This chapter takes place a day before the Reaping. I got some feedback to try experimenting with different reaping formats to better introduce characters, so I'm trying that in this chapter. Let me know what you think!

Also, Val has anorexia. I'm going to try my best to portray it correctly, but if I get anything wrong, please let me know.

District 3 Reaping

Val Seller, District 3 Female, 17:

Griffith Dirac ruined my life.

Even seeing his oily little head sends me into fits of rage. I can barely focus on the half-constructed wristwatch in front of me. My eyes keep drifting to Griffith and his stupid dark brown mop of hair. Even though he's supposed to be working on his own wristwatch, Griffith is messing around on his computer. I don't understand why he can't just follow our teacher's instructions. Griffith always has to do whatever he finds interesting, regardless of how other people feel.

Griffith tells some joke to his friend Meg, whom I suspect only hates me because Griffith fed her a bunch of vicious lies. Meg twists in her chair to glance at me, then explodes into a cacophony of giggles. My knuckles tighten over the tools in my hands. What did he say about me? Was it about my size?

I'm tempted to run over and punch that evil smile off his face. I could easily beat him up - I'm a few inches taller and I'm trained in kickboxing and wrestling. If anybody asks, it's for personal defense, but it's really because I've been training for the moment when I can finally get Griffith to shut up. I'm sure he'll stop making all of those whispered comments about my weight and parents if he knew I could kick his ass.

Griffith glances over his shoulder at me and sends me an evil little smirk. I tense, starting to rise in my chair, but a soft hand tugs me back down. I let out a deep breath and whisper a thank you to my best friend Celle. I have no qualms about beating up Griffith, but I don't want to do it in the middle of my mechanics class - I'd get into a lot of trouble, and it's not worth losing my perfect GPA. Celle gives me a comforting smile.

"Just ignore him," he whispers. It's good advice, but unfortunately, nothing I can follow. If only I could ignore Griffith. I wish all of his comments didn't cut straight into the bone and linger in my head for the rest of the year. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Okay," I respond, gently smiling. I'll pretend I can ignore Griffith. I'll pretend he doesn't bother me as much as he does. As much as I love Celle, I don't share a lot of my feelings with him. I trust him, but I would rather get eaten by a bear than reveal all of my emotions and insecurities to someone besides my therapist.

Celle is pretty much my only friend. I'm not exactly popular. But Celle is all that I need in a friend - he's sweet, he can calm me down, and he's really clever so we can have interesting conversations and debates. A lot of people mistake us for twins, since we look very similar. We're both very tall and pale, with brown hair and brown eyes. We even share a sprinkle of freckles across our cheeks.

Even though Griffith is nagging at the corner of my mind, I lean over and attempt to finish the wristwatch. It's pretty easy to make, even when I'm distracted by Griffith. It's just a few simple gears that I need to fit into place, then I screw on the face, and the hands start ticking.

"Done," I call, raising my hand. Our mechanics teacher, Mr. Luce, glances up from his computer and walks over to me. He turns the watch over in his hands, inspecting its creation. He's visibly impressed, his thin eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

"Fantastic." He nods. "Good job, Val."

I grin at the praise. My eyes flicker over to Griffith, who is watching the exchange with his face screwed up in bitterness. He's clearly jealous that I'm getting all of this praise, even though he didn't bother constructing his own watch.

The bell rings loudly, signaling the end of class, and thus, the end of the school day. Kids sigh in relief and drop their half-completed watches and scramble out of the room. Celle and I aren't part of the crowd rushing to get home, so within moments, we're some of the only kids left in the classroom. Griffith is one of the first to leave. As soon as I see that he is gone, I sigh in relief. Celle drops his almost-finished wristwatch with a groan, evidently upset he didn't manage to finish it in time.

"Gosh darn-it," Celle mutters.

