Rook Anticline, 13
District Twelve Male
Elim9

They used to close the mines on Reaping Day.

That's what Uncle Cliff says, at least. Mother and Father don't like talking about how things used to be. Better not to dwell on the past, they say. But they know that just means I'll ask Uncle Cliff, instead. He always likes talking about what things were like before – before the rebellion.

They used to close the mines on Sundays, too, and at night. It's enough to make you wonder how they ever got anything done. As long as you have workers for all the shifts, after all, where's the harm in keeping things running at night? It's not as if there's any difference down in the mines. It's completely dark down here, day or night, except for whatever light you bring with you.

Personally, I actually prefer the night shift. It's quieter, and for a while, it meant I could still go to school during the day. But it was too much to keep up with – working all night in the mines and trying to stay awake during class. A few weeks after last year's Games, I dropped out of school entirely to go to work full-time in the mines.

My older brother Rhys says there's no shame in that. He dropped out a few years ago, but he says he learned all the important stuff. He can read, he can write, and he can do enough math to know that we're dirt poor. Coal poor, really. At least you can plant stuff in dirt, and you might get something out of it later. Coal is really only useful for burning.

I didn't work the night shift last night, though – mostly because reapings are already boring enough without the extra worry of possibly falling asleep. Last year, it was a lot of standing around with nothing to do but worry, followed by a few moments of sheer terror – and then a sort of guilty relief when my name wasn't the one called. I have no reason to think this year will be any different. Of course, everyone's worried they might be the one who's picked, but it's only my second year. My name is only in the bowl ten times.

That probably sounds like a lot. But Rhys' name is in the reaping bowl thirty times. And I know plenty of other kids – kids with bigger families – who take even more tesserae. Sure, kids my age who don't need to take tesserae only have their names in twice, but that's the exception in Twelve, not the norm. Most of us take tesserae. We have to in order to survive. It's just the way things are.

Just like working in the mines. It's dangerous work, but someone has to do it. Not that I was ever really cut out to be a miner like the rest of my family. But the younger, skinnier kids like me are perfect for exploring new sections of the caves, new areas to mine. We can crouch and scurry and slink through places full-grown adults wouldn't be able to. They call us goblins, but most of them mean it in a nice way. It's dangerous work, since there's always the possibility of a cave-in whenever you're in a new area. But it helps put food on the table.

Which was why I'm spending the morning of Reaping Day down in the mines, a rope tied around my waist to guide me back to the entrance – as long as the ceiling doesn't collapse behind me. People keep talking about what a shame it is – making us kids work when the reaping's in only a few hours. But to be honest, I'm glad to have something to do, something to keep my mind off what might happen. Nothing I can do will change who gets picked, so worrying about it … well, that just seems like a waste of time.

Just as I start making my way forward into the next section of the tunnels, however, I feel a tug at the rope around my waist. "Rook!" calls a voice, and even at this distance, the volume makes a few of the rocks vibrate. "Come on back. It's almost three."

I start inching my way back along the narrow passageway without a second thought. The voice belongs to Mace, our supervisor, and there's no point in arguing with him. Ever since he lost the lower half of his leg in a mine accident a few years ago, he's been in charge of our group of goblins. He's not exactly what I'd call harsh, but he doesn't tolerate arguments or backtalk, and he takes his job seriously and treats us like adults.

I like that about him.

Almost everyone else is on lunch break by the time I make it out, but I immediately head for the map in the corner to fill in a few things before they slip my mind. Mace lets me finish, then gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Go home, Rook. The mine'll still be here tomorrow."

He's right. I know he's right. But a part of me doesn't want to go home just yet, because that means it's getting close to reaping time. As long as I can stay at the mines, as long as I have something to do, then Reaping Day doesn't seem quite so bad.

"Go," Mace repeats. "Spend some time with your family."

That does the trick. He knew that would do the trick, too. Rhys is probably already home. He's as hard a worker as anyone could ask for, but once he's done for the day, he's done. "See you tomorrow," I call to Mace as I scurry out the door.

I'm immediately struck by the brightness. You never get used to it, really – the sudden light after you've been down in the dark of the mines for hours. I blink, then blink again, then close my eyes for a moment, blocking out most of the light. I walk most of the rest of the way home with my eyes half-shut, still squinting a bit until I finally step inside our home, the dim light providing some relief.

