aiden tells me flatly. "Didn't, though. He'll be at the official thing, though." I nod, indicating that whatever he was going to say he can say. "I want you to wear one of mother's dresses or clips."

Immediately, I say, "No." Our mother died when I was nine from an illness that we didn't have the money to take her to any healer—whether a doctor or an apothecary—to help her.

"Yes, Roslynn," Aiden snaps. "Honor her, will you?"

"She's dead, Aiden; it wouldn't feel right," I explain.

"You're wearing it, Ros, and that's that," Aiden tells me, setting down his still half-full cup that I now see is full of water. Wonder how he got that stuff, I think.

"I'm going to go wake up Rosemary, okay?" I say softly, getting up, and starting to go before Aiden and I get in a fight again. And on reaping day!

"Nah, I'll do it," he says. "You pick out a dress. The clip's on Dad's headboard." My scowl makes him add, "It's like shopping. You like to do that, right?"

No. No, I don't. But so he doesn't burst, I pick out and slip on light purple dress that reaches my knees. To hold back my long, brown hair, I put on mother's diamond clip and scowl once more. I hate to scowl—such an unpleasant expression—but when Aiden gets his way like this, sometimes it irritates me, because it means what I believe in lost.

Rosemary comes out in her little reaping dress, skipping along without a care in the world. I go to my room quickly at the sight of Aiden and Rosemary together, reminding me of my silver locket with a picture of Aiden and Rosemary in it. I slip it around my neck and hurry back out. I pat Rosemary's head.

The little twelve-year-old says, "Promise you or me won't go?"

"Swear of it, Rosemary," I say. "Now come one. Dad's in the square, isn't he, Aiden?"

We go to the square. Rosemary and I sign in. Then Rosemary goes to her age section, and I to mine. I stand by Blaine and Casandra, two of my friends. Casandra and I have been friend since we were seven.

Before I know it, the mayor's speech is over and the escort is going drawing names. The orchid tromps his way to the girls' bowl and sticks his hand in there. I have tesserae for everyone in my family. So many slips in there say 'Roslynn Ellis'.

It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary. It can't be me. It can't be Rosemary.

But it's too late as Dede Eyey calls, "Roslynn Ellis!"

I go up to the stage and plant my ground. Me? Me. Me! Me?

"Rogis Trakholm!"

A boy from my year at school makes his way from the crowd. He's muscular and has brown eyes, dusty black hair, and is around 6'.

Rogis and I are forced to shake hands, which we do, and then taken to the Justice Building.

In there, I am still ruminating over it. I was picked. I tell myself this many times before I can full understand what's going to happen. I'm going into the Games. The Hunger Games.

Then in come Aiden and my father and Rosemary. Rosemary hugs me, tears dripping down her cheeks. "You promised, Roslynn," she says. "You swore."

"I know. I'm so, so sorry," I tell her. "It'll be okay, though. Okay?"

She nods.

I turn to see my father right behind me, and he says, "I'm sorry, Roslynn. I… if I were a better father, we would have enough money that you wouldn't have to get tesserae."

I hug him silently, because there's nothing you can say to that. I almost cry, but then I remember I can't. It's indefinitely important that I don't cry. I've watched enough Hunger Games to know what happens to those who show they're crying. Unless it's your strategy, you die.

Aiden smiles at me hollowly. "Fight with them like you argue with me."

I think that's better than anything a mentor could tell me to do. I smile back and we hug, and then they all have to leave.

After they do so, Casandra, Blaine, and the sixteen-year-old Crissy come in. I immediately am in Casandra's arms, hugging her as she cries for me, and I tell her that I'll come back, even though I probably won't. I pick up "I" and "volunteer" as she rambles and assure her that it's good that she didn't volunteer.

Crissy and I say goodbye similar to Casandra and I, but with less years of friendship backing it up.

Then Blaine and I give each other our small goodbyes and I'm taken onto the train.

Bye, District Eleven.

D11- 17- (Rogis Trakholm)

Louise and Josef are beaten in by Fregh, who casually walks in and plops on the couch. "Hear they have great food there," he says. "I'd say rob them blind with all the food you take."

I almost smile. Almost.

"I'll shovel it out the window, Fregh," I tell him sarcastically. Eventually he has to go. We say no more after my last remark. So in silence he leaves, and I wonder if I'll ever see Fregh again. As Louise and Josef come in, I catch a glimpse of something in Louise's hand. "What's that?"

"Mother's gold locket," she answers, planting it gentle on my outstretched hand. I keep a tight grip on it as I say my goodbyes. Then I thank them for everything they've done for me—from saving me to making me part of the family again. The Peacekeepers take them out, but Louise resists a bit.

I expect to be taken to the train next, but then my father comes in. He looks drunk but I know he isn't by the way he says, "That tesserae I get?"

I nod at him. "For you," I say. "Fifty-six names in there were mine."

"Odds suck, boy," my father says. "Sometimes you just got to hope that next time you aren't going off to die when you got bad luck." I nod, and he pats me on the back as I leave.

I am taken to the train, where Roslynn Ellis, Dede, and the mentor—Jason Young, I believe—are waiting.

"Come. Sit," Jason says. "We've much to discuss."

A/N: How you like it? D12 will be up soon, and then train rides, Opening Ceremonies, the three days of training, Interviews, Ally groups and tribute statistics chapter, and then the Games!

Okay, so who likes Cato/Katniss? I'm curious…

Review!