A/N: A belated merry Christmas to all my readers, and I'm glad to tell you that the Reapings, which have been becoming increasingly difficult to write as I've gone along, are almost at an end. Today the tributes that appear were created by Skgirl4ever, akatrixie and Freedom of Thought. This may be a rather long Reapings, but a lot of effort went into it, so I'm relatively certain you'll enjoy it, although certain sections may drag a bit. May I add that it's good to be back now that Christmas is over and I look forward to getting to the actual story once these Reapings are over.


The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games

Distrct Eleven


Allina Wheats, age 17

I never knew my father. I don't know who he was or anything about him. Heck, I don't even know what he looked like Well, OK, that's a lie. I know his name and I have pictures. I have the letters that mum wrote to him when he was off on the other side of the District in harvesting times, and I have what my brother can tell me about 'the Bastard'. But I don't know anything about him personally.

It's my own fault really, that daddy ran away. It can't be because of my mum. They both seem so happy in all of mum's letters. He loved my mother, I'm sure of it. Every time I ask she says he was a really sweet guy who loved her and loved my brother and there was never any trouble, but that can't be it.

Some people say it's because he couldn't deal with a kid, but that can't be it either. He managed with my older brother, Digg, and he left just before I was born. So it must have been me. I ripped this family apart. I made daddy leave and then mum got depressed and my big brother went all angry and protective of me and just works and works and never comes home.

Our family was ruined because the breadwinner wasn't there to look after us. I ruined our family, and I am going to make sure that something like that doesn't happen again. I want to help with every fibre of my being, with every resource I can bring to bear. I don't want to feel useless anymore. I don't want to see the family of Scratch Standards, the District Eleven guy who died in the Hunger Games last year, suffer.

Scratch Standard is another person I never knew. OK, well that's a lie too. Daddy must have known I was going to be a lier. No wonder he left.

I knew Scratch a long time ago, back when we were both just kids going to school together. He was a caring guy and very good looking at that, or at least I thought so. He was the nicest boy I'd ever met (other than Digg). I trusted him utterly. I told him all my secrets and I knew he'd never tell anyone. He didn't care that I didn't have a daddy, or that my mum was always working, or that Digg always collected me from school and glared at every kid who came near me. He knew Digg was only trying to protect me, and he respected that. Scratch Standards was wonderful, and the pair of us were inseperable. We spent the happy days of our youth, back before we realised what the Games were, playing together in the school playground. Running around, throwing nuts at passers by and generally pranking people.

That all changed when Scratch's dad got injured back when I was six and he left school to work. I remember crying for hours when I heard he wasn't going to be going to school with me anymore and kissing him on the cheek on the last day. He said he wouldn't forget me and that he'd keep in contact, but I never heard anything after that, he was always too busy working.

He mostly forgot about me after that. I continued with my school and he with his work. He grew tall and handsome, and he learnt to look after his younger siblings, while I just became useless. I saw him in the fields a few times, practicing with makeshift spears with his shirt off. I would sometimes skip lessons to go down to the fields and watch him practice his spear, but I never built up the courage to go down and talk to him. I only built up the courage to see him one last time on the day he was sent to die. I visited him at his goodbyes. I told him how sad I was he was going. I cried, I kissed him. He smiled and he was pleasant, but he didn't recognise me. He was still my Scratch, but I wasn't his Allina.

Well that's the history according to Allina Wheats, and where does all that leave me? Sitting on the ground in front of a kid named Lourta Standards, that's where.

"Now," I smile comfortingly, spreading the cards out in front of me, "Which of these are vowels?"

The girl looks at the twenty four cards I have layed in front of her, a mix of letters, capitals and lower case in a variety of different styles. She looks at them long and hard, before tentatively picking one up.

"No, Lourta," I sigh, plucking the card from her hand and pocketing it, "That's an 'M'" The girl tries anohter, "That's a 'K'" Another one flies up for my approval, "C. You haven't practiced at all this week have you?" The girl shakes her head as I select the correct letters from the pile and pass them over to her.

"It's not my fault I can't read." Lourta pouts, and I giggle, "No one ever taught me."

"I'm trying to teach you," I sigh, "You just don't want to learn."

