Jodi Quinnell, 13 ~ District 10 Female

I've got cookies

I have so many reasons why this won't be my luckiest day.

First, I'm Jodi Quinnell—'Quinnell'! I come from a big family (all together seven people), so that means I have to take tesserae. And that means I have my name in the reaping ball fourteen times. (My little sister Jaquelin has hers in seven times; my older sister Jodelle, forty–two; and my older brother Johnson, forty–nine. Johnson is eighteen, so if he isn't reaped this year he's lucky.)

"What are you thinking about?" my nine–year–old brother Jeremiah asks, turning to me.

He, Mom, Dad, Jaquelin, and I are at the dining table, while Johnson and Jodelle are sitting by the small kitchen counter because there aren't enough places. Many would say, "Buy a bigger table." And we just have to reply, "They're big kids; they can eat where they want."

But meanwhile, we think: We can't afford the table, duh!

"Oh, nothing." I don't want him—or anyone else—to notice my fear right now.

"Who are you fooling?" Jodelle snaps. She is the second reason why this may not be my luckiest day: she will never, ever volunteer for me if I'm reaped.

Mom gives her a harsh look. (I, personally, didn't find anything bad about what she said; she's being honest. Never–Lying Jodelle.) Johnson gives her a warm, loving look instead, then does the same for me. He's a big softy who won't let anyone hurt us.

"Mom, something's burning here," Johnson warns her.

Mom runs to the stove and checks the small boiler. She's making porridge from tesserae grain…as usual.

I shouldn't complain about the tesserae. If the Capitol didn't offer us more food, we would starve. District 10 is known as a very poor district; we can't say that we live good, satisfying lives.

My mom huffs something and turns the stove off. She puts porridge in Dad's bowl, then her own. They usually leave themselves as the last ones when it comes to feeding the family.

At this point, many would wonder, 'Why does Jodelle seem so cruel? Her parents are good to her, and her siblings.'

She used to be a nice little girl. I was eight when Jodelle had her first reaping. She kissed my forehead before she left to sign in, seeming bright and happy, like nothing could go wrong.

Her best friend was reaped. Jodelle came home crying.

The next day, she tried to happy again. She tried. She failed. Then she changed.

She got better after a little while—the Games are her only weak spot now.

To my right is Jaquelin; to my left, Jeremiah.

Jaquelin seems so weak, even though we're the same height. I am stronger and smarter, more grown up than her; she is still a child. Your first reaping does a lot to change the way you think.

If anyone from our family is reaped, Jeremiah will just slowly back away from the conversation. He doesn't even believe that Jodelle would come back safe and sound from the Hunger Games; he says that we're winners and none of us could die in there, but I can see very well he's lying. He's not a good liar.

I could lie about everything. I've never lied much, only in little situations, but I'm very sure I could; how hard can it be?

There is one good thing about this morning: no work—no one has to wake up early to take care of animals. They were given extra food yesterday, and can wait a bit. Someone will take them out after the horrible reaping ceremony.

It's eleven o' clock, and we have nothing to do for two boring hours until then. Our parents don't even allow us to go outside and play, because then there's a chance that we would get dirty and ruin our nice clothes. I really don't want to ruin my dress, so I'll listen to Mom and Dad and sit inside.

Jodelle wore this faded yellow dress to her first and second reaping, and now it will be worn to mine. It'll probably fit next year too. It's pretty simple: it has short sleeves, and goes from top to bottom with no curves. Mom tied a belt around my waist so it won't look like a big bag on me.

After breakfast, Mom does my hair. It's blond and very long. Some people (like Jaquelin) say that my hair is beautiful, but it's also painful to brush and so much to wash.

But when my mom does something beautiful with it, I'm happy that I haven't cut it.

We are going to the square, where the Justice Building is placed. The not–so–rich (we don't like to call ourselves poor) live a few minutes away.

My siblings and I join our hands in a chain. Like last year, I'm in the middle. Then we have to sign in.

