A/N I'm not dead!... Just busy. Anyway, I've got good news and bad news.

Good News: THIS CHAPTER IS OUT!

Bad News: I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year, which is a program in which I'm challenged to write a 50k book in November. I've had this original idea floating around in my head for a while, and I'm going to get it out by writing it into a book. Good, right? Unfortunately, this means there probably won't be any chapters in November. Sorry… On with the chapter.

Taffeta Mitchell, 15, District Eight Female

"Mix Chemical A with Chemical B…." the teacher drones. Augh, Chemistry is so boring. Who has the time for this anyway? I look at Robert, my lab partner. He makes this class so much more bearable; it's the only class we have together. I don't know how he feels about this, but I can't stop look at him. He smiles faintly, something he does when he's thinking. Gosh, that smile is so… dreamy.

"You're getting this down, right?" he says, "She's giving us the instructions, y'know."

"Wait- huh? What did I miss?"

"Everything. You look like you have no idea what you're doing."

"No — I know what's going on, " I say, hoping I don't sound too clueless. "You can start."

He looks down at his notes, and a bit of his hair falls over his right eye. He takes the beaker and looks at me expectantly. Wait…

"Are you going to do anything?" he says, his voice a little sharper now. Wow, it even sounds good when he isn't happy.

"Do what?"

"You're clueless."

I chuckle nervously.

He sighs. "I'll do it myself. Hold the beaker," he says, giving it to me to hold.

He puts a few things together and grabs the two test tubes. I'll never get how anyone understands all this. Even when I finally get something, I forget it in time for the next test. Guess what I'm not going to be… A chemist. Bet you couldn't tell.

Pretty soon, the bell rings to end the day. Robert grabs his bag and hurries off into the crowd. Indigo stands next to the door, waiting for me.

"What's up?" she says, "How was it being his lab partner?"

I smile. "I tried to focus on the lab, but it was so impossible because I left thinking about him! I'm pretty sure I failed the lab, but Chemistry wasn't my forte anyway!"

"Aww…."

"It's fine," I say, "Do you think he likes me?!"

"I hope so. He did seem a little annoyed though… He tries so hard in everything!"

"Can you wait a second?" I say as we round a corner. "I need to get my folder out of my locker. It'll only take a minute or two."

"Sure."

I scurry over to my locker, pop it open after putting in the combination, and grab the green and blue striped folder that I use for art. I flip through it to make sure nothing's missing — it's silly, I know, but this is valuable to me.

As I hurry back, I hear loud voices.

"You're such a drama queen!" a girl says. That must be Chloe. Argh… not again.

"And you're a dirty beggar!" Indigo fires back.

"Well, I'm sorry that not all of us have it as easy as you do," Chloe says, "Some of us actually have to work for our food!" It's true; Indigo is relatively rich, but that doesn't mean she should be teased for it. It's not like she chose her family.

"Shut up, Chloe!" I say as I approach. "Mind your own business. Some of us are actually comfortable in our own skins. We don't have to pick on others to feel better."

"And some people here have no sense of style. You look like you made your clothes out of little pieces of scrap cloth."

"You know what, Chloe? We'll go on our way. Feel sorry about yourself by yourself."

I grab Indigo's arm and walk off. Chloe. I hate her more than anyone else I know. Why is she such a pain in the neck?

"I hate her so much," Indigo mutters.

"Same," I say, "But I wish I were as confident as she was. She seems like she refuses to look up to anyone. I kinda want that."

We walk for a little while in silence.

"So…" she says, "Is Silke coming back this weekend?"

"Yes!" I say. Silke is my older sister; she's always been the envy of the town for being so smart, so creative, so successful. She currently attends the Capitol-sponsored school here in District Eight.

"Does she tell you about what the school is like?"

"I little," I say, "She says that the classes on color and design are amazing!"

"I'd love to go there, but it's so hard to get in…"

"Yeah," I agree.

"How did Silke get in?"

"Her grades were good enough, I guess," I say. Silke may be amazing, but you don't see how annoying she can be unless you live with her.

We reach the intersection, and I wave goodbye to Indigo. I unlock the door to my empty house and go upstairs to my room. My current project lies on the sewing machine; I'll work on it later. Some say my style is a bit eccentric—I do see their point—but this is an art. If I want to wear certain clothes, I'm wearing certain clothes.