Our home isn't much. It's little more than a shack, really, but so are most homes in the district. One room for the five of us – myself, Rhys, our parents, and Uncle Cliff. But at least we have a home; that's more than some people in Twelve can say.

Rhys is already standing just inside the door when I arrive, his arms crossed in mock impatience. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten yourself lost down there."

I shake my head. Even if I didn't have a rope to guide me back, I'm pretty sure I would never get lost down in the mines. Maybe a few years ago, when I was just starting, but not anymore. "Just finishing up a few things."

Rhys claps me on the shoulder. "There'll always be a few more things to finish up. The mine's not going anywhere, and neither are we. We'll both be back there tomorrow."

Unless one of us is picked. He doesn't say the words, but they hang in the air, unspoken. If I'm chosen, after all, I'll have bigger things to worry about than the mines. And if Rhys is chosen…

I don't even want to think about that.

Ten minutes later, I'm dressed and ready to go. Rhys' old reaping outfit is a bit baggy and faded, but no point in spending money on new clothes when I'll outgrow them soon enough, anyway. Actually, I'm nearly as tall as Rhys when I stand up straight – just a lot skinnier. But when you spend a lot of time on your hands and knees crawling through tunnels, standing up straight becomes a thing you have to remind yourself of.

I do manage to remind myself, though, as Rhys and I are joined by our parents and Uncle Cliff, and the five of us head to the square together. The sun is still painfully bright, but my eyes are beginning to adjust again by the time we reach the square. One quick finger prick, and Rhys and I head to our separate sections – me near the back with the other thirteen-year-olds, Rhys near the front with the seventeen-year-olds.

Slowly, the square begins to fill, and so does the stage. Mayor Madge Undersee takes her place, along with our only Victor, Felicity Shaft. She won three years ago, before I started working in the mines, but Rhys always said she was one of the strongest workers. You'd have to be, to have a real chance in the Games. Certainly none of us smaller goblins would stand a chance.

I shake the thought from my head as our escort, Septima, draws a name from the girls' bowl. All I can hope for, really, is that it's no one I know. No one I work with in the mines. I hold my breath as Septima reads the name. "Cadence Farrow."

The girl who makes her way to the stage from the twelve-year-old section is trembling like a leaf, fidgeting with the buttons on her dress, her fingers flicking up to straighten the braids in her red hair, to adjust her glasses, to wipe away a few tears as she reaches the stage. I don't recognize her, but I don't really know too many people outside the mines anymore.

Okay. Well, not that it's ever okay that someone's going to what's probably their death – especially a twelve-year-old – but at least it's no one I know. Sure, we'll hope for her to come back, just like District Twelve's tributes last year, and the year before that, and the year before. But it's no coincidence that District Twelve was one of the last districts to bring home a Victor after the rebellion. Whether the Capitol has it in for us because of Katniss, or whether we're just scrawny and underfed or maybe just unlucky, District Twelve just doesn't do well in the Games. We never have.

"Rook Anticline."

What?

Without thinking, my gaze flickers to Rhys' section. Maybe he'll volunteer. It's happened before.

Remember how that turned out?

Rhys looks away. Of course he won't volunteer. He knows as well as anyone what that would look like to the Capitol, to the rest of the districts. Katniss volunteered to save her little sister. Anyone else who does that now…

Okay.

I take a step towards the stage. Well, more of a shuffle, really. My feet don't want to move. But I can already see the Peacekeepers heading towards me, ready to step in if I decide to run. But running … No, that's not an option. I have a feeling my legs wouldn't move that fast at the moment even if I wanted to try.

I'm not used to that. I'm used to scrambling through the mines on my hands and knees quicker than some people would be able to walk the same distance. But now my legs simply won't respond. Not for more than a slow shuffle at a time. Little by little. Bit by bit. The crowd is probably getting impatient. I know I would be, if I was watching. But it's all I can do to keep my legs moving at all.

Finally, I can see the steps up to the stage. It's only then that I realize I've been looking down at my feet the whole time. "Damn," I hiss under my breath, trying to stand up a little straighter, trying my best to look taller and stronger. To look like my brother, my parents, my uncle.