"Well there isn't time is there?" The girl groans, "Not with all the slack I've had to pick up since, well, you know..." She trails off and I smile as gently as I can, patting her on the head and then beginning the next exercise. She's got her brother's spirit, Lourta. She's a strong worker and she tries to learn, she's just not very good at it.

We sit together for the next few hours, working through the exercises as quickly as I can before the sun comes up, at which point voices begin to sound from outside the field, and Lourta slinks off, joining her younger brother, who is calling her to come in and get changed.

"Thank you teacher." The girl chimes in exactly the same way all the kids I teach always do when they leave. I don't know why they do that, it makes me feel old actually.

"Thank you teacher?" A figure snorts from over in the corner and I turn to see Kio Liccio standing by a tree, chewing gum.

"Hey," I snap, resting my hands on the tree, "It shows they respect me." Kio chuckles, turning away and shaking his head.

"Sure." He mutters, his voice little more than a croak, "Or maybe that's all you are to them." He's right, but I don't want him to know it, so I turn away, brushing my hand up and down tree, stroking its curves, feeling the hard bark under my soft palm.

The tree is special to me. It brings back lots of memories. I was hiding in it, watching Scratch practice when I first met Kio. A bully, a smoker and a druggie, Kio wasn't a nice guy back then, by any stretch of the imagination, but, for some reason, we still got talking. Well, we got talking after he knocked me out of the tree and lit some sort of weird cigarette. He's come along way since we first sat under that big tree, talking about our problems, the tragedies we caused and the dreams we have which will never be fulfilled. He's come off the drugs and the cigarettes, but he's now reliant on bubblegum. He chews it literally all the time.

As we stand in the rising sun, listening to bird song and the sound of crops rustling in the wind, a bell rings out across the fields and Kio stiffens up.

"Reapings." Kio hacks, turning to me and gripping my hand in his own. His nails are yellowy, but they're getting better and his palm is sweaty, but that's just withdrawl symptoms. It's actually a good sign with Kio, at least he doesn't smell of smoke. "Time to go Allina." The boy sniffs, before realising what I'm actually wearing and breaking into a shaky coughing fit.
"What?" I ask, staring down at the shabby blue pajamas that cover me. They're about a size too small, and I'm not wearing any shoes or gowns but, then again, this is District Eleven. It rains a lot, but not at this time of year, and it's warm, so pajamas are the ideal clothing for before dawn teaching sessions.

"It's not exactly smart Reaping clothing, is it?" Kio asks, his eyebrows perched on his head like a vulture, peering down at its prey.

"Hey!" I retort, "I can change into something smarter and then go to the Reapings."

"Smarter?" The boy chokes on his laughter, accidently swallowing his gum before reaching into his pocket, lifting out another stick and popping it in his mouth. "Yeah. There's ten minutes to go and an twenty minutes to your lot. Even if you run you ain't gonna be able to get there an' back. At least not with any clothes on you!" He gives a coarse laugh and punches me on the shoulder, rather too hard. I fall to the ground and Kio gives a shout of surprise, ducking to my aid. He lifts me on his shoulders, beginning to head towards the Reaping lot, but trips after only a few steps, toppling over and falling into the dirt.

All this time I try to keep a straight face, but when I finally make it to my feet, there's a big smile spread over my face and when I laugh, Kio laughs. He laughs his husky, heavy, interrupted laugh and the shattered sound finds its way into my ear and tickles my brain until I can't stop laughing.

It takes us a while to get our act together, but when we do we make it to the Reaping lot spectacularly fast, jogging as though our life depends on it. I'm an OK runner, though not too fast, but Kio has trouble. He may not be putting anything into his body anymore except for gum, but he's still not a runner. Not with his lungs.

We arrive just before the Mayor starts speaking, which is lucky because it means we aren't subjected to the beating that the Peacekeepers dish out to the late kids behind us. I feel kind of sorry for them and I feel even worse when I recognise Lourta Standards in the poor group. I turn back to try and stop the Peacekeeper, shouting out to him and waving my arms frantically, but a hand reaches out and stops me, slamming me to the ground.

"Don't." Kio wheezes, dragging me through the crowd, "There's nothing you can do."