"Mr. Luce said we'll have more time next class. You don't need to beat yourself up about it," I say, a bit hypocritically. I pat him comfortingly on the shoulder. He seems appreciative, but still regretful over not finishing the wristwatch. Celle's parents work in mechanics, so he's especially hard on himself about succeeding in mechanics. He's the second-best in the class. Technically, I have the best grade in the class, but I couldn't have done it without Celle's help.

Celle shrugs and starts packing up his stuff. I do the same, and we leave the classroom a minute later. As soon as I see who's waiting across the hall, leaning against one of the lockers, I tense.

"Hey, Ivalera," Griffith says sweetly. His tone is nice enough, but all of Griffith's most painful insults are wrapped in a kind tone. Griffith knows I hate my full name. Everyone does. Literally everyone is content calling me 'Val' except Griffith, who insists on calling me 'Ivalera'.

"What do you want?" I hiss.

"I just wanted to let you know some bad news," Griffith sighs, screwing his face up into one of pity. "Some of your friends were just arrested. Buzz and Judy Qualis? Your fellow Capitol loyalists? They were caught embezzling money from their factory."

"I have no idea who Buzz and Judy Qualis are." I take Celle by the hand and drag him away from Griffith. Unfortunately, Griffith tails us, continuing to chirp about 'Buzz' and 'Judy'.

"They're going to be executed. It's the third time this month a Capitol loyalist has been caught breaking the law. Pretty bad for all of you loyalists, huh?"

I don't bother responding to Griffith. Fortunately for me, the buttons he's trying to press don't even connect to my system. I unplugged those a while ago. I couldn't care less about the problems of any Capitol loyalists, because I am not one. I'm not pro or anti-Capitol, simply because there are too many people I hate in my personal life to worry about national politics. The only reason Griffith believes I'm a loyalist is that both of my parents are so pro-Capitol and Griffith thinks I subscribe to their views.

I hate the fact that my parents are so obsessed with the Capitol. My mother is constantly lecturing me about 'etiquette' and 'manners' and my father blows all of our funds on expensive outfits and furniture to try to mimic the Capitol lifestyle we can't afford. The only thing my parents ever liked about me was how I was "big enough to cover up their flaws". Thanks a lot, Mom.

"Just fuck off, Griffith," Celle finally sighs. Griffith shrinks away, a sly smile on his face. He's trying to act all high and mighty, but I know that he's actually super intimidated by Celle. Celle may be skinny, but so is Griffith, and Celle towers over him by at least half a foot.

"All right. If you insist. Well, good luck at the Reaping, you guys!" Griffith smirks, then disappears down a corridor, laptop tucked under his arm.

Griffith Dirac, District 3 Male, 17:

Ivalera Seller ruined my life.

She made everything in my life way harder than I deserve to have it. It's not fair how there are so many people in the Capitol and even District 3 who get an easy life, and meanwhile I'm stuck in the gross community home.

Spread out across my lumpy bed, I prop my open computer on my knees as I web-surf. Most of the internet is heavily hidden in the Districts, but I've been able to crack my way through the firewall. My parents used computers a lot for their work and they taught me the basics of coding when I was young. The rest I've been pretty much able to figure out by myself, and now I have all of Panem's networks at my fingertips.

If only I cared enough to do anything with it.

I used to put my skills to good use. It's funny how easy it is to frame Capitol loyalists for crimes with just a few clicks of a button. For the technology District, our Peacekeepers seriously underestimate the power of technology. But ever since I got stuck in this grimy home, framing loyalists just isn't fun anymore.

I sigh and shut my laptop. As soon as my screen is down, I notice Meg sitting on the bed across from me. I can't help but let out a tiny gasp.

"How long have you been in here?" I demand. "This is the boys' dorm. You're not supposed to be in here."

"Sorry, Grif. I just wanted to see how you were feeling," Meg whispers. She crosses the room to sit next to me and wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders. "I saw that Ivalera Seller yell at you today. Are you okay?"