To look like someone who might have a chance.

I look up a little, blinking in the sunlight, blinking away a few tears before they can fall. Just get it over with. I hold out my hand to my new district partner. Up close, I can see that she's shaking, just like me. Her brown eyes are wide behind her thick glasses. She's probably just as desperate to get this over with as I am.

She shakes my hand, and that's it. Just like that, the reaping's over, and the pair of us are ushered off the stage. It seems like there should be something … more. Something to help it sink in. But the crowd just starts to evaporate, everyone going their separate ways. Going back to their normal lives.

Everyone except us.

The Peacekeepers lead me to a small room inside the Justice Building. Almost immediately, my family rushes in – my parents, Rhys, Uncle Cliff. Mother's already crying. Everyone else is trying to hold it together, but I can already feel tears in my own eyes. I blink hard, fighting them back.

No one seems to know what to say, but I can't really blame them for that. I'm not sure what I would have said, if Rhys had been the one chosen. And I really don't know what I would have said if he'd actually gone and volunteered for me. Part of me can't help but be grateful that he didn't. That I won't have to blame myself for his death.

I hope he won't blame himself for mine.

I'm going to die.

I try to ignore the thought, but it keeps bouncing right back inside my head as my family hugs me tight. Only a handful of tributes from District Twelve have ever survived the Games, and none as young as me.

"I'm sorry," Rhys whispers, his arms wrapped around me. "I'm so sorry. I—"

I swallow hard. "Don't be. I'll be back. And then you'll never have to work in the mines again. None of you will. We can go live in Victors' Village together, and…"

My voice trails off as I see their faces. My parents are looking at each other. Even Uncle Cliff looks away when I glance over at him. Rhys just holds me closer.

They want to believe me. They're trying so hard to believe what I'm saying. But I know, somewhere deep down, that they don't. And the worst part is that I can't really blame them for that.

I don't believe me, either.

Still, it feels good to say it. To hold onto some sort of hope – even false hope – that I'll see them again, that this isn't really goodbye. I force a smile as the Peacekeepers knock on the door, letting them know their time is up. One last hug, and then they're gone.

Okay.

The next knock on the door catches me by surprise. I wasn't really expecting anyone besides my family, but I manage a smile as Mace hobbles through the door, his crutch under one arm. Mace nods awkwardly back. "Mind if I sit?"

I nod, and he eases himself into a seat next to mine. "You be careful in there, Rook. Some of those kids will be tough – tougher than you. Stronger than you, too."

I hold back a sigh. He's not telling me anything I don't already know. But there's something in his voice. Something he isn't saying.

Something I've always wondered…

"Especially the ones from District Two?" I venture.

I was expecting … something. Some sort of reaction. Surprise, maybe even anger. I'd always figured it was a sensitive topic. Instead, Mace chuckles. "Was it that obvious?"

"Mace isn't exactly a District Twelve name," I point out.

"Fair enough," Mace agrees. "After the smoke cleared from the war, I ended up on a train heading here. Never saw much point in trying to fix their mistake. My family was gone, and one mine's as good as another."

"So you weren't…"

"A Career? Goodness no, Rook, though I'll admit I dreamed about it for a while when I was younger. Most kids in Two did. Still do, I reckon. But I wasn't strong enough, fast enough, or rich enough to get into the academy." He shook his head. "Good thing I didn't, too. I'd have never made it out of the Games."

I look away. If Mace doesn't think he could have won the Games, what chance does someone like me have? But Mace reaches over and grips my shoulder tightly. "Don't you go thinking like that," he scolds. "Don't you give up."

"But I…" I trail off, unsure how that sentence should end. But then all the options come out at once. "I'm not tough. I'm not strong. I'm not fast. I'm not even clever."

"Maybe not," Mace agrees. "But you're the best goblin I've got."

It may have sounded strange, coming from anyone else. But from Mace, there's no higher praise. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and holds out something in his other hand. It's a small scrap of paper – the sort of paper we use to map out the mines. "In case your folks didn't think to bring a token," he offers.

They didn't. They'd had other things on their minds, and so had I. But Mace is always good with the little details that other people might forget. I turn the paper over a few times, but it's blank. "I figured you could write something on it, if you like, or just leave it blank," Mace explains. "Sort of a clean slate, if you will. You get to choose what you want it to be." He gives my shoulder another squeeze. "Remember that, Rook."

