Nyssa Barerra, 15, District 6 Female

I wake up and groan, covering my face with my paper thin blanket. Today is reaping day. Just three more reapings after this one until I'll age out. Even though it's reaping day, I can't sleep in. Mr. Pitville hired me to fix his car today. I roll out of bed and throw on my work clothes—a dirty tank top, brown pants covered in numerous pockets for my tools, and my signature red bandana.

"Up already, Nyssa?" I hear a groan coming from my mom's room.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take a look at Mr. Pitville's car before the reaping."

"Alright. But make sure you're back before the reaping."

"Yeah, mom. I'll be back in time." I jog down the stairs, grabbing a slice of bread to eat on my way. I gather up my tools in my pockets, and exit out the front door.

The sun is already starting to rise, turning the clouds pink, but I can't stop to admire them today. I tighten my bandana and head out of our neighbourhood. Nobody in my neighbourhood owns a car, but some people in the richer neighbourhoods do. The houses gradually get bigger as I find my way to my destination. I take a deep breath before walking up to Mr. Pitville's door. Knock knock knock.

After a few seconds, Mr. Pitville opens the door. He is a stout little man, shorter than me, although many people are. His outfit looks thrown together and he seems ruffled.

"Hi Mr. Pitville. I'm here to look at your car?" He runs his hand through his hair and sighs.

"Of course! Come on in, the car's in the garage." He gestures inside and steps backward.

"Thanks." I smile, grudgingly. My mother is always reminding me to smile—she says it helps to keep customers—but I only smile when I have to.

We walk through Mr. Pitville's house as he sweeps aside objects cluttering the floor.

"Sorry about the mess." His face is red. "I haven't had people over in a while."

"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

His garage door creaks as he strains to open it. "Ladies' first!"

How I hate when people say things like that. But Mr. Pitville is a loyal customer that I need to keep if I want to make enough money for our family. I take a deep breath and plaster a pleasant expression on my face as I walk into his garage first, as he said.

"So, what seems to be the trouble with your car?"

"Well, it just won't start."

"Mr. Pitville, did you forget to turn off the lights again?" It takes my full willpower not to shake my head at him.

"Not that I know of—well, maybe." His shoulders slump and his gaze drifts to the floor.

"Not to worry. I'll have it working in no time." I give him a reassuring smile and he bustles out of the garage, but not before letting me know he'll be in the house if I need him.

I readjust my shoulder length hair before opening up the hood of the car. The battery's not dead, but there seems to be some banged up pieces that I'll need to repair.

I work for a while—I don't know how long. I wipe my forehead, probably smearing grease all over it. That doesn't usually bother me, but today's reaping day. I just have to hope that the water's on today.

"That should do it." I grunt as I make one final adjustment with my wrench. I knock on the door connecting the garage to the house. No response. Should I go inside? Mr. Pitville did say I should let him know if I need anything.

I swing open the creaky door. "Mr. Pitville? Are you there?" The house feels eerily silent. I spot a piece of paper sitting on the table and make my way through the piles of stuff.

"Thanks, Nyssa. I've left for the reaping, and I hope it's going well. Yours truly, Mr. Pitville." I murmur to myself. Fuck! I completely forgot about the reaping. My mother will be furious, but what's worse is the punishment if they realize that I'm missing and I'm not about to die.

I run out of his house, knocking over things that I don't have time to put back. I squint in the bright sunlight and I bead of sweat trickles down my back. I run as fast as I can to the reaping square.

When I get there, I see a woman folding up a table and packing up supplies.

"Wait!" I cry out, clutching a stitch in my side and gasping for air. "Nyssa...Barrera." I hold out my finger for her to prick it. The woman looks at me with a frown on her face, and I suddenly feel self conscious. Then she smiles and pricks my finger.

"Head on over that way, Nyssa! You'd better go quickly, dear!" She points over to a cordoned off area with girls my age.

I mutter a hasty thanks before jogging away.

"And try to clean your face!" The woman calls after me.

I roll my eyes, but attempt to rub the grease off my forehead all the same. I duck under the string closing off the area. Everyone's watching the video, so at least I'm not noticed by many people, although a few girls shoot me disdainful glances. Then I look over at my mother who has spotted me too. She frowns at me, shaking her head. I mouth, "sorry", at her and press my lips together. My stomach is all butterflies, and all I can do now is hope that I'm not chosen as tribute.

Leonidas Valdez, 16, District 6 Male

I wake up staring at the ceiling. My heart is racing, and it feels like it is thumping so loudly it will wake up the whole household. Our household is pretty small though—just Mom and me.

I had a nightmare last night. That's what woke me up. I have nightmares all the time, but I try to keep them secret from Mom. I never really know why, it just feels like something that...shouldn't be shared.

My hands twitch under the blanket, eager to do something. I've never been able to sit still, and this has carried into my teenage years.