I'm shaking like a leaf in the wind. I'm so afraid—not only for myself, but because this year, I can be afraid together with Jaquelin.

It seems like the event isn't a big deal to Johnson and Jodelle. They're used to it, maybe. They can hide their emotions. I know one thing: I can't; I can lie, but emotions are a whole different thing.

Jodelle squeezes my hand. Did she just show affection?

Well, this is new. And I kind of like it. It's nice, that my big sister cares about me. That she isn't indifferent.

I look up at her. She's pretty tall, the only thing that makes me believe I won't be small forever. I smile; she responds with a small smile.

We are gathered in sections by ages—so while Johnson and Jodelle are in the front, Jaquelin and I are in the back, barely seeing anything.

The reaping starts with our mayor reading the Treaty of Treason. Then he announces District 10's previous victors: Felix Irille, Silas Bell, and Lisette Clare.

Our escort, Beatrix Alistair, is the dullest woman I have ever seen. She isn't hiding her hatred for this job. "Happy Hunger Games," she murmurs in a robotic voice. "And may the odds be ever in your favor. Girls first."

I have stopped breathing. Please, not me. NOT ME! Anyone but me!

"Jodi Quinnell…"

No, no, no, no. I can't breathe.

Loud sobs escape me. There are pinches in my sides, obviously from other thirteen–year–olds. Several are murmuring.

But why? What have I done? Why now, when I am so young and can't even hold a weapon to protect myself? Twenty–three others will be willing to slit my throat because they want it. Because they need to do it.

Someone pushes me out of the section, onto the path that leads to the stage. I go past the fourteen–year–olds, then the fifteen–year–olds. As I pass the sixteens, I spot Jodelle at the edge of the seventeen–year–old section; she is staring at the escort.

I step onto the stage, my sobs audible to the country. Way to go, Capitol—you made another small girl cry. It's your specialty.

"Now the boys."

I follow Beatrix's every move as she goes numbly to the reaping ball. The tears in my eyes make everything blurry, but I can still very well see the stupid Capitol woman who picked me to die in the stupid arena!

No, wait! Calm down, Jodi.

They need you to participate in their dumb Games. They need entertainment. Now—what to do? Amuse them? Or let them know your hate?

Or…or be numb, show them nothing? No emotion, no fear, no pain, no nothing. Show them that they don't own you.

Ha, who I am kidding? All I can do is sit and cry, waiting until a mad Career comes and cuts me in half.

"Spencer Shepherd."

Beatrix puts the small paper slip down and looks around, only to see a boy from the eighteen–year–olds come closer to the stage. He is tall and tan, slightly muscular, all together pretty good–looking. Great, just what I need—another big guy who can squash me in a matter of seconds. My eyes tear up again.

Spencer stands next to Beatrix.

"I present the District Ten tributes of the Thirty–eighth annual Hunger Games: Jodi Quinnell and Spencer Shepherd."

It sounds awful. I'm not supposed to be here.

I sob. Beatrix doesn't mention anything, but Spencer turns and takes my hand; I look up at him.

...

Two Peacekeepers lead us into the Justice Building for goodbyes.

Johnson holds Jaquelin in his lap, her sobbing even louder than mine. Jodelle and Jeremiah are holding hands and crying.

My mom sits on the sofa, and brushes my hair like she did in the morning. "I'm so sorry, sweetie!"

"I just don't wanna' die!"

"Jodelle should have volunteered…" Johnson trails off. He's right, but we all know that would never have happened.

Jodelle lets go of Jeremiah, and stares at Johnson with fierce blue eyes. "Well, why didn't you volunteer for the boy, then?"

Why doesn't she understand? Is she really that stupid? She just thinks of herself.

I look at her, and say in a calm tone, "Because that would be called 'stupidity'." She turns to me with the same ferocity.

I put my head down on Mom's chest, Dad now stroking my hair.

"Please promise that you will come back." Jaquelin jumps down from Johnson's lap, and comes to me. I open my arms.

She takes a few big steps, and hugs me.

"Don't get your hopes up too much," Jodelle huffs in a corner of the room.

"Don't say that, Jodelle," Jaquelin says pleadingly.

"Let's face it," Jodelle says. "She doesn't really stand a chance."

"No! Shut up, Jodelle! She's gonna' come back, and she's gonna come back all right—as a victor!"

Jodelle collapses on the floor. I stand from the couch, and sit beside her. "Don't cry; I will come back."

My lip is twitching.

"Time's up!"

I hug each member of the family.

Dad takes my hand, and puts an old key into it. It looks like it's been used a lot. Probably some barn key.

"I want you to come back, I just don't want to get my hopes up," Jodelle whispers softly in my ear. "Remember that."

I give her a slight nod.

And then the Peacekeeper takes them away.

I'm not expecting anyone else, so I guess I'll just have to wander here alone. After about fifteen minutes, another Peacekeeper takes me to a car.

The train is surrounded with silly Capitol reporters. As Beatrix leads us into it, I completely forget about what will happen in a week or so. The luxury—it's breathtaking. The walls, the tables, the floor, the furniture…I could hug it all!

Our mentors, Lisette and Silas, are already at the table. The second they see us, Lisette jumps from her seat and heads our way. She is full of energy and smiling.

"Come on, Silas!" She hurries the man so she can start.

"So, I will be your mentor, Jodi!" Lisette's voice is bright, like these will not be Hunger Games. "Silas will mentor Spencer. Mentoring time!" (If I actually win, maybe I'll be like her one day.) "What are you good at?" Lisette asks encouragingly.

I straighten my back, put a nice smile on my face, and answer in a similarly bright tone. "I'm pretty good with a whip." Yes, I'm back! The old Jodi Quinnell is here. (Well…almost here.)

"That's great. Anything else?"

"No, that's about it." I must be some kind of disappointment. Last year's female used an axe and a lasso.

What is the point of being good with a whip? It has never been used all these years. Never been at the Cornucopia.

I hope I will survive the first day. Surviving the Games is probably too much to ask. I bet there are others who deserve to live more than I do, though I can't name one reason why.


...


Spencer Shepherd, 18 ~ District 10 Male

Zssillybilly & Ashbrie13

Soft light trickling into my room alerts me that I've overslept. I toss off my covers, run to the little dresser, and throw on jeans and a shirt before slipping gray work boots over my socked feet.

I rush out of my room and take the path from the house to the barn, where the everlasting sound of mooing greets me.

Slipping between the fence slats that meet the barn's side, I unlatch the huge wooden door and drag it open, then whistle at the cows, who moo lazily; I wait impatiently for them to get a move-on as they meander about, doing pretty much everything but complying to my directions. One by one they begin lumbering out of the barn, but once my cattle dogs burst into action behind them, they're all out in a minute flat.

"Good dogs!" I chuckle, patting Homer and Zelda on their heads, before they race off to nip the cows who have wandered too far from the herd.

"Hey, Spence'," Felicity calls, and I whip my head around.

My girlfriend runs to the fence and clambers over without a second thought, then jumps on my back, laughing when I almost fall over. "I'm not that heavy, am I, Spencer?" she teases, as I go to throw her off to regain my balance.

But she's a step ahead, leaping gracefully onto the dirt. She tumbles forward and performs a flip just to show off.

"You know I don't think that, Lis'," I mutter.

"Well, that's good," she giggles. "Because if I was, I couldn't do this!"

She jumps on my back again. This time, I'm prepared. Her slender body clings to me, and she clicks her tongue like you do to get a horse to run faster—so I gallop as she whoops and twirls her hand in the air, as if swinging a rope. "Yeehaw!"

"Felicity!"

We stop short. She slides off quickly, and I turn, embarrassed. There stands her sister, gazing at us like we're dogs who never grew out of the puppy phase; it used to be cute, but now it's just annoying the hell out of everyone.

"Daddy was looking for you," she says. "He said that Nana made you a new dress for the reaping, and she wants you to try it on. She's getting annoyed."

"I'd better hurry," Felicity says, grimacing at me. Her grandma is a sweet woman, but when she gets angry, she makes everyone around her miserable.

Felicity drapes her arms around my neck, and gives me a quick kiss before running back towards her house. I watch her go, and glance at Melony (who looks back awkwardly, kind of weirded out that I'm dating her just–turned–sixteen–year–old sister).

I slink off to the barn, feeling dejected at being so suddenly torn away.

I spend the next two hours watching cows do cow things (like eat grass, and moo, and then move on to sample another patch of grass), meanwhile drawing my name into the dirt with a stick in big, looping letters, then scuffing it out with my boot and starting over, this time in a sort of zigzag pattern...then herding them back into the barn, and milking them.

As soon as work is completed, I trot home, which is less than a mile away. I usually stay in a small place on Felicity's family's property—since I work for them—but occasionally, I return to the house I grew up in; the one where my parents and two younger sisters live, on the edge of town.

My feet kick up pebbles as I travel along the dirt road. I hum an old District 10 song, "All Work and No Play", from days when rebellion was high.

Panem, the great country

Turns against its people

Making them work

While the Capitol plays

Mindless tasks, but it's an endless battle

To not think of the feasts they'll have

With your cattle

I step through the door, still humming, and am met with the commotion of morning in the Shepherd household. Just inside sits our kitchen table, where my dad and little sister Sable are seated, eating grain mush. My mother is at the stove, filling a bowl for my other sister Clemie, who is standing greedily under her, chubby arms held up in anticipation.

"Spencie! You're home!" Clemie squeals, and Sable joins in—"Yaaay!"

I grin and ruffle Clemie's blonde hair. She giggles, gazing at me in adoration. Sable tilts her head and laughs, mush smeared all over her pale face and brunette curls. That's the only physical difference between the twins. But if you look at their personalities, they hardly seem related, let alone identical.

Like my twin Wren and I, when she was alive. According to my parents, we were nothing alike as babies—she had big, adorable brown eyes, while I had my greenish–bluish–greyish pair; she was giggly and playful, while I remained reserved. Strangely enough, now I'm more outgoing.

Wren was smaller than I was, so she was the one to die of malnutrition. Sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like if she were here. Maybe she'd be like an older version of Clemie. Or Sable; maybe we would've switched personalities.

"So how are you guys today?" I ask, looking between them with a show of interest.

"Sable let me do her hair!" Clemie exclaims giddily.

"Wow, really? That was nice of you," I tell Sable. Then I smile at Clemie, referring to the drying mess of oatmeal tangling it: "Was that your idea?"

"Yep!"

Clemie looks curiously at my face as I try to hide my laughter, which ends up coming out as a snort that I turn into a cough. A new steaming bowl of mush shows up in front of her. She squeals and digs into it, forgetting all about her confusion.

I go to the stove and give my mother a kiss, before filling a bowl with the glop. I tentatively eat a spoonful. It tastes bland yet bitter. But I can't exactly complain—it's better this than nothing. I sprinkle on some (technically fake) sugar.

I clear my plate, and go to the room that used to be mine, but is now the multipurpose family room. I get my nicest clothes out of the dresser in the corner: a white shirt, a pair of black–grey suit pants, and my only other pair of shoes—Dad's old leather shoes, which are still in rather good repair. I carry everything to the bathroom in a pile.

The tub (an old horse trough) is already filled. My mother heated the water, and the twins got the first bath. Then for the rest, it was first–come–first–serve. Today I'm last, so I get in, grimacing, and bathe as quickly as possible, trying to keep the lukewarm water out of my mouth.

After I'm as clean as I'm going to get, I climb out and dry off with the threadbare towel hanging on a nail on the back of the door. I slip on my clothes and head toward the front of the house, where my mother is cleaning the kitchen from breakfast.

I go to the sink, roll up my sleeves, and finish washing the last few items. She smiles gratefully, and helps Dad with the twins.

I follow. As I walk through the door, I have to swerve to avoid colliding with Clemie who is speeding around the room naked, with a pair of underpants on her head. I chase after and pick her up, tickling her as I do so.

"What do you think you're doing, crazy girl?!" I ask, placing her on the bed.

"I'm Zelda," she says, and barks.

"Oh no! Zelda, why are you here? Shouldn't you be with the cows?"

"No, silly!" Clemmie giggles. "It's reaping day! The cows are sleeping!"

My smile falters. The name of this day in such an innocent mouth makes me feel sick. I try to smile again, but I know I can't keep the act up. I pull the underpants off her head and put them back on her correctly, ruffle her hair, and give her a little tickle. She giggles again. I pull her little dress over her head, then send her over to Dad to get shoes and socks.

She runs to stand next to Sable. They smile at each other in identical dresses.

I glance at the clock on the wall, and see that it's about time to leave, so I wave to my parents and start the long thirty–to–forty minute walk to the square. I'm met by the sights and sounds of reaping day.

I go to the check–in line, the whole time scanning the crowd for a familiar face. After a few minutes, I see my group of friends joking and laughing, and head over to them.

Nate sees me first. He salutes and grins.

I chuckle. "At ease, soldier." He brings his hand smartly back to his side.

Ever since we were little, Nate's called me the General. It has something to do with a Hunger Games rerun where the leader of the Careers ran the pack like an army, with ranks and sub–groups and everything. (That year, there were more than the usual tributes from 1, 2, and 4.) Nate liked to called him the General, and decided that I looked like him, so the title stuck.

I smile at my friends, and we start talking about school and work, and Nate and Daniel start talking in French, so we yell at them to shut up because we know they're talking about us. They laugh and say something that I think has to do with fat pigs, but I'm not sure.

I spot Felicity standing at the check–in line. I stride towards her, calling her name.

She turns her head, blonde hair flying, and brightens up once she sees me. "Hey!"

She parts from her friends and hugs me.

"I'm scared," she says.

"Felicity." I hug her tightly. "You're one of the bravest people I know. If you get reaped, I bet you'll win within a week." I smile at her. "You can amaze them all with your flips and tricks, and then you can kill them!"

"Not helping." Felicity glares. "This isn't a joke!"

"Chill. You have, what, five? There is no chance you will be drawn!"

"I know," she grumbles, not wanting to give up her pouting.

I brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Don't worry."

Felicity looks around at the crowd. "We should probably go to our sections..."

The reaping starts at one, and I left just before noon so I'd have time to stand around and talk. It can't be that close. "There are still plenty of people getting their blood taken," I argue. Then I remember—"Speaking of which..." I glance at the check–in line again meaningfully.

Felicity sighs. "I don't want to be called out for being late, so I think I'm gonna' go..." She looks away.

She turns to leave, but I stop her. "Wait."

Felicity faces me again, and I lean in and press my lips to hers gently. She smiles and takes my hand, squeezing it.

"Love you," I say. "I'll see you right after."

I think she wants to say something, but after she glances at the line and sees it getting longer, she just moves away to get a place. I meet up with Daniel, Desiree, and Alice, and we go to the eighteen–year–olds' section. It's the last time the four of us will stand together at the reaping. (Nate is the youngest in our group at sixteen.)

As we valiantly stare Death in the face—its heavily eyelined and bright purple–lipsticked face—I glance to my left, and find that Melony McLeod is my row neighbor. She notices me and looks ahead, and we spend the rest of the wait determinedly not looking in each other's direction.

When the Justice Building's clock chimes one, the Mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, this time from memory. It's a really depressing story where the happy ending is that the district people either become slaves or get shot to death.

"In District Ten, three of our sacrifices have been returned to us," he finishes (also from memory). "Felix Irille, in the seventh Hunger Games; Silas Bell, in the twenty–second Hunger Games; and finally, Lisette Clare, in the thirty–first Hunger Games."

I know from watching the tributes at the Capitol that Lisette is almost as bizarrely sunny as the escorts. Our escort—Beatrix Alistair—might be the lone exception.

"Happy Hunger Games," Beatrix says, in a monotone voice so low that if she wasn't standing in front of a microphone, nobody would hear her. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Girls first," she drones, reaching into the first glass ball. "Jodi Quinnell..."

The silence becomes more and more awkward as no one shows up. People murmur in confusion, looking around, and staring at the empty aisle that cuts the sections in half—as if the girl is going to magically appear there.

After about two minutes, someone does stumble into the aisle. Looks like Jodi's a little kid from the back. She's short and skinny, but she has pretty, cornsilk–blonde hair to her waist, blue eyes spaced apart a little more than normal, and tanned skin. No wonder she didn't do anything at first; the twelve and thirteen–year–olds are always the most terrified.

Unlike some of them, Jodi doesn't try to hide it. She keeps sobbing all the way to the stage. I can't figure out if she can't help it, if she doesn't care that this might make her look bad, or if she's already trying to win over the more sympathetic sponsors.

Beatrix ignores her, and scans the crowd, asking, "Would anyone be willing to volunteer themselves?" in a voice that makes it seem like she's trying not to smirk.

She's from the Capitol, but she's not...that stupid. If the reaping happened at night, even crickets would be silent so the Capitol wouldn't think they'd volunteered.

"Nobody...move." Chirp. "Damn!"

When nothing happens, Jodi's wailing rises in pitch. Does it really come as that big of a shock to her?

I glance at the sixteen–year–olds, relieved that I can still see Felicity sticking out of the crowd. But as I look back at the stage, I feel sorrow that such a young girl has been chosen.

At least if it was Felicity, she would have had a chance. Jodi has no chance whatsoever.

I quickly dismiss these thoughts from my head.

Beatrix puts on her best apathetic face, but her patience is being visibly (and audibly) taxed. "Now the boys." She takes a couple steps to her right and reaches into the ball, which is almost overflowing with strips of paper. She pinches a handful in–between her fingers, and looks at the sky, pursing her lips while she slowly drops them one–by–one back into the pile. Ending the reaping with torture seems fitting.

I quickly glance around at the boys (some more like men than boys, already with jobs, wives, and children of their own). Thirty–four little strips in there with my name on it. Theirs have so many more strings attached; of course my parents will be sad, and it'll be harder money–wise on them, but no one will die because I'm not there.

Beatrix glances at the last strip, then takes it to the microphone and unfolds it. "Spencer Shepherd." She does this much quicker than the actual drawing.

She puts the strip down and looks around, tapping one nail on the podium.

What's with the delay for both tributes...?

Oh...wait.

The name sinks in. I somehow manage to bravely step away from my age–mates, and stand next to Beatrix and Jodi, who is on the escort's other side.

"Any brave volunteers willing to go out and knock the competition dead?"

Silence.

"No? Nobody? Well...maybe next year. I now proudly present the District Ten tributes of the Thirty–eighth annual Hunger Games—Jodi Quinnell and Spencer Shepherd."

Jodi's sobs reach across the whole area. Beatrix is quiet, and I turn to shake Jodi's hand. She shakes it, catching my steady gaze and nodding slightly. As if saying 'I know.'

...

Felicity is the first person after me to come into my room in the Justice Building. I'm kind of surprised; I thought it would be my family, and then whoever else. I thought she'd run in, crying and freaking out. All she does is sit on the velvet couch next to me, and take a slow, steadying breath.

"I would have volunteered for you if I could." She pauses for a fraction of a second. "Without thinking."

"Thanks," I reply. "But I doubt you could, with all of Panem and our district's escort, with her weird makeup and dodgy hair, looking at you; it'd be harder then." She looks fairly hurt, so in a desperate attempt to rescue the situation, I explain what I mean. "As in—if you had to sacrifice yourself, knowing how much it'd hurt me and your family, you'd think twice."

She tears up and lets out a choked sob, and hugs me. I hold her there like that, until it's time for her to go.

Melony is my next visitor a few minutes later. She closes the door solemnly, and laughs. "You can wipe the weird look off your face and listen to me. We only have a few minutes," she says, sitting.

I nod. "Okay. Thank you for coming."

"I know Felicity cares about you a lot." Melony sighs. "I'm going to give you a few tips."

"I promise I'll do my best," I say, meaning it with all my heart.

"First thing you need to do is create an alliance; it's always good to have someone that has your back. Try not to piss anyone off, especially not the Careers, and stay under the radar," Melony says, looking more serious than I've ever seen her.

"Okay. I can do that. Anything else?"

"Go to the weapons during training, and survival skills, like how to build a fire, if they have it," she continues. "Act polite to your mentors: they're the ones who choose how and when to send you sponsor gifts."

I chuckle a bit to myself. "That shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Avoid the Cornucopia unless you want yourself killed or badly injured. It's your choice, but I strongly advise against it. You can get sponsored a gift if you need anything."

I nod. "Get someone up there to hogtie 'em into submission, and I'll do the rest."

Melony smiles wryly. "You gotta' survive for Felicity, or I'll kill you."

My friends are after that. Nate's deadly serious, promising to have the entire town salute me when I win. Then Daniel grins, and says something in French that ends in "merde". Whatever the hell that means.

The door creaks open slowly after what seems like eternity, and my parents walk in. The twins are at their heels. "When are we going home?" Sable asks, looking at them, as Clemie crawls under the glass coffee table.

"Soon," Dad tells her, fighting to keep calm. "Just be patient."

Sable sighs and sits on one of the armchairs.

My mother sits next to me and grasps my hand, making herself smile through tears. "I can't believe this happened..."

Neither can I. I'm feeling a hint of nausea, and don't know how to respond.

Suddenly, Clemie hits her head on the coffee table while climbing out from under it, and her shrieks make all of Jodi's crying seem like whimpers. I pick her up and check to see if she's bleeding, then carry her to the couch and let her sit on my lap. She probably is in a lot of pain, but she acts like she's dying.

I pet her hair, and my mother continues. "Here we were on your last reaping, and everything was the same as it's always been..."

"It's going to be fine," Dad assures her. (Sable looks impatiently out the window.) "All he needs to do is pay attention and keep his head down, and nothing will happen. He's eighteen. Judging from the last thirty–seven years, it's the older contestants who win."

"You're right, it's just nerves," my mother tries to convince herself. "After this is done you'll both be home all the time, and everything will be better than before."

Clemie slowly stops crying. I can tell that she and Sable don't have a clue what they're talking about. They're probably not paying attention.

"I'm just going on an exotic vacation, is all. I'll even pick up souvenirs," I joke half–heartedly, trying to lighten the mood. "How does that sound?"

"That would be nice," my mother agrees quietly.

Yeah...cherish the memories.

...

In no time, it's almost been an hour since the reaping. "Say goodbye to Spencer, and we'll go home," my mother promises the twins, standing from the couch. Dad joins her.

Sable jumps up from her chair. "You have to go back already?" she asks me, disappointed.

"Back?"

I have to go back to the Capitol already? It doesn't make any sense.

"To the McLeods'," Dad clarifies.

Oh, of course; I'm always gone there, they think this will be no different.

"Uh...yeah," I answer Sable, nodding. "Yeah, I'm waiting for Felicity, and then I have to go back to work. I was only home for the reaping."

"Okay," she says sadly, following our parents as they leave. "See you Sunday."

Clemie off the couch, and hurries after them. My mother picks her up and fusses over her.

"See ya'!" I call.

My grin immediately drops off. What will they be told when they go to bed on Sunday, and I haven't visited? Will they think I forgot about them, or I don't care? At least they're not old enough to watch the Games, so they won't have to find out the truth until later.

...

I go over Melony's advice in my head as Beatrix leads us across the train station, dozens of Capitol reporters on either side.

Find an ally.

Blend in.

Be polite, and cooperate with the mentors (she didn't say anything about the escort, though).

The hardest part about that will be blending in. Jodi looks like an average, nothing–special tribute. Walking side–by–side with her, I'm a giant. I look more calm and collected than scared, because there just isn't a point in getting flustered; if you can't deal with the situation, you're not gonna' win. And I'm not crying on public television for any reason.

Wouldn't it be better to stand out if I can? To look like I'm a match for the Careers and get a high training score, so I can get some of those sponsors she was talking about?

Survive.

The really hard part. It seems like the best way to do that is to not only not blend in, but also not have allies. No one can betray you if you don't trust them first, and I wouldn't be trying to protect someone and risking my own life in the process.

Especially Jodi. Nothing against her at all, but if we team up she's the only person who'll benefit from it.

We climb the stairs to the train, and go inside. As Jodi looks around in wonder, I notice the mentors—Silas Bell and Lisette Clare—waiting at a table covered in steaming dishes of food. (Felix is one of the few victors who never comes to the Capitol.) Lisette quickly gets up and comes to meet us, smiling excitedly like we're guests at a party she's hosting.

"Come on, Silas!" she practically sings, looking back at him over her shoulder. He seems used to this by now, because he follows without any sort of remark or readable expression.

He looks at me, then curiously at Jodi when Lisette says, "So, I will be your mentor, Jodi! Silas will mentor Spencer." Four seconds don't pass before she squeals, "Mentoring time!"

I raise an eyebrow. Hunger Games. Happy Joy and Fun Time.

Silas won't be like this when he opens his mouth, right?

"What are you good at?" Lisette asks Jodi over–interestedly, as though she's my sisters' age.

Jodi straightens up and smiles, looking more confident. (Lisette's approach is working then.) "I'm pretty good with a whip."

At least she didn't say 'lasso'...but a whip isn't much better. It's a pretty typical District 10 weapon.

"That's different from everything the Gamemakers have ever seen," Silas comments quietly aside to me.

"Well, it's pretty much all we can learn around here," I respond. Silas gives me a blank stare, and I look back, unintimidated.

If either of them caught a word, they don't show it.

"That's great," Lisette says. "Anything else?" she adds hopefully.

"No, that's about it." Jodi seems self–conscious. We can both tell Lisette is less than pleased.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and then see Silas at the door to another room, beckoning me to follow him. Jodi watches me leave, with a small smile that doesn't go to her eyes.

As we walk into the neighboring room and sit down, I glance over my shoulder. The door slides shut, hiding the scene of a scared little girl and pouting mentor from view.

"Why did she bother?" I ask abruptly, breaking our awkward silence.

"Bother with what?" Silas asks, obviously confused from being brought out of his thoughts so quickly.

"Ask Jodi about her skills? What did she expect her to say? We're not Careers; we're District Ten, for Christ's sake! We don't have a wide range of weapons available to us. God, all I'm good at is throwing sticks and herding cattle. I'd hardly call that the 'X' factor the Capitol is looking for."

"You're big. You look strong. That's something you have over most of the tributes already. Being a herder, you've also killed before, and although butchering a cow and killing another human being is different, you're at least a bit more prepared than someone from a district where they only see things die of a Peacekeeper's blow, or of hunger and sickness. Is there anything else you're good at?"

"I'm all right with aim, and I can draw well. Anything else, I'm not sure. So I guess I'll just have to try a lot of things at the Training Center."

Silas nods, and gets up to go back to the other room. He turns at the door. "Just make sure that you don't get close with anyone. Allies will only hold you back."

I nod, showing that I agree with him.

Then again, having one or two would make life in the arena so much easier for the short time it lasts. So I won't offer an alliance, but I won't immediately dismiss an offer if the tribute looks worthy. Having made that decision, I feel a bit better.