"Okay." There isn't much else to say. I stuff the paper in my pocket as the Peacekeepers knock on the door.

Mace hauls himself to his feet, adjusting his crutch under his arm as he turns to me. "I'll see you when you get back, you hear?"

He looks me in the eye when he says it.

None of the others had. They'd wanted to. They'd wanted to believe that they would see me again, but they hadn't wanted me to see the tears in their eyes because they knew I was as good as dead. But Mace … he really thinks I have a chance. He believes it, even if I don't.

I draw myself up as tall as I can. "Maybe you will."

Mace's answering smile could melt solid ice. "That's the spirit, Rook." He gives me a wink as he leaves, and for a moment – just a moment – I wonder if maybe I will see him again. His words keep echoing around in my head as the door shuts behind him. You're the best goblin I've got.

I wonder if that will be enough.

Cadence Farrow, 12
District Twelve Female
Elim9

I know I'm luckier than most.

Well, most in District Twelve, anyway. My family used to own our own plot of land back in District Ten. That's what Ma and Pa say, anyway. They raised cows, and maybe it wasn't the most well-paying job, but they always managed to get by. They were happy. "As happy as anyone could expect to be in Panem." That's what they say when I ask.

Then everything went wrong. The rebellion. The Mockingjay. Suddenly, District Ten wasn't safe anymore. Nowhere was really safe, of course, and a lot of people ended up moving from one place to another, trying to find somewhere that wasn't being bombed or worse. My parents did the same thing. They kept their heads down, moving from place to place, and managed to avoid the worst of the fighting.

Once it was over, of course, everyone wanted to go home. But some people ended up getting shipped off to the wrong place. Pa says that was probably exactly what the Capitol meant to do. A lot of people from Twelve died in the war, so the Capitol shuffled people around a bit.

All of that was before I was born, of course, but District Twelve still doesn't really feel like home. Maybe that's because our family never really bothered trying to fit in. Instead of becoming coal miners like most of the rest of Twelve, they started a butcher shop. Except Twelve doesn't really have cows or pigs, so it's mostly birds. Chickens and turkeys that wandered in from the wild during the war, when Twelve was abandoned, and never quite made their way back where they belong.

Kind of like us.

Still, we're luckier than most, and there's really no sharper a reminder of that than the fact that I didn't really have anything to do this morning. There's no school on Reaping Day, but a lot of kids my age are already down in the mines, scouting out tunnels or hauling loads of supplies back and forth.

But I don't have to. I still go to school full-time, and as long as I keep taking tesserae, I shouldn't have to worry about dropping out for a while. Tesserae – now that's something Ma and Pa had a huge fight about. We needed the money, and I was the one who offered to take out tesserae. Pa said no, but Ma … she understands. She knew how much I wanted to contribute. Sure, I already help out part-time in the butcher shop after school, but this was one more simple thing I could do, and all it costs is … what? Having my name in the reaping bowl three times instead of one.

That was the compromise – three slips. I could technically have taken out more – one slip for me, one for Ma, one for Pa, and one for each of the twins. Along with the one I have because I'm twelve, that would have been six slips. Three … well, that isn't very many at all, compared to what some of the other kids have. And if it means a bit more food on the table, it's worth the risk.

Isn't it?

Anyway, it's not much of a risk. That's what I keep trying to tell myself as I kick our makeshift ball to Reuben. But as much as I try to pretend that everything is normal, even the twins are a bit quieter than they were last year.

Until this year, Reaping Day hasn't really seemed all that bad. Reuben and Graham are only eight, so it'll be a few more years until they're even eligible. So until now, all Reaping Day has really meant is a day off of school, and then worrying briefly about whether one of our classmates' older siblings might be called.

It hasn't happened. I haven't known anyone who was reaped. But this year, it might be any of my classmates.

It might be me.

Three slips…

No. The ball bounces off my foot and directly towards Graham. I have to stop thinking like that. In a few hours, I'm going to be right back here, playing ball with these two, and everything will be fine until next year. Well, not fine, but as good as it's going to get here in Twelve.

Just a few more hours.

There's already a crowd by the time we arrive at the square. No one wants to be late for the reaping, after all. I take my place with the other twelve-year-olds, fiddling with the buttons on my dress. It doesn't fit quite right, but it was cheap – a hand-me-down from one of my classmate's older sisters. Like the glasses I got from a friend of the family. They're not quite right, but they're better than nothing, and they're what we could afford.

I push my glasses up and try to peer over the crowd. When I was smaller, Pa let me sit on his shoulders to see. I stand up a little straighter, almost on the tips of my toes, trying to get a good look as our escort, Septima, joins the mayor onstage. Whose idea was it to have the twelve-year-olds stand at the very back?

At least we can hear her just fine. My fingers fiddle with the end of my braid as she finally, finally nears the reaping bowl. Just one name. One name, and then I can stop worrying. Then everything will be fine, and I can go back home to my family and—

"Cadence Farrow."

My fingers immediately freeze, clutching one of my braids. I rock back onto my heels, trying to regain my balance. Trying to catch my breath. Stumbling a little, I take a step towards the stage. Then a few more. A Peacekeeper appears next to me out of the crowd, as if I was even thinking of running.

I clench my fists tightly, trying to stop the tears that are welling up in my eyes. My little brothers are watching. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.

Okay, I'm not going to cry a lot, I correct myself as a few tears slip out as I step onto the stage. I wipe them away, then look around. Mayor Undersee looks away. Septima quickly turns her attention to the next bowl. Our only Victor, Felicity, gives me a slight nod and then turns her attention back to Septima, who's already drawing a second name.

"Rook Anticline."

The thirteen-year-old section parts around a boy, hunched over and glancing frantically in the direction of the older boys. Who's he looking for? A brother, maybe. Does he really think someone is going to volunteer? Twelve hasn't had any volunteers since Katniss, and that isn't going to change anytime soon.

After a moment, the boy seems to realize the same thing, and begins shuffling towards the stage, staring at his boots – work boots, from the mines. He doesn't look much like a miner, though. The rest of his clothes are baggy, hanging loose around his scrawny limbs. I can hear him mutter something under his breath as he reaches the stage, and he finally straightens up a bit.

He's taller than he looked at first – taller than me, at least, although that's not really saying much. There's coal dust on his olive skin and in his hair. His dark brown eyes are wide and frightened, and his hand is shaking as he holds it out to me.

So is mine.

We shake hands, and the crowd does its best to muster some applause. It's half-hearted, resigned, like so many things in Twelve. It's just enough to let the Capitol know that we're not planning anything stupid. That we've learned our lesson. That we know better than to try anything.

No one tries anything. No one does anything. And no one expects them to – not even me, a twelve-year-old who's just been chosen for the Hunger Games. This isn't a fairy tale. This is real, and no one is just going to step in and save me.

I'll have to save myself.

I manage to hold onto that thought as we're led to the Justice Building. But as soon as my family arrives, I just … can't. It's not fair. It wasn't supposed to be me. It was supposed to be … I don't know. Someone else. Anyone else.

I bury my face in Ma's dress as Pa wraps his arms around both of us. Reuben and Graham wriggle in, trying to get close. Pa is apologizing, and it takes me a moment to even realize what it is that he's apologizing for. "We should never have let you take tesserae. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I knew it wasn't worth it. It's all our fault. We shouldn't have let you—"

I draw a shaky breath, wiping away some of the tears. It hadn't even occurred to me to blame them. It wasn't their fault. It was just bad luck. But I know, looking up into Pa's face, that he'll blame himself. Or maybe he'll blame Ma. And the twins … now they'll be terrified to take tesserae. Without the extra money they could get from that, and without me around to help out in the shop…

"No." The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. "I'm not going to let that happen."

Ma holds me a little tighter. "I'm so sorry, dear. It's already happened. They picked you."

"I know that," I insist. How old does she think I am? Three? I know what happened. I know what could happen in the Games. But I'm not going to let it. "I mean I'm not going to let them kill me. I'm not going to die. I'm coming back."

I can feel Ma's tears on my dress. She doesn't believe me. None of them do. But that's all right. I don't need them to believe me. I just need to believe it myself. As long as I believe that I have a chance, that's what matters.

Isn't it?