I climb out of bed and grab my tool belt and some metal scraps. I enjoy tinkering, it keeps my hands busy. At first, the constant clinking and pieces of metal lying all over the place annoyed Mom. But when she realized that some of the things I make would be cool to own, and some are even functional, she decided that I should open a shop. I collect scrap metal from my jobs and use them to create all sorts of things—from tiny creatures, to pencil holders, to robots.

"Leo Valdez! Get down here this instant!" I hear Mom's voice travelling up the stairs. I press my lips together to stifle a yelp.

"Sorry, Mom. You know me, off in space as always." I smirk and walk down the stairs.

"Whatcha got?" Mom smiles at me as she catches a perfectly cooked pancake on her frying pan.

"Ooh, pancakes!"

Mom shrugs. "A special treat for a special day."

"And for a special boy." I grin.

"You had another nightmare?" She nods at the metal in my hands. So much for keeping it a secret. I look at my hands too, grateful for the distraction from the conversation.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it, though. At least I got a cool dragon out of it!" I set my little metal dragon on the table and turn a crank. Once I let go, it toddles across the table. I grin as a feeling of pride spreads through my chest.

Mom sets a plate of pancakes in front of me. "Eat up! And don't worry about the reaping." She ruffles my curly hair.

"Alright, Mom." I groan. "I'm really going to struggle to finish this breakfast."

She sits down in front of her own plate and almost imperceptibly rolls her eyes before getting started on her stack of pancakes.

Before long, my breakfast is devoured and I head upstairs to get dressed. I pull on some slacks and a white button up shirt before clipping on my tool belt and packing it with enough supplies to last the reaping.

I walk back downstairs. I'm really hoping Mom doesn't notice the metal and tools jingling in my tool belt.

"Leo. Really?" She raises her eyebrows at me. Bad luck, Leo.

"Yup. And don't make me take it off. It calms my nerves." I say, in a joking way, although I'm actually telling the truth.

She shakes her head at me before opening the door and gesturing for me to exit. We talk about menial things as we walk to reaping square.

"See you later, Mom!" I wink at her before lining up to register. The line is long as always—we never arrive early. I bite my lip and bounce on my feet. I've always hated standing in this line. You have to stand still for what feels like hours, waiting to find out who will be sent into the hunger games. I pull out some scraps of metal and fidget with them.

By the time I reach the front, sweat drips down my face and I wipe it away.

"Hi, I'm Leo Valdez." The woman behind a booth frowns as she scans a long piece of paper.

"Leo? Is that short for—"

"Yes."

"Leonidas?"

I loathe whenever anyone calls me Leonidas. It's Leo. Just Leo.

"Finger." The woman's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. Right. She has to prick my finger. I hold out a finger, and do my best not to wince when the needle pricks it.

"Great. You'll be headed…" She scans a chart on the table. "That way."

"Thanks!" I say, more enthusiastically than I feel. "I'm sure this will be a ball!"

I look back at the line—it still stretches extremely far out. Great. More waiting.

Once I've reached my section, the peacekeepers usher me inside. They are wearing long white suits. I've always wondered if they get hot in there, but something is telling me that now isn't the right time to ask.

After a few minutes, I notice a guy making his way towards me.

"'Scuse me. Coming through. Thanks."

"Jake! How ya doing, my dude?" We shake hands in the guy style.

"As best as I can, seeing that it's reaping day." He shrugs. "I thought you could use some company while we wait. Although, you seem busy with your tinkering."

"Company is always welcome with your boy Leo." I grin at him.

We spend the next while talking while I continue tinkering, until it is finally time for the formalities to begin.

"Hello, citizens of District 6." A loud voice booms out of the microphone. "Please watch this video."

A video starts playing on the screens. Our ancestors rebelled, now we have to be punished, yada yada yada. Our escort was new last year—her name is Pudine Dawndrop, if I got that correct. Her speeches are very short and to the point, which I appreciate. Our last escort would drone on and on in the most monotone voice. I almost fell asleep once.

"Time to choose the female tribute." The video must be finished now.

She reaches her hand into the bowl, swishes her hand almost mechanically, and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Nyssa Barrera."

A girl with short dark hair and a red bandana walks up to the stage. She is still wearing her work clothes and has a faint smear of grease on her forehead. I like her. I would totally go to the reaping wearing that, if not for my mother making me dress nicely.

"Leonidas Valdez." Leonidas? Why, why, why do they have to call me by that name? Wait. That means I was reaped. Shit.

"I'm sorry, dude." Jake whispers to me while clapping a hand on my shoulder.

I walk up to the stage, my feet moving automatically while I shove the metal into my toolbelt.

"Shake hands." Pudine instructs, after shaking mine.

Nyssa is taller than me and hardly spares a glance at me. But she does shake my hand. Hopefully I'll be able to talk more with her on the train. Before I know it, four peacekeepers surround us and march us off to the justice building.