I take a deep breath and try to look as upset as I possibly can. I'm not a great actor, but Meg is gullible enough to believe all of my sob stories. It's pretty nice to find someone like that in the community home; most of the kids here were hardened and distrustful when I first entered, but Meg remains pliable and easily manipulated. It's good to have people like that on your side, because you can always get them to do things for you.

"I guess I'm okay," I whimper. "It's just scary when she yells at me like that, because she's so big, you know? I don't know what I ever did to make her so mad at me…"

"You did nothing, Grif," Meg sighs, hugging me. "She's just a mean girl."

I nod along and hug her back.

"I think dinner should be ready soon. Do you want to go downstairs?"

"Sure," I say, crawling off of the rough bed. I plug my computer charger into the outlet before I follow Meg downstairs.

"Have you done your homework yet?" Meg casually asks as we make our way downstairs.

"Yeah," I lie. I don't tell her that I don't bother doing homework anymore. I was a pretty good student before my parents were arrested, but now I don't see the point of doing work anymore. No one in the community homes ever gets a good job, especially not the child of convicted rebels. The best job I can possibly get is some low-income job at a factory, and you don't need good grades for that.

"Do you think you can help me with the algebra questions?"

"Uh… I'm not any good at algebra."

When Meg and I step into the dining hall, dinner is already being served. I grab one of the greasy trays from the rack and absent-mindedly begin loading today's meal onto my plate. The food in the community home is so gross. My parents and I never had any fancy meals, but at least they were better than this stuff. Multiple kids have already gotten sick from the food. The chef always passes their illnesses off as unrelated, but I think we all know the real cause.

Our plates spilling over with food, Meg and I take our place at the table at the back of the hall. While chewing on a bruised apple slice, I quickly notice that the boy sitting a few seats away from us has far better food than me. Somehow, his plate additionally holds a chocolate-chip cookie, a fluffy slice of bread, and what looks like a slice of beef. My stomach rumbles even imagining getting to eat such a good meal.

Before I know what I'm doing, I lift myself from my seat and lean over to the boy.

"What have you got there?" I inquire, jabbing my finger at his tray. The boy immediately tenses and protectively shields his dish with an arm.

"Just some food," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Where'd you get it?" I ask. When he doesn't respond, I press further. "Because, you see, I have to eat this crap." I knock my rock-hard slide of bread against the table as proof. "And you get that nice stuff. And I don't see why that's fair."

"I paid for it," the boy hisses. "I got a job at the factory and now I buy my own food."

"I want it," I state. I walk over to where he's sitting and lean over his shoulder. He cringes back, and I pluck up his chocolate-chip cookie.

"Hey!" he shouts indignantly. "That's mine! I earned it!"

"I earned it, too," I shrug. "I was strong enough to take it from you." The boy jumps up from his seat.

"Oh yeah? Are you strong enough to keep it?" he shouts. He winds back and sends his fist hurling at my face. I notice in time to dodge, and his arm flies past my left ear.

"Whoa, let's calm down!" Meg urges, running over to us. Meg steps in between the boy and I. She turns to the boy, whose face is red with rage. "It's not Grif's fault he's like this," she whispers. "His parents got arrested last year. He misses them a lot."

My mouth gapes open at her audacity. It's all I can take to not start insulting her right here and now. How dare she presume I'm doing this out of some confused longing for my parents? I hate my parents. I just wanted a chocolate-chip cookie. Meg's patronization is a jab at my pride, but I collect myself enough to go along with it. I don't want to reveal myself as anything other than an innocent child to Meg - not yet. I still have use of her.

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter, looking down at the dusty floor.

"Grif, why don't you give him his cookie back?" Meg suggests. She's treating me like a freaking child. I can't believe she thinks she's so much smarter than me.

"Fine," I groan, and thrust the crumbling cookie at the boy's chest before heading back to my seat.

Thank you to Paradigm of Writing and geologyisms for these two very interesting tributes! Whom do you prefer? What did you think of the pre-Reapings format?