I wash my face and try to remember what I have to do. FIrst, I'll need to prepare for my shift at the factory and get a list of things so that Joey knows what to do when he gets back. I won't get back until late tonight, so every day, I leave a list of chores for him. He's eleven; he can handle it.

The clock ticks down. He must be with a friend; I have to go now. I slip into work clothes and walk to the factory, skipping every now and then because I feel like it. A few people give me strange looks, but hey, why should I care? This is my life.

Serge Foulard, 17, District Eight Male

I shovel another load of coal into the fire that illuminates the otherwise dark room. Even with the full-face mask that keeps the black powder out of my lungs, I want to cough in the huge cloud of dust that rises up from the ground, coating my soot-covered work clothes in another layer of black coal dust. In District Eight, we're slowly making the transition to electricity-powered factories, but for now, this one is stuck with coal.

A drop of sweat runs down the side of my face under the mask, and I add more coal to the fire. I look around at the other men working the fires. Most of us aren't even fully out of school, the oldest one being Romal, in his late twenties. He catches me watching, and he gives me a thumbs up. It's impossible to talk here, so we have to do with gestures. I crack a smile under my mask and shovel more coal.

The bell rings, and I hear the sound of people moving out. We don't have that privilege; we work until the next set of guys come in. Rule number one: Don't let the fires go out. It's not that big of a deal anyways, it's only a few more minutes. I've never understood people that count down the seconds until they can leave the factory. Of course, I don't enjoy this, but if you're going to do a job, you might as well do it to the best of your ability. Thinking about getting out distracts you from doing your job well.

The door behind us creaks open, and white light from the hall shines into the room. TIme to go. I hand the shovel to the next guy and give a little salute. I can't really tell, but I think he smiles.

I walk to the prep room and take off the mask. Quickly, I put it in the sink to wash — they aren't going to wash themselves, and if they aren't kept clean, the coal residue will build up. I change into a clean set of clothes and leave the factory, stepping into the cool night air.

After a long day like this, I'd like nothing more than to go home and go to bed, but I've got a load of homework to do. When I get home, I wash my face with cold water to help keep me awake and get to work on my desk. There's only a month or two of school left before I graduate, but while most of my friends are just chilling at this point, I know I've got more important things to do. If I had their attitude, I wouldn't be where I am today. I built myself up. I was that kid in 3rd grade that teachers thought would drop out. Look at me now. They wouldn't believe it if they saw me now. I'm not going to live the same crappy life as my parents do, and I know that if I work, I can make it work. It's gotten me this far, hasn't it?

I begin on the essay that'll be a major part of my application to the Capitol school. The deadline is in a month, but I know that I need to start now. This'll give me a head over the ones that don't start until the last week.

I hear the front door open. My mom's home. I hear her putting away some food, and she comes over.

"How much work do you have tonight?" she asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's getting late."

"Umm…" I say, looking up, "Not much. I'm gonna finish the draft for the essay tonight and then do the math stuff."

"Will it take you long?"

"I don't think so," I say, going back to writing. "Besides, this is important."

"I know, but I'm just worried that you won't get enough sleep."

"Don't worry," I say. I smile. "I can live off of five hours a night."

"But that's not enough."

"It's just a temporary thing. I'll get more sleep after I graduate. But until then, all this work needs to be done."

"I understand," she says, not completely convinced. "Please do keep good care of yourself, okay? I worry about you a lot."

"I will. And again, don't worry, mom. I know what I'm doing."

"Okay."

She goes to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I feel my eyelids drooping, but I force myself to work. This is more important. Sleep can wait. There go my eyelids again…

Augh! I go wash my face again. I have to get this done. I pinch myself to keep my focus and force myself to write until the last period is on the page. Next, I zoom through the math. I know that it's not completely correct, but I also know that my mind will be clearer and have a better perspective in the morning.

When the last equation is done, I lean back and stretch. I'm so ready to sleep. I quickly brush my teeth and curl up in bed. Another day is over. Right now the days are hard, but one day, things will change. I'm building up my future, and with this hard work, there's no way it could fail.

Questions:

1. How do you feel about Taffeta? Why?

2. Thoughts on Serge? Why?

3. What are their character flaws?

4. Predictions?

A/N By the way, if you care, Serge was always intended for District Eight. It's a kind of durable, twilled, woolen fabric.

Sorry in advance for the long wait coming up. It is what it is.

See y'all!

~Joseph