The speech is long and boring and my eyes wander as the mayor drones on and on. I spot Lourta, rubbing her leg where the Peacekeepers had struck as she makes her way into the crowd. She's actually coped really well with her brothers death last year, and the family still laughs and goes on like nothing happens. I can tell I still need to help her though. She may act ordinary enough, but she's still damaged. I can tell a damaged family when I see one. It's a family that's the same as mine.

She looks sadder than usual today as well, and not just because of the beating. It's the day her big brother stopped protecting her, the day he had to go away to die and there was nothing little Lourta could do. He left before she got to really know him, just like my father did. I place my hand on my chest, as the sombre, blue green haired Escort of our District makes her way to the stage, and make a pledge that, no matter what happens, I'll be there for the family of whoever goes to the Games this year. Just like I was there for the Standards. No matter who it is, I'll make sure to help their family in any way they can.

"Allina Wheats?" A voice chimes over the crowd and I turn to the stage. "Is there an Allina Wheats here?" My body stiffens as the crowd explodes around me, hollering and baying for blood just like they always do when anyone gets Reaped (Really its a wonder that the Capitol manages to keep order here at all). My brother Digg reaches out from the sidelines, catching a Peacekeeper on the nose as the only person who I can't protect from the Games makes her way to the stage. Me.

A few minutes later, after the crowd settles down, another name is called. Hallan Seifross or something. I stare down at the crowd as the boy makes his way up, watching my mother weep from the sidelines, my brother being dragged, kicking and roaring in defiance, away from the Peacekeeper he had been bludgeoning. Lourta and Kio stare up at me, the formers eye's misty, tears forming in them, the latters eyes ringed and full of pain. He's twitching slightly and I look away as I sense the pain in him.

Just one thought surges through my head as Hallan, a short, tanned boy, grips my hand and shakes.

I promised I'd help the families of whoever was Reaped, and that was me. I have to help my own family.

And the only way I can help my family is to make it back home. Make it back alive.


Hallan Seifross, age 16

The Lots of District Eleven aren't nice places to work. They're vast fields, filled with brambles and brittle corn where baggy eyed children toiling endlessly under burning sun or pouring rain. They're even worse places to live. The only accomadation to be found are a group of shabby, run down shacks, where we allowed to retreat after a long day of harvesting to eat the thick stew and rock hard bread they give us, along with what few vermin we have managed to trap and to pluck the needle like stings of the weeds and the bees from our legs. We eak out our existence as best we can and in turn we're expected to dedicate our lives to our Lot. To the machine that keeps us breaking our backs, and sacrifices our children yearly to keep us down.

And yet somehow our family has survived to my sister's first Reaping day. There are five of us sat huddled around the rough wooden table in the pitiful two room shack in which we live, although only four of us are related, me, my parents and my little sister, Menk. The fifth figure is Fanden, a tall, dark skinned boy who sits on the floor, his face buried in the thick slice of grained toast that my mother has given him. He doesn't really seem like talking, which is to be expected I guess, but his eyes still twinkle as he stares at me through his dark, matted hair. He's not exactly a talker, Fanden, at least not when there's anyone else around, so we've got a lot in common. Like I said, despite our similarly quiet nature, he's not a relation, just a friend, but for some reason he's always here at the moment I wake up, already scoffing the meal my mum makes for him without a word to me, before the two of us head out to work. My mum says its something to do with his family, apparently they're not very close, in fact I don't think I've ever seen either of his parents before, so he always seemed to wind up at our doorstep, until dad would just unlock it the moment he got up to make sure Fanden wouldn't be waiting for too long.

"So," my mum begins, finishing her meal and beginning to tidy up her plates so she can take them down to the pump before the Reapings start to clean them, "You guys got any plans for after the Reapings?"

I shrug, "Not really, it's Reapings, so I guess I won't be working. Might go hang out with the guys sometime, visit another Lot, maybe go for a jog, nothing amazing." This is always how mum starts the day. She asks us what we plan on doing and then tells us whether or not we're allowed. It's a good system, but it takes a lot of trust. We screw up and do something wrong and she'll forgive us, but if we disobey her, we can expect to be worked into the ground for the next few days to make up for it.

For some reason the question causes Menk some discomfort though, and she squirms in her seat, picking at her foot in distraction. I guess she's just scared because it's her first Reapings. I remember being there, all those years ago.

"What about you Fanden?" My father chuckles, flashing a smile at the boy opposite who has almost become a son to him in the past twelve years he's known him.

"Dunno, Sir," Fanden says, his face set in the same wistful expression that besets it whenever anyone actually adresses him kindly, something that apparently doesn't happen very often in his own family. "Probably just gonna hang around with Hal, do whatever he does, 'slong as I ain't been Reaped that is! That'd be a real dampner." My parents and I both chuckle and Fanden grins widely. I know it seems bad to joke about the Games like this but, to be honest, the Games don't play that big a part in District Eleven. Sure they're horrible and I pity the guys who get Reaped every year, but it's just a part of life. Like the work and the vicious Peacekeepers, the Games are just something that everyone has to live with and do their best to ignore, no matter what happens.

My sister doesn't seem to be living with it though, in fact she actually gives a yelp when Fanden makes that joke, leaping up from her chair and drawing all eyes to her.

"How can you joke about that?" Menk squeaks, and Fanden sighs, getting up and ruffling her hair.

"Sorry sis." He mumbles, hanging his head, "Bad taste. Thought you'd be used to it by now."

"Used to it?" Menk wimpers, gripping Fanden's shirt and suddenly sounding much more scared than appaled, "It's my first year!" It's a good point, but it's not like she didn't know this was coming. She's had years to prepare for the possibility of being Reaped. "How can I be used to it?"

"Menk." I sigh, reaching out to her and gently prising her shaking fingers off of Fanden, "There's really nothing to be scared about. You've only got one slip."
"Yeah, but what if they chose it?" Menk whispers, her eyes brimming with tears. I've never really known my sister to be this prone to mood swings, maybe she never really thought about the Games before now. I guess it's hard when the Games creep up on you like this. I wouldn't know, I had my freak out over the Games when I was nine, and far too young to be in any danger.

"They won't choose you." I reassure her, patting her on the shoulder as I rise to my feet, "The odds are tiny. If anything they're going to choose Fanden or me." The girl stiffens in fear and I smile, "Hey, don't worry, we can take them. We're District Eleven. We're born tough." She doesn't seem to feel much better, but it doesn't look like she's going to cry.

"Look," Fanden finally says, "Me and Hal are going down to the Reaping Lot now. You want you can come with, might make you feel better." The girl nods silently and the two of us take her by the hand and lead her out the door and onto the thin dirt paths, which are already filled with teens, trickling out of the Lot early while their parents and younger siblings stay behind to finish up, before heading down later.

The dirt is hard on our ankles, flicking up and slashing at them like tiny scythes, but it's worse on Menk's frock, staining the perfect white of the only new piece of clothing our family has a ruddy red. She doesn't notice as we make our way out of the Lot, too busy recounting her worries to me to care, but I can see Fanden grimace behind her, and squeeze her left hand in agitation. The frock was a present he bought my sister for her last birthday, which was only a few months ago, and it was a purchase he was exceptionally proud of. In fact the tall boy, standing about a head and shoulders above me, seems more worried about the frock than he does about the Games, which I think is kind of stupid. Although I'm not particulatly afraid of the Games, since I've already survived several and am confident of my chances should I ever actually be Reaped, even I will admit that the Hunger Games are more important than a present I bought for my mate's sister. I suppose it isn't entirely unexpected though since Fanden is sort of weird like that sometimes and he doesn't really have the same priorities as most guys.

"Watch the dress sis," Fanden warns, using his pet name for Menk as we make our way down the street. My sister winces, looking down at the big red stains all over the front of the frock. She gives a groan and I pat her on the back.

"Don't worry kid, that stuffs gonna happen. Just bad luck."

"Yeah," she sighs dejectedly, "With luck like this I'm bound to end up in the Games."

"You walked into that one." Fanden comments, swinging the tiny girl up onto his shoulders, "There, problem solved." The girl nods sadly, looking around at the other teens marching ritualistically down to the Games, chatting as they walk. Fanden stares at me, pleading me to say something, anything, that might actually make my sister feel better.

I do the best I can, but when the three of us finally make it to the Reaping Lot, everyone feels sort of miserable.

There's no crying though, which is good. Menk seems to have finally got over her earlier panic attack, and now she just seems tired, like all she wants to do is go home and curl up in bed.

We settle into our places, which thankfully aren't too far from each other, although I can't see Menk, on account of both of us being slightly short for our age, and thus disappearing into a crowd of other, taller, teens.

We're by no means the first here, in fact there's already quite crowd assembled in front of the

thick wooden stage, but we still have to wait a good ten minutes in perfect silence before the Mayor steps on stage. Our stripy haired Escort, Minty, who seems to be the cause of the delay, and our most recent Victor, the rather odd Cyrian Delfont follow the man, each of them beaming down at the audience with rather too large grins. Even though I can't see her, I can gaurantee that my sister flinches as the paper thin Victor regards his audience, his eyes flashing as they pass over the twelve year old's sections, his smile becoming even less human. He's tutoring this year, just like every year and, bizarrely, he didn't need to be forced. He volunteered to train. Somehow that makes me very, very worried for whoever gets Reaped this year.

The last few dregs slip into the Lot as the Mayor steps up to his microphone, accompanied by my parents, who smile encouragingly and wave to my sister, mouthing to her that she has nothing to be worried about. Up on the stage the Mayor begins to read the Treaty, running out the same dead Capitolist propaganda that we have to sit through every year. He groans on and on about the Dark Days, the First Hunger Games Treaty, the Coin Uprising, the Second Hunger Games Treaty. I hear this every year and, to be honest, I've given up caring. Why should I? I hear this every year and I'm not even remotely interested any more. I used to at least enjoy the bits about Coin and the Capitol Games because it was a good commupence for them making us do this but, now that I'm older, it all just seems so hollow.

The mayor gives a quick speech before stepping to the side to allow our over zealous Escort to bound up to the stage, still frantically applying makeup to her face with seemingly no concern for the fact that her dress appears to be half missing and fitted with so much wire that almost everyone on the first few rows of the crowd can see her underwear. It's Capitol fasion so I guess I just don't understand, but I would think she'd be at least a bit embarassed by such an overly revealing costume.

"Good morning my lovely little citizens of Panem!" The woman cries, and the entire crowd fixes her with a glare, "How are we all today?" Bored. Tired. Angry at you for thinking we'd be happy to drag ourselves out of bed just so we can come down here and watch some of our friends be dragged off to die. Take your pick. "Super!" Minty crows, somehow managing to pronounce the punctuation with her mud thick Capitol accent, "Shall we see which of you wonderful girls will be gracing the boys of the Capitol with her beautiful presence? Good!"

This is stupid, she's treating us like kids. I might actually be able to tolerate the Escorts a bit more if they weren't all such a bunch of idiotic jerks!

Minty smiles down at the girls, flashing a radient pair of over whitened teeth as she reaches down inside the big glass ball and draws out a name. In front of me my sister and the rest of the twelve year old section stiffen in terror, but the rest of the crowd don't seem to be paying all that much attention, save for a few girls who still haven't got used to the fact that they have to do this every year and should really just take it as it comes.

"Allina Wheats?" Nobody moves, Minty gives a sigh and licks her teeth nervously, people are supposed to react when they're Reaped. It's not good if people ignore the Escort, it shows that we're not afraid, that we don't care any more and that they can't keep us down. "Is there an Allina Wheats here?" A girl in the section behind me jolts to attention, looking around her in complete dismay.

Or maybe it doesn't mean they're rebelious, maybe they're just some scatter brained idiot!

The girl walks up to the stage as the crowd roar in fury. She's not bad looking, but she's nothing special and she most certainly doesn't look like she can survive too long once the Games start, especially not with Delfont tutoring her in to oblivion. The Escort smiles as the Allina stands rigidly on the stage, she rests her hand on the girls shoulder and beams down at the crowd.

"Wonderful. And now let's see which of you lucky boys will have the pleasure of gracing little Allina here with hiss presence!" She reaches into the second Reaping ball and grips a name, lifting it up and inspecting it in the daylight. The majority of the boys hold their breath, but neither me or Fanden are all that worried. If we do get Reaped we'll make our plans once it happens and if not? There's really no point to spending your entire life planning your death unless you live in a Career District, which we most certainly do not.

"Hallan Seifross! Congratulations!"

Damn.

My eyes flick from Fanden to Menk and back again as I slowly make my way up to the stage. Menk's crying, her head buried in a friends lap as she shrieks that she knew something bad was going to happen, that she had a feeling but that I didn't listen. Fanden just looks stunned, like he can't quite grasp what's happening. He doesn't look teary eyed, but he seems to be shaking uncontrollably. It's almost interesting really, how different people react to someone being taken away from them, knowing there's nothing they can do. I can't bear to look at my parents. I don't want to see their faces.

Minty rests a hand on my shoulder as I step on stage, pressing my hand into Allina's. I grip it tightly and shake, but there isn't any warmth in the greeting.

It's really nothing personal. I don't hate this girl, not anymore than any other girl in the world. I've never even met her before for God's sake! How could I hate her?

I don't hate her, but I can't like her. Not that I don't want to, but I literally can't. I can't like her or the Careers or anyone else I meet from now on.

It's nothing personal, but I've got to make it back to my family and I've got to do it alone.

No way in hell am I gonna be coming back in a box.


Pebble Clarkson, age 15

Girls are something I will never understand. I know all sorts of stuff about plants and animals and I can tell how a dog's feeling from how it looks and stuff and I've read all sorts of books on biology, which is pretty much the only subject I get, but I've never understood chicks and I don't think I ever will.

Perfect example, Flora, my girlfriend, not the plantlife. She's a sweet chick, kind of short and freckly with a cute face. She's got lumenescent hair with little light up extensions in it and lots of little light up jewels implanted all over her body which look like little blue fireflies when it gets dark. She's pretty much everything I'd ever want in a girl but, like every girl in the world, I have absolutely no idea what she's thinking.

Today she's been really miserable for some reason. She's been nothing but miserable ever since I got up this morning, having spent the night on her couch after a particularly long romance movie she made me sit through and a couple of goes on Hunger Games Online, both of which ended with my virtual tribute being decapitated in the Bloodbath by some jerk. We've been shopping for the past hour but, no matter what signals she's giving off, whenever I get close or wrap an arm around her she just brushes me off and says she's having 'a bad day'. I can't see how, she's not hungover, no ones died and, unlike me, she doesn't have stomach cramps because she ate too much last night. As far as I can tell she's doing fine.

"What is wrong with you, dude?" I ask Flora as I stretch over her to my drink. She doesn't answer, so I decide to press the issue, "Seriously Flo', what's bugging you?" She shakes her head.

"Why the heck would you care?" Flora snaps, and I'm sent reeling by the mere force of her retort.

"Ah come on Flo', peace," I mutter, "I just wanna know what's the matter with you!"

"Well you aren't going to find out," the girl mutters,the bulbs in her skin flaring violently and illuminating her freckles in a dusty blue.

You have to understand my Flo isn't normally like this. She's normally a cutesy girl, real nice and sweet, but today, for some reason, she seems really bummed out. It's not normal for her and it's kind of starting to annoy me too. I mean sure, be sad, but there's no reason to be so grouchy, especially when you don't have anything wrong with you. Besides, if she won't even tell me what's wrong with her, how am I supposed to turn her frown round the right way.

I bet Nathaniel's finding this hilarious. My only real friend other than Flora, the boy sits at the other end of a brightly coloured plastic table, a big grin fixed on his pale blue, unnaturally smooth face. Stupid shark boy, laughing at my pain. It's not funny I tell you, it's just nots! I don't really know why I bought him along actually, since he hasn't bought anything, isn't eating anything from the snack bar and is being absolutely no help with Flora but hey, we social outcasts have got to stick together, haven't we. And he was with me last night to watch that stupid movie with its obnoxious pretty boy lead and cookie cuter pretty girl. On top of it all, I'm pretty sure he has absolutely no idea what's the matter with Flora either. She hasn't even touched the couissant I bought her and her eyes keep wandering over to the other tables, where a group of dudes in their twenties sit, brushing their hair and chomping through their food at a mile a minute. For a minute I think that might be the problem, and that she might be giving goo goo eyes to one of the cool kids, with their tattoos, brightly coloured hair and their toned muscles, but then one of them whistles at one of the waitresses and Flora snarls at them in disgust and turns away, staring out the window with that same wistful smile as she regards the spread out city below with all its skyscrapers, flats and cars. Come to think of it I should know that Flora wouldn't be going after guys, we've known each other for six years now and have been dating since we were ten and, in all that time, the only guy she's ever shown any interest in other than me is Nataniel, and even then only as a friend. Besides, there's no way she'd ever be able to get with one of those guys. They're the jocks, the cream of the Capitol crop. We're the losers of Panem, the outcasts, the nerds. None of those popular kids would want to go out with us, no matter how rich or powerful we got. Well, OK, maybe if we got rich enough they would go out with us, but it'd take a heck of a lot of money, that or an entire country.

As if to illustrate my point, the guys notice us as I am thinking and begin guffawing at us. Flora sigs and buries her head in her hands, her hair extensions flashing violently. I don't react though. I don't blame guys like them for not getting what I'm going for with the dark red hair shaped into the form of a rose or the dark green skin, dyed and then implanted with various swirls and twists. I'm designed to look like a great big flower, a rose to be exact. It sounds dumb I know but, like pretty much every enhancement anyone has in the Capitol, it has a reason. What, you think I'd get alterations I couldn't undo without being sure about it.

Biology's the only subject I've ever done at all well with at school, and making myself made me feel closer to the stuff I studied. I think. Actually now I look back, I don't know why I got those alterations. Guess they just looked cool at the time and I they didn't cost to much.

God I was an idiot when I was a kid.

Talking of idiot, one of the ones, a lanky jerk with hot pink hair, calls to the waitress, an unnaturally tall, wooden skinned woman with an aversion to her own hair, since she keeps trying to duck away from it. The twenty something year old lout makes a comment about the girls chest and asks her to turn on the TV, which covers most of the wall adjacent to the window out to the city, blaring sound across the cafe and setting my hair on end. For some reason the waitress doesn't seem too offended, and flashes a smile at the dude, kissing him on the cheek before grabbing the remote from some pocket in her uniform that seems to be made specially for it and skipping back behind the counter. Both Flora and the stern head of the cafe fix the girl with blood curdling glares and the girl gives a nervous giggle, waves to the guy and ducks out of the room. Either those two are a couple, or he's just really charismatic and I haven't noticed it yet. Seriously, you can get away with anything if you're good looking enough.

There are two things on as the guy flicks from page to page. There's the Hunger Games and a remake of some old vampire movie. Unfortunately both of them contain Anastasie Dallas, who I can't stand, but fortunately the bubblegum haired jock seems to agree that she sucks and turns to the channel where she doesn't talk.

Instead we get treated to Claudius Templesmith's massive grin pressed right up close to the camera.

"Welcome back Panem!" Claudius cheers and, for some reason, me, Nathaniel and Flora find ourselves cheering along with him, Flo's entire body breaking out in little flashes of blue light as little bulbs peel through her. I smile, sucking on the straw of my drink. It's good to see her returning to her natural, bubbly self. Unfortunately, it doesn't last, and the girl soon starts sulking again. "We still have one lucky boy and one lucky girl whose lives will be changed in a couple of minutes when their names are chosen from one of these two huge golden Reaping balls! They'll get the once in a lifetime chance to go down to the tributes tower, with the tributes, where they'll get the astounding opportunity to view the Games. First hand."

"Only got the two Reaping Balls left now I hear," Nathaniel whispers to me, a conspiratory smirk spread across his face, "One for the boys, one for the girls. I'm already out though, put all my slips in ball four, wanted to go with the Careers. You?"

"I've got some in Eleven." I smile. Really I'm not that bothered. I mean, I'd like to go to see the Games so close, but I'm fine with just staying home with Flo and Nathaniel, watching movies and laughing at popular music and the how stupid the tributes look with their weird fasions and funny hairstyles.

"Lucky." Nathaniel murmurs, fixing me with a large grin, "Fancy your chances?"

"Nah man," I respond, "Only got a couple of slips in there. I ain't holding out for a win."

"So you'll give me your two way pass to the Tributes Tower if you win?"

"God no. I'm keeping it if I get it," I say with a fierce smirk, "But I've only got, what, six slips? And thats only in one ball. I ain't gonna get in with only six slips."

"Only took Prim Everdeen one slip." Nathaniel snickers, "And her big sis changed the world." The table next to us stiffen at the mention of the name, turning and hissing at Nathaniel to shut up. "What? Ain't saying I like what she did, just saying she shook things up. If she didn't why would we still have the Hunger Games?" It's a good point, but Flora doesn't seem to get it, standing bolt upright, her hair flashing dangerously.

"Will you two just shut up!" She cries, the bulbs on her skin beginning to look more and more like a neon sign as they flash faster and faster, "Can't you see none of us stand a chance! The stupid things are rigged, we're not gonna win!"

"Says who Casino kid?" Nathaniel grins, causing me to wince slightly. Say what you like about my Flo, but no one has ever survived calling Flora a 'Casino'. At least not until today. I'll just pray that she spares him, since he's her friend.

Fortunately, Flora doesn't try to rip his head off, and in the ensuing silence, I decide to difuse the tension with a well timed cry of "Come on guys, peace."

"Says me shark boy." Ah man, this isn't going well. It could be worse though. Shark boy isn't that bad an insult and it doesn't normally annoy Nathaniel. Heck, even I call him it.

"I'm supposed to be a dolphin and you know it." Nathaniel growls.

"And I'm supposed to be a flower." Flora mutters. How the heck is that a flower? I still think it's closer to a lightbulb myself, "And anyway, the Reapings are rigged, how else do you explain Anastasie Dallas and The Orchid kid and Sculptor Fitch all getting places."

"Well what about the Avox?" Nathaniel retorts, "He got in and there's no way he bribed anyone!"

"You idiot." Flora smiles and her anger disappears into a smile so fast it makes my head spin. Like I said, I don't get girls. "He's working for Fitch, why do you think his name was even in the Reaping ball?"

"Damn." Nathaniel laughs, shaking his head, "So I was beat by a plant eh? You?"

"All of mine were in ball 1." Flora laughs, "I wanted to find out whether or not I'd win and I got screwed over by some drunk chick who looks like a bloody chandelier." I smile at that. I guess that was why she was mad then. Hey, maybe I'm really starting to get the hang of this. I don't blame her, it'd suck to get all out straight away.

"When did you find out, Flo'." I ask her and the girl shrugs.

"Early. About five in the morning I guess, just as the sun was coming out."

"Heavy." I say with a sad smile.

"Not really," The girl mumbles, a slight frown playing on her face, "Wouldn't want to go with a bunch of jerks like that anyway. Besides..." She's cut short as Nathaniel shushes her, turning to the TV and pointing silently at Claudius who is about to start speaking. Flora pouts, but she seems happier than she was earlier, which is good I guess.

"So." Claudius smiles from the screen, "The last lucky boy who will be going to see the Games is..." The scene on the screen cuts away, flashing over to District Eleven, where a short, tanned boy, who is apparently the new male tribute of District Eleven, flicks open an envelope and reads a name aloud. I prepare a sigh, ready to hear the name of the popular jerk who's going to beat me.

"Pebble Clarkson."

The sigh comes tumbling out in a rush of surprise and everybody turns in their chairs to look at me. In an instant I feel a thousand eyes on me. All of them jealous. All of them wanting what I have in exactly the same way I've wanted what they have for the past few years. The silence is so thick and all consuming that not even the most poweful Career could cut through it. It's so quiet I can even hear the buzz of Flora's bulbs blinking out one by one in shock. A small crowd is gathered around me now, as my face is called up from the Capitol's files, and displayed on TV for miles and miles around. The silence is choking, and I'm almost worried it will go on forever, when Nathaniel turns to me.

"Lucky." He chuckles. The crowd explodes. Congratulations are given, photos are snapped and hands are shook. Nathaniel gives a cheer and claps me on the back as the TV shows a state of the art limo speeding towards my position to pick me up.

Flo' grips me round the neck, her bulbs shining brighter than I've ever seen them before and plants a kiss on my lips. She tells me how lucky I am, how she'll miss me, how she wishes she could go. She doesn't let go off me till the limo arrives and I am escorted away.

Girls. I'll never understand them.


A/N: Question of the Holiday: What was the best gift you received this Christmas?