DISTRICT 12 INTROS: DO IT DIFFERENT

Heather Spaulding, age 16

"Hey, Melody!"

My sister-in-law looks up from her sewing and gives me a brilliant smile. "Hi, Heather. What's going on?"

"Nothing much. I just brought you some more cloth scraps."

"Oh, good!" she says delightedly, holding out her hands.

I place the basket full of scraps in her lap and she starts rooting through it. At seven months pregnant, Melody has been making baby clothes with an almost-feverish intensity. Not that she has much else to do, because she's very large.

So much so that my brother has been wondering if they're having twins. Or triplets.

He gets rather green every time he considers that possibility. And it doesn't help that Melody's family has a history of twins.

"Do you need any help?" I ask.

"Oh, that would be great. Do you think you could help me sort this stuff?"

I nod. Most people my age probably wouldn't consider helping their pregnant sister-in-law sort cloth scraps and sew baby clothes a fun time, but Melody is basically my best friend. And anyway, sewing is much more fun than hanging out at my house, which is empty, because both my parents are working in the mines.

I've managed to scrape together quite a respectable collection of scraps of cloth over the past several weeks. They're every shade and color imaginable; none of them fancy, but all of them usable.

Here in District 12, usable is about all we expect.

There's a couple of particularly pretty pieces of cloth: the daisy-patterned bit I got from one of my mother's torn dresses before she turned it into rags, the impossibly soft lilac thing I found caught on the not-really-electric fence, the scrap of light pink that used to be the pocket on the Reaping dress I used when I was twelve, and so on.

I put these pieces in a pile all their own, figuring that they should be used for something special.

The rest of the cloth scraps can go into one of two piles: wool and not-wool. These pieces are varying shades of gray, black, and dull green; the colors that most of the Seam wears.

When I'm done, Melody leans over the pile of pretty scraps and picks up a bright sunny yellow strip of cloth. "This is nice. Why is it in a separate pile?"

"I thought we should use it for something special. Not that baby clothes aren't special, of course."

Melody nods. "What do you suggest, then?"

Naturally, my mind goes completely blank as soon as she asks that question. I don't know a lot about babies, but I do know that they often have things like stuffed animals and blankets.

Wait.

Blankets!

"What about we make a baby blanket?" I ask. "With all these different colors, it would work for a boy or a girl!"

Melody blinks. I suddenly feel rather foolish. After all, she's probably already made a baby blanket or something. I'm about to say never mind, when Melody grins.

"That's a great idea! We can make it together!"

I breath a sigh of relief. "Great!"

Melody hands me a needle and some thread, and then we're carefully sewing the most beautiful baby blanket in the District.

It's calm and peaceful and relaxing, the repetitive motion of sewing quickly growing easy for my deft fingers.

There are times when I want to be noticed, when I want to win. A lot of times, in fact.

But then there I times like these, when I know I'm never gonna do it different.

And I'm good with that.

Andris Balthory, age 16

I stare at the cards in my hand, wondering if I should try to bluff my way out of this, or if I should just fold. I don't know what cards my grandfather has, but they are, in all likelihood, better than mine.

It's not worth the risk, I decide.

"I fold," I say, putting my cards face-down on the table.

My grandfather gives a dry chuckle. "You're learning."

"I'm smarter than I look."

"Indeed."

I lean back in my chair, staring out into the distance. Me and my grandfather are on the porch of my family's butcher shop, savoring the first warm night we've had in a while. The sun is going down, painting the sky in colors of pink and gold, with bits of blue still peeking out.

Times like these I wish I had some kind of artistic skill, or maybe a camera, so I could capture this moment forever. But I can't paint or draw, and only people from the Capitol have cameras.

So I have to be content with fixing as many sunsets as I can in my memory.

"Want to play again?" I ask, gesturing to the cards on the table.

"No. I think we're done for tonight."

I nod, knowing he won't change his mind. As if to prove that point, he pulls out his battered old pipe and lights it, puffs of smoke soon filling the night air.

"Where are Csoba and Tamas?" my grandfather suddenly asks.

"Out somewhere."

Probably in town with friends or something along those lines. They like to escape the butcher shop as soon as they can, but not me. I prefer to hang out with Grandfather on nights like this.

Even though my friends are out there somewhere. Two of them in the Seam, in fact. Edric and Daena. I wonder what they're doing tonight. Actually, they're most likely asleep.

The sun is almost fully down, now, and I can see the Meadow lighting up with fireflies in the distance.

"Grandfather," I say, pointing, "they're back."

A smile splits his wizened features. "So they are. I used to think fireflies were magical when I was a boy, you know."

I can see why. They certainly look it, bright sparks of light against the blackness that is the woods.

My grandfather is still smiling as he blows a smoke ring in the direction of the Meadow. I still wonder how he does that. Whenever I ask, he just smiles mysteriously and says that old folks like him need to keep their secrets.

As much as I like nights like this, where I play cards with my grandfather and watch the fireflies, I still often wonder if there's more out there for me. If I can be more than just the butcher's son, more than the District I come from.

I sometimes wonder if I have it in me to really do it different.

A/N Last intros! Yay!

Next up is the Reaping Recap! I hope you liked it, and please review!