District 3

Reed Volt

I stare at the clock on the wall. Tick, tock, tick, tock, over and over again until the minute hand reaches the twelve and the gongs charm one, two, three in the afternoon. In an hour I'll know if I'll survive to next year.

The odds aren't exactly on my side. I'm eighteen now, and I've taken a lot of tesserae. I don't want to know how many times my name is in that bowl.

I do, though. It's forty-two.

I need to be lucky one more time. Just one more time. It's not like I'm the only eighteen-year-old with tesserae.

I call Fabian in for one last meal before we go. It's his first year being eligible for the reaping, and I made sure he didn't have to take any tesserae, so he should be safe. If I make it past this year, I should have enough saved up he'll never have to take any, even when times get hard. The factory pay isn't great, but at least now that I'm eighteen I can work overtime.

Fabian isn't actually my brother, but he may as well be. My sister died in childbirth, and the dad was never really around, so he fell to me. If I get reaped and don't come home, I don't know what will happen to him.

We finish our porridge and I muss his hair. "Don't worry," I tell him as we head out the door. "You'll be fine." I don't believe it myself, but he seems to.

After we take our places with our age groups, a woman with the worst eyeliner I've ever seen and hair that literally looks like a peacock died on her head walks up to the microphone. "Hello, District 3!" she yells, and her Capitol accent grates my ears. "I am Avalon Southering, your escort this year!"

She pauses. I think she's expecting applause, but she doesn't get any.

She starts reading the Dark Days speech, but all I can focus on are the glass bowls holding the ballots. My name swims in there forty-two times, Fabian's once, and that makes forty-three chances for our lives to end within a month.

Her speech is finished, and time seems to slow down as I watch her fingers fish for a slip of paper. She opens it and reads. "Reed Volt!"

Forty-two out of thousands, but of course it's me. Of course.

Aycee Nannor

Reaping day. Not exactly the most fun morning of my life, but at least I don't have school! I pull on my shirt, freshly ironed by Mother, and button it up.

I do hope I'm not called today. But at the same time, I don't think it would be the end of the world. I think I could win.

I find Deek with the other sixteens, and I stand next to her. She grins at me, then starts making fun of the lady on stage. I think she's our escort this year? But Deek is right; she looks absolutely ridiculous.

"Right?" I say, not even bothering to lower my voice. "How many birds had to die for that hat?"

"I think that's her actual hair," Deek giggles back. "Oh, wait, shush. I think it's starting."

I watch as the lady sticks her fingers in the bowl and selects a piece of paper. "Reed Volt," she says, and a boy from the eighteens section reluctantly approaches the stage.

"Damn," Deek says, and she's right. That boy is hot. His biceps are the size of my thigh, well-defined too.

"I sure won't mind cheering him on television," I say.

She gives me a look. "What if you volunteered? Then you could get really up-close and personal with him."

"Deek!" I say, elbowing her. "That's crazy! Only one of us could go home, anyway."

"Chances are it's not him," Deek says. "Which means your chances of winning go up by one."

I'm not sure about her math, but I do think I can win if I go. Still, something about it doesn't feel smart. "No," I reply. "Not happening."

Deek grabs my hand and spins me to face her. "Not even for the hottest guy in District 3?"

"Drop it, Deek," I say.

"No," she replies. "I dare you to volunteer."

That changes things. "Fuck you," I say. "Fine. If it means that much to you, I'll volunteer."

She laughs, and gives me a look. "You don't have to. But he's not coming home, so if you want to spend some time with mister beautiful, it's gotta be in the Games."

"You dared me," I say. "I don't turn down dares."

I haven't backed out of a dare since I was six. And before the lady- I should really learn her name if she's my escort- reads the slip for the girls, my hand is raised and I'm volunteering.

She asks my name and age, and I answer. "Aycee Nannor, sixteen."

I've fucked up. I realize it as soon as I'm on the stage looking at the audience. Reed is just as hot when I'm standing next to him, thankfully, but it hits me then that he might kill me. Like, I want those umber-brown hands around my neck, yeah, but not in that way.

I can't cry. People who cry at the reaping don't get sponsors, and I'm going to need them. Fuck, I'm so dead. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

I don't cry.

Reed Volt

We have an hour to meet with family and friends, but the only person who comes to see me is Fabian. I hug him closely and I don't let go until he squirms away, complaining he can't breathe. In all likelihood, this is the last time I will ever see him. I'm not sure he realizes that yet.

I don't bring a token with me onto the train. There's nothing we can spare from home, anyway, and I don't see the point in hanging on to a reminder of a world you will never see again. When I enter the area, I will need to be focused, have the Games be my entire life. Plus, I don't want another reminder of my death to be sent back home to Fabian along with my body.

It's not certain I'll die. I'm going to do my best. I'm fast and strong, and I'll definitely have a height advantage on most of the others as well. But I know the odds. Twenty-three people aren't making it back. And I have to try, because Fabian needs me. I don't want him to go to the Community Home, but nobody else will take care of him. I mean, I'm going to my death, and none of my so-called friends have come to say goodbye.

I don't really blame them, though. It's easier to start distancing yourself now, instead of still feeling close to me when you see me get brutally hacked to death on live television.

Aycee Nannor

Mother tries to cheer me up when we meet before the train comes. She hands me her earrings- her own mother's, she says- and tries to look brave for me. "You'll come home," she says with so much conviction I almost believe her.

"I'll do my best," I say, and blink back the tears until the train door has shut behind me. I've messed up so badly. I've basically committed suicide, and for a dare. A fucking dare.

And on top of it all, Reed hasn't even looked at me yet. I'm totally irrelevant to him, even though I'm his district partner and his best shot at an ally.

He doesn't care, the sponsors don't care, and I doubt even Deek cares. I hate her.

It's not like that matters anymore, though.

District 4

Rustle Hawkmeer

When Brine won two years ago, he made it very clear that under no circumstances was I to volunteer for the Games. I don't need any convincing. My brother regrets doing it every day. He never says as much to me, but I see it in the lines on his face, in the way he stares out the window for hours at a time and doesn't say a word.

He comes with me and leads me to the seventeens section while he joins the eighteens. He doesn't have to- victors are exempt from the reaping- but last year he told me he felt out of place being so young and standing with the adults and little kids.

Pellet is our escort again. He was when Brine volunteered, and he has been for I-don't-know-how-many years before that, too. He's not the worst escort, I guess. He dresses like a drowned cat and he talks way too slowly, but at least Brine says he's nice enough to the tributes. More than some escorts can say.

And then he pulls my name out of the reaping bowl. "Rustle Hawkmeer," he says, and the world crashes down around me.

I wait before heading forwards- people volunteer often enough around here- but nobody makes a move. I will not be replaced. I am in the Games.

I take a deep breath and step onto the stage. Brine won, so I can too. District 4 has had plenty of victors. I've gutted fish before, and a person is just like a bigger fish, right? The whole arena is just full of evil fish I have to catch and dispose of before they pull me in and drown me.

Maybe I can do this.

Lemrey Cuttle

Cassidy is three now, and she doesn't really understand the Games. She also doesn't talk much, so I'm all too happy to explain my plans to her. "Your sister is gonna volunteer today," I tell her while I help her get dressed. She has the same blonde hair as I do, long and straight with blunt bangs, and I brush it slowly and deliberately. She's a lot like me. I wonder if she'll volunteer one day, too.

I'm not afraid of dying. I am afraid of looking weak. Volunteering is simply the natural extension of that. And now that I'm fifteen, I'm old enough to have a shot. Everyone knows that the younger you volunteer, the more impressive it is when you win. Last year I almost did, but Iris Pave beat me to it. God, I was so pissed about it that I was almost happy when the girl from 11 ripped her jaw off.

I'm better than her. I wouldn't've died. