Ranine Montaro

One year ago

There was a knock on the doorframe, bringing Ranine out of his thoughtless trance.

"Hey." It was his brother, evidently coming in to check on him. He did that a lot. Right then, though, he didn't particularly feel like being cared about.

When he didn't move for a minute, Ikat came in, shutting the door.

"I know you're awake, Rani," he said. He came and sat at the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

Ranine just continued staring at the wall.

After another moment of silence, Ikat tore the thin blankets off the edge of the bed, grabbed Ranine by his remaining foot, and started tickling him.

Of course, no one can continue to be stolid and silent while they're getting tickled, so of course he squealed and started hitting his older brother, trying to get him to let go.

"Stop Ikat!" he shouted through his involuntary giggles. "I want to be alone!" He was serious, of course. He did want to be alone, but he knew that his brother wasn't going to listen to him.

"I don't care. You need to get your foot tickled, little man."

He struggled harder, and Ikat cried out as Ranine's foot connected with his jaw, and he dropped his ankle. Immediately, he scrambled away and hid his foot underneath the blankets.

"Shit, man," he said, rubbing his jaw though he was grinning. "You kick hard!"

"I told you not to tickle me," he replied, doing his best to throw up a glare in his direction.

He rolled his eyes, but got serious. "Come on," he said. "Tell me what's up."

"You know what's up," he replied. He brought his knee up close to his chest and rested his chin on it. "Ever since my accident, I just—feel bad. So much of our money went towards medical bills and stuff, and now we're going to have to work twice as hard for my treatment, and I won't be able to work the same jobs and—I just feel like a burden."

Ikat crossed his legs on the bed and watched him for a long moment. "You know none of us would ever think you're a burden," he said.

Ranine just shrugged.

"That accident wasn't your fault. And sure, it was unfortunate, and maybe it set us back a few months putting money towards your hormones and stuff, but it's not the end of the world. You've been down for days. Don't tell me it's just because of that."

He shrugged again. The physical therapist had said that there might be some struggles with depression and PTSD, in addition to the phantom limb pains and things like that that were a result of having a limb amputated. Fortunately, Ranine didn't get many nightmares or flashbacks about the accident—though sometimes he involuntarily remembered the pain after falling and shattering his legs—but the depression… that was starting to be a problem. Add that onto the dysphoria, and just how unattainable hormones seemed to be for him, and he was pretty fucking miserable lately.

"Rani, come on. You can handle it. A couple more weeks and you'll be able to go back to work." He reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know it all seems far away and impossible, but we'll get there. You just gotta hold out until then."

"I know," he replied. "It's just—Ikat, I feel like such a burden. Maybe if everyone wasn't working to put stuff away for me, we'd be better off."

"Don't say that, kid. Mom and dad want you to be happy, they want to be able to give you the opportunity to have the body you want. That's their choice. You're not a burden, you're our family."

He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks."

He looked at him piercingly for a moment, before seeming to realize that he wasn't going to get anything more out of him for the time being. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay Ikat. Thanks."

He left again, and after doing his best to fix the bed—he didn't want to put his prosthetic on just to fix the sheets—Ranine laid back down and resumed his staring contest with the wall.

He thought for a long time about his options. He knew he didn't want to have to make his parents sacrifice their livelihoods for him. He didn't have many alternatives, he realized. If he wanted to be able to pay for his own hormones, there was only one thing he could do: he'd have to volunteer for the Hunger Games.


Viola Batiste

Eleven months ago

Viola knocked on the half-open door to jeir father's workshop, seeing him measuring out swaths of fabric along a pattern sent to him by some fashion designer in District One.

After a moment, he looked up. "Hi," he said, looking at jer over his glasses. "What can I do for you, kid?"

"Well—" Viola faltered, unsure exactly how to ask. It had been swimming around in jeir head for a few days now, but every time jee had tried to find the words to ask, jee drew up a blank. "I was wondering, since I'm twelve now, and since I told everyone about how I'm a demi-girl—I was wondering if we'd be able to go and get my name changed."

"Oh," he said. He took his glasses off and rose. He crossed the room and stroked jeir hair. "Yes, of course we can. You want to change it to Viola?"

Jee nodded.

"Alright. Well, maybe this weekend we can take a trip down to the Justice Building and get that sorted out for you, right?"

Jee nodded again, but then a smile broke across jeir face and jee threw jeir arms around him. "Thank you," jee said, burying jeir face into his shirt.

He chuckled and rubbed jeir back. "Of course, sweetheart," he said. "Anything."

As he had promised, the very next weekend, Viola and jeir father went down to the bus station for the short ride to the Justice Building.

As they walked in, Viola couldn't help but look around in interest. Although it was old, and all the Justice Buildings looked the same, it was one of the prettiest buildings in the District. It had high ceilings buttressed by enormous columns, and tapestries with the national symbol hung every few feet on the wall. Peacekeepers with their blank helmets stood like statues every so often, and though they made jem nervous, they gave the whole building an air of officiality. Smartly-dressed government workers bustled from room to room, some of them holding stacks of papers, others talking quietly with one another.

Jeir father approached the front desk, tugging jem by the hand.

"Excuse me," he said to the receptionist. "Where can I go to change my child's name?"

The man looked up with his eyes but not his head. "Down in the hall of records." He gestured vaguely.

Viola's father looked in the direction he had indicated before nodding. "Thank you."

They went to the archway marked "Hall of Records." and started wandering down the long corridor, past rooms, marked and unmarked, until they found a door labelled "Name and gender marker changes."

"Well that wasn't too hard to find," jeir father said. He opened the door and poked his head inside. "Hello," he said, presumably to someone inside. "I'm here to get my child's name changed."

A cool voice from inside replied, "This is the place. Please come in."

He swung the door open and Viola followed him in, looking around.

It was a neat enough office, but jee noticed that there were cardboard filing boxes stacked in the corner, and some of them looked like they were about ready to burst at the seems.

There were two chairs seated in front of the desk, and the woman sitting behind it motioned, having stood when they came in.

"Please," she said.

They sat. Viola swept jeir eyes over the desk in from of jem: a computer, a few folders, and bobblehead of President Oak. Jee wondered if that was a requirement for everyone who worked there.

"My name is Marsilla McDarmont. I'm the head of transgender and nonbinary services for the District."

"I'm Damien Batiste, and this is my daughter."

"Viola," jee said, sitting up as straight as jee could.

"Good to meet you," Marsilla said, white teeth flashing behind dark lips. "So you wanted to change your name?"

Jee nodded.

She turned her attention to Viola's father. "Well, lucky for us, the system has been pretty streamlined, so all we have to do is pull their birth certificate, have you fill out a form, and change the birth certificate. The rest is all paperwork on my end, making sure everything in the system gets changed."

"Great," jeir dad said. "And—jee can't change jeir legal gender maker until jee's sixteen?"

Marsilla nodded. "Unfortunately," she said with a sympathetic look to Viola. "There have been a few campaigns to lower it to Reaping age, but as yet nothing's happened."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, won't it Viola?" he said, looking down at jem.

Jee just nodded. Jee would like to get jeir gendermaker changed, but even now jee wasn't really sure what jee would change it to—whether an "X" or an "F" was more appropriate.

"Well, I'll go get that paperwork ready, and pull up the birth certificate. If you'd just wait here for a moment."

She stood up and left, and Viola's father reached out and stroked jeir hair for a moment. "Isn't this exciting?" he asked absently, looking around the office.

Viola nodded underneath his palm. "I'm really happy. I won't have to tell my teachers to use the right name anymore. It'll just be on their rosters."

"Yep."

After a few minutes, Marsilla returned, a folder and a piece of light green paper in her hand.

"Here we are," she said. She handed the folder over to Viola's father, and proceeded to write something down on a sticky note.

Viola's father opened up the folder and started reading through the form, filling in the spaces as required.

When he got to the bottom, he handed the sheet over and pointed at a space on the bottom. "Sign your name there," he said.

Jee nodded and wrote jeir name in jeir scrappy twelve-year-old handwriting.

With that, he handed the sheet back over to Marsilla. "Congratulations, Viola," she said, smiling. "Everything should be good and changed within the next week or two."

"Thank you," jeir father said. "This means a lot."

"Can I ask you something?" she started, leaning over the desk to look down at Viola. "What made you choose the name Viola? Where did you think of it?"

"We—we read Twelfth Night in class," jee said, a little shyly. Jee had been somewhat self-conscious about picking jeir new name off of a character in a story. "I really—liked her. Because she had to pretend to be a boy just to get by. That was how I felt, for a while."

"That's lovely, sweetheart," she replied. "I chose my name after a character in my favorite nursery rhyme."

Jee smiled, glad for the solidarity.

Jeir father stood, putting his jacket back on. "Well, thank you again. We'd best be getting back home."

"Bye now."

Viola felt like jee could float with how excited jee was. Next year, jeir teachers were going to read the roster and see "Viola Batiste" written there, like it should be. There wouldn't be any confusion during first role call, with a hurried scribble as a reminder. Sure, as Viola got older there would still be some confusion. Jee would get tall and hairy and jeir voice would deepen. But maybe someday, someday soon, jeir parents could put jem on hormones that would take all of that away and replace it with feminine traits.

Jee wasn't worried about things that were so far in the future though. Jeir name had been changed, and that was all that jee had wanted for now.


Ranine Montero

Present day

Ranine was the first one up on Reaping Day. Usually this wasn't the case, but now that he was the only one in the family whose name was going into the bowls, and that he was old enough to get ready on his own, the rest of his family tended to rise later.

This meant, of course, that he didn't have to fight for control of the bathroom. He took a bath and then dressed in his favorite button up. He didn't get the opportunity to wear it often, and Reapings were an excuse to dress in the way he wished he could dress all the time. The button up was big on him, of course, and he wore a tight shirt underneath it in an attempt to hide his boobs, and although he liked the outfit, he couldn't help the dysphoria at the sight of bumps attached to his chest, just a little too big to be a cis man's.

As he was putting his prosthetic on after putting his pants on, he heard a knock on the front door.

He hurriedly tightened the straps and went to the living room. He opened the door and saw that it was one of his friends Breden. "Good morning, Mr. Montero," he said, bowing deeply.

Ranine smiled. "Alright, you idiot, stand up. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out before we had to go to the Reaping."

"Yeah, that should be fine, so long as we don't go too far."

"Who's at the door, Ranine?" Ikat's voice asked from behind them.

He turned and looked at his brother. "Just Breden."

"Oh. Hey Breden."

"Hey man."

"Come on," Ranine said, slipping his shoes on. "Let's walk around a while. I'm going out, Ikat. I'll be back before we have to leave."

"Okay Rani."

He shut the door behind him as he emerged out onto the sidewalk. It was deathly quiet. It seemed like even the birds were in mourning.

"So laddy, how are you feeling on this fine Reaping Day?" Breden asked, before launching into a sardonic, absolutely horrible rendition of their national anthem.

Ranine shoved him. "Will you shut up? People are sleeping." He rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you can manage to be in such high spirits."

"Well, someone's gotta enjoy themselves around here. It's downright dreary."

"Come on man, have some respect."

"I have the utmost respect for the brave souls who are sacrificing themselves for the glory of Panem!" he exclaimed, pretending to be offended.

Ranine sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Besides, if I don't laugh, I'll cry. Is that a good enough reason to crack jokes?"

"Yes, I know. This shit's horrible. It's all we can do to not just curl up and die."

He smiled at him slightly. "So… how's Chiffon?" His smile widened.

Ranine sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know how Chiffon is," he replied, playing dumb.

"I mean… how's it going with… the wooing."

He shoved him again. "I'm not wooing her!" he hissed. "She's our friend, Breden, and chances are we aren't ever going to be anything else."

He snorted. "Alright, man. Whatever you say."

While Ranine did have a crush on his friend, he doubted anything was ever going to happen. She was two years older than he was, and besides—she was way too pretty for him. Like, she was so pretty and nice and amazing that he would bet that everyone their age who liked girls had a crush on Chiffon.

He sighed and rubbed his arms, trying to fight the blush that was rising on his face.

He didn't want to think about his crush on Chiffon. Every time he thought too hard about it, he ended up wanting to talk to her about it, and of course that was never going to happen, so he was just distressing himself for basically no reason.

They walked around the block a few times before Breden stopped in front of Ranine's house. "Well, laddy," he said grandly with another bow, "I bid thee adeiu. I'll see you at the Reaping. We should do something tonight."

"Yeah, okay. Bye Breden."

He waved and went back inside, finding his parents in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

"Is Ikat in the bath?" he asked, snatching up a piece of bread his mother was cutting.

She playfully smacked him on the arm, smiling. "Yeah, he should be out soon though."

"Well, the smell of food will probably bring him along sooner or later," he said, sitting down at the table.

Soon enough he did emerge, ruffling Ranine's hair as he went by.

They ate together, and then as the hour got on, they gradually made their way out the door and towards the square. It was a long walk, but none of them really minded it. Walking was always a nice way to pass the time, his father always said. Even Ranine, who had trouble walking on the uneven pavement because of his prosthetic, liked to occasionally get out of the house and go on a walk.

Ranine kept close to Ikat as they walked, feeling that same nervousness that he felt every Reaping Day.

"You okay bro?" Ikat asked, leaning closer to him.

"As okay as I can be."

"Come on, it'll be fine. I made it through, didn't I?"

He shrugged slightly. Even though he intended on volunteering in three years, he was afraid of being Reaped before he was ready. He had been training in whatever ways he could, building up strength, trying to get skilled at a weapon, working on his endurance—he knew that his chances of winning against the Careers was small, but he didn't see any other choice. Who knew, maybe if he was good enough, he could do it. He tried to keep the harshness of reality out of his head, since he knew that would just make him miserable and eventually make him back out of his promise to himself.

He still hadn't told anyone of his intention to Volunteer. He didn't know if he ever would, honestly. He didn't want to burden them with that knowledge. Maybe he would wait until the goodbyes to explain himself.

Soon, they were at the square. He hugged his family and waved to them as they went to the spectator's section, and Ranine went to line.

After getting his blood drawn, he reluctantly made his way to the fifteen-year-old's section. He looked around for Breden. He wished he could talk to Chiffon for a few minutes. She always made him feel better when he was nervous. Usually all Breden did was distract him with humor. Of course, she would be in the eighteen-year-old's section, but he told himself he would go and find her after the Reaping.

"Ranine!" Breden called from behind him.

He stood on his toes, looking for his friend, cursing his shortness. He saw a pale arm sticking up out of the crowd waving, and a sprig of black hair jumping up out of the sea of heads. He started pushing towards that direction, and found Breden.

"Hey man," he said, clapping him on the back. "How you feeling? Feeling good? Feeling pumped?"

"People are being Reaped, Breden, I'm not really in the mood for this," he replied.

He threw an arm around him and grinned. "Come on, don't be such a baby. It's our life, Ranine, we can't change it. We might as well make jokes to stave off the depression."

He sighed. "Whatever," he said quietly.

After a moment of silence, Breden nudged him. "You're not mad at me are you?" he asked.

"No," he replied. "It's just—"

"What?"

"I dunno. This shit is all wrong. It's all messed up. What are we supposed to do about it? What can we do about it?"

"That's exactly my point," he said. "If we're not willing to get ourselves killed for some pointless revolution, why take it seriously? The people in the Capitol don't."

"No, they take it seriously. Just in a different way."

"Listen, I get it. And it's horrible to watch kids die every year. I wish I didn't have to. But if we don't find ways to laugh and be happy, especially when our lives are nothing but doom and gloom, then what's the point of living? Even if it's dark and gross and wrong—so are our whole existences, Rani. So my philosophy is, make jokes to fit the situation."

He shrugged. He had a point, and he had long since reached the conclusion that this was a coping mechanism of Breden's—though whether he knew it himself was still up in the air.

Their conversation was stopped as the anthem droned to a quiet hum and the mayor took the stage. She was a short woman, one of the youngest mayors District Eight had ever had, but she probably had the most serious face Ranine had ever seen.

"Good morning," she said. If she was in her personal life anything like she was in her professional, she must have been the absolute drabbest person on the planet. "I would like to welcome you all to the Reaping for the one-hundred and fiftieth Hunger Games in District Eight."

The only person who applauded was the Escort, a woman who was as different from the mayor as was probably possible. She was tall, long, and seemed to always have waves of energy radiating off of her. It was exhausting, even from this distance.

"We will begin with the traditional reading of the Treaty of Treason."

It was almost as if a collective groan shifted through the crowd, though next to no noise was made. He looked at Breden, who subtly mimed a noose hanging him. Ranine rolled his eyes but had to stifle a smile.

As the reading ended, the Escort took center stage, and made sure to talk especially loud into the microphone in order to wake everyone up.

Ranine shifted back and forth on his feet for a moment. It was hard to rest his weight on the crude prosthetic without making his stump hurt, but putting all his weight on the other leg was just as uncomfortable. Standing for long periods of time was always miserable.

"So let's do the gentlemen first!" she tiptoed over to the boy's bowl and dug her hand around until she seemed satisfied, and clutched a strip of paper. She went back to the microphone and announced, "Garret Streiner!"

A kid Ranine's age filed out of the pen behind him and Breden, and he felt a moment of fear and anxiety shoot through him. That meant he could pick him, or Breden, or someone else in his age group he knew. He stiffened.

"Relax," Breden said in his ear. "It'll be fine, remember?"

Ranine nodded tightly.

"Do you have the name of someone to replace you?"

The guy seemed to search around in his head for a moment, trying to grasp at a name that wasn't attached to a face, someone he could call with as little guilt as possible. Ranine understood, of course. There was no way to escape how the Reaped this year would inevitably feel, but there were ways to lessen the pain. He wondered, briefly, if you even had to say a name, or if you could point. There hadn't been any details released to say otherwise, but in a time like this, straying from the norm wasn't really recommended.

Finally, the guy leaned down to the microphone. "Uh… Ranine Montero," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Ranine did a double take, and he heard—vaguely, as if he were talking underwater—Breden say "What the fuck?"

He shook his head and clutched at his friend's sleeve. Sure, he had been planning to Volunteer, to go into the Games, to risk everything to make his and his family's life better, but he wasn't ready yet—and now, faced with the reality, the terror of actually having to go through it, he started to wonder if even planning to go into the Games in the first place had been a good idea. Maybe this was the universe's way of chastising him.

He looked around desperately, as if there might be a way out, but he saw the Peacekeepers advancing as the crowd shrunk from around him.

Clenching his hands into fists, he left the pen. He was biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, but he hardly felt the pain. He just made his way mechanically to the stage.

He shook the Escort's hand—really, he basically just stood limply and let her tug his hand up and down—and watched as she turned back to the crowd. He felt everyone's eyes on him—not just the eyes of the District, but of the Capitol, those people in the far off land of bright colors and money and plastic surgery, the people who would be scrutinizing his every move in the next few hours.

He barely heard the Escort as she called out a name, barely saw as a young girl came up the stage, and only zoned in long enough to hear her pick her replacement. "Viola Batiste!"

He saw the crowd of thirteen-year-olds shift, creating a void for the victim. Although his heart was beating in his eyes and it felt like his lungs were going to burst, he saw as jee slowly left the crowd and came up to the stage. Jee kept glancing over jeir shoulder. As jee shook the Escort's hand, jee seemed to spot whatever it was in the crowd jeir eyes had been searching for, and jee hurriedly grabbed Ranine's hand and looked over jeir shoulder.

The Escort, initially seeming taken aback but desperate to make it seem like nothing was amiss, quickly said, "Citizens! The Tributes from District Eight!"

She was the only one who applauded, but she acted as though everyone was.

Ranine thought he heard a shout from behind him, but they were whisked off to the Justice Building and he didn't have a chance to look back.

Once the door shut, he really started to break down. He felt like he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. He sat down on the couch, clutched his head in his hands, and hyperventilated. His eyes started swimming, but he heard the door open and looked up.

It was his parents and Ikat.

"I wish I could have Volunteered for you, Rani," was the first thing Ikat said.

He just shook his head. How could he allow his brother to take his place in this? How could he let anyone do anything for him?

"No—guys—"

"You're going to be okay, I know you are," his mother was saying. Ranine looked up at her as he thought he heard her voice crack. He didn't know if he had ever seen his mother cry. She was one of the strongest and most resilient people he knew. She was always looking out for everyone, even when she could barely keep herself going, she would pull herself together, do whatever it took, to help someone else.

"Mom, please—"

"You're strong, and you're going to be amazing—"

"Mom!" Finally, she fell silent.

"I don't—I need to tell you guys something."

"What is it?" his father asked.

"I was going to—when I was eighteen, I was going to Volunteer."

"What?" Ikat exclaimed. "How—how could you not tell me?"

"I was going to," he said. "I was just going to wait until I was about to do it."

"But why Ranine?" his mother asked, her voice pleading, earnest, desperate.

"Because," he said, but stopped, struggling to find the words. He knew why, but it was about things that were so deeply personal to him, things he tended to keep locked up inside unless, on very, very rare occasions, Ikat managed to draw them out of him. "I didn't want to be a burden anymore. I figured, if I trained, if I got good enough, I could Volunteer, and maybe I would stand a chance. And if I won, everything would be easy. We wouldn't have to worry about—about money, or about my treatments, or about food."

"That's not worth risking your life for!" Ikat said. Suddenly, he was angry. Ranine couldn't blame him, but that didn't stop him from getting frustrated in return.

"Well now I don't have a choice!"

With that, tears spilled down Ikat's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead he just folded him into a hug and held him tight, as if he would be able to keep him there if he just didn't let go.

There were many teary goodbyes before they finally left, and as the door swung shut behind them, Ranine curled up into a ball. He knew his friends would be along soon, but he had to take a moment, he had to do something to avoid slipping into a panic and screaming. If he screamed, the Peacekeepers would come in, and that was the last thing he wanted to see.

The door opened and he sat up. Breden and Chiffon came running to him, wrapping him up in an awkward group hug.

"I can't fucking believe this," Breden said. "I can't—this is the fucking worst, man."

So Ranine had finally found where the humor stopped.

"Guys," he said. "I was going to Volunteer when I was eighteen anyway—it's going to be okay." He was lying, of course. This was the biggest lie he had ever told, but he had to tell it. He wasn't going to leave them, wasn't going to, in all likelihood, die in the Arena, without giving them something to hope for, something to grasp at, while he lived out the last few weeks of his life. If they thought he was going to die, it would destroy them even more than if he accepted his fate aloud.

"I know you're going to," Chiffon said, stroking his hair. If this were any other situation, his heart would be in his throat to have such a closeness with her. Although they were close, and platonic affection was far from rare between the three of them, with his short mortality in mind, everything he felt about Chiffon just seemed heightened. For a moment, he considered telling her, but decided it would be best not to. If he did, it would be that much harder to watch him die.

So instead, he just leaned into his friends, drinking in the last human touch he would ever receive.

As they stood up to leave, Breden seemed to find some of that humor again. "You're a handsome lad, Ranine," he said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Surely that'll count for something in the Capitol. Maybe you can get sponsors to send you a hovercraft to get you out of the Arena and you'll automatically win."

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Maybe."

With that, they were gone, and the room was plunged into the heaviest silence Ranine had ever experienced.

A moment later, a Peacekeeper came in and escorted him from the building. He struggled to keep his breathing level, tried his best to resist the downward spiral towards panic. He could panic on the train. He just had to keep it together a little longer.


Viola Batiste

Present day

Viola paced around the room, doing jeir best to keep calm. Soon, jeir family would be in, or Turner and Dakota. Jee had to keep calm for them.

The door opened and the pair of twins came in.

"Are you okay?" Turner asked immediately.

"I'm fine," jee replied. A lie. Who would be—could be—okay in a situation like this?

Together, they sat down on the couch, though Viola noticed jeir knee bouncing nervously. Jee stopped, but the other one soon started.

"You should pair up with the other kid," he said. "I think you're both gonna need all the help you can get." Dakota nodded his agreement.

"Good idea," Viola said. Jee didn't look at either of them. "Maybe I'll ask him when we get on the train."

"And make sure you pay good attention during the training sessions too," he continued. "You're going to need to know how to survive in the wilderness."

Jee just nodded along, barely listening as he talked strategy. Jee knew all this. Jee had grown up watching the Games, jee knew what things you needed to do in order to have the least chance of surviving—but jee also knew that the mortality rate for kids under sixteen was exceptionally high, so jeir future seemed pretty dismal.

After a little while, Turner finally seemed to catch on that jee wasn't listening. "God, am I rambling again?" It seemed like he was mostly addressing this to Dakota, who nodded.

"Viola, what do you need?" he asked. He was just like that wasn't he. Always taking charge, always being the ringleader, but also always being the parent. He was desperate to make sure everything was fine all the time, to ensure everyone could have fun and that he was a part of that happiness.

"I don't need anything," jee said softly. "There's nothing you can do."

"Well—maybe not, but there's got to be something I can do to make you feel better."

Jee shrugged and shifted jeir weight and jumped up. "Ow!" jee exclaimed, thrusting jeir hand into jeir pocket. Jee found jeir favorite pencil inside.

"You must have left it in there from school," Dakota said.

"I didn't even notice it," jee said quietly.

"Maybe you can take it as a token."

"I think I will." Jee looked at the thing. It was pretty dull, for the most part, since jee tried to avoid sharpening it. Jee had gotten it on jeir birthday a few years ago. It was a constant reminder that good work paid off—though now it seemed to be reminding jem why jee had been picked in the first place.

The girl who had picked jem, Felicity Camlet, had a bone to pick with Viola—though jee had never imagined that it was bad enough that she would pick jem to go into the Hunger Games.

A few months previous, while they were taking tests that would determine whether students would move on to advanced classes, or if they would get fast-tracked to jobs at the factories, Viola had caught Felicity cheating, and had reported her. Jeir "tattletale" attitude had caused many issues with other kids, but since jee had reported her, Felicity's test had been invalidated and she was immediately shipped into the lower lane. Apparently, she was still angry about it.

Well, jee thought, hard work got me into this mess. I guess I'll have to hope I can find a way out.

After a while, Dakota and Turner left, and Viola felt jeir heart open up. They were jeir best friends in the world, and jee would probably never see them again. How could jee think about the Hunger Games while having this reality crashing over jem? How could strategies even begin to be important right then, when jee had to say goodbye to everyone and everything jee loved?

The door opened and Viola's family came in: jeir mother, father, grandmother, and older brother Marcus.

They all came and sat around jem, wrapping jem up into an awkward group hug. Jeir grandmother was sobbing, her bent shoulders shuddering with her grief. She was so old and weak, a whole lifetime of burdens laying on her, Viola knew that losing her grandchild, having to watch jem die, would destroy her.

Jee looked over at Marcus, who was stroking jeir hair. He had been so happy these past few weeks. He and Julien had been saving up to buy a house and move away. Although jee had been worried that they would lose touch, jee was happy for him too. He and Julien loved one another more than anything, and their excitement was contagious.

And jeir parents. Jeir father, who had always adored jem, who had been the first person jee had come out to, the person jee always went to first with jeir troubles. Jeir family was as close as close could be, hardship having brought them together, and the thought of having to leave them made jem break down all over again. Jee hated that they would have to watch jem be paraded around in ridiculous clothes, forced to smile and be sociable, forced to fight futilely for jeir continued existence. About the only thing jee could think of that could be as bad as having to be in jeir position, was jeir family having to watch it.

Once the teary "I love you"s and "you're going to be fine"s had been sufficiently repeated, they all seemed to silently agree that it was time for business. Viola forced jemself to listen, despite the fact that jee wanted to think about anything but the Games.

They talked about strategies they had seen work in the past, how to best offer oneself to sponsors as an outer District Tribute. They rammed into jeir head all the different kinds of weapons jee would be able to find, but that defending jemself hopefully wouldn't be needed. It would be a big Arena, almost certainly, so if jee could get supplies, get away, and hide, jee might be able to spend most of the Games out of the way. They also encouraged jem to seek allies wherever allies could be found. There was safety in numbers, but it was best to find people who hopefully wouldn't stab jem while jee was asleep.

Soon, too soon, the Peacekeeper came in and alerted them that it was time to go.

Viola shook jeir head, the tears coming down jeir face. "I don't want to go," jee whispered, not even aware jee was saying it out loud.

"Oh, my child," jeir dad said quietly, crading jem in his arms. "I wish you didn't have to."

The Peacekeeper repeated themself, and slowly, jeir family meandered away. Viola was led out of the Justice Building and to a car, where jee found jeir District Partner already seated inside. Jee played with the hem of jeir shirt, trying to distract jemself from the growing, gnawing panic jee was feeling in jeir chest. Jee honestly couldn't imagine making it to the Capitol. Everything was too overwhelming, everything was too horrible—Viola didn't know what to do to handle it, and jee didn't know if jee would be able to live with all of this bubbling inside of jem.


A/N: This was Ranine Montero from JabbyAbby and Viola Batiste from Elim9! Let me know what y'all think!

Also, as of posting this chapter, I'm working on District Eleven's Reaping! We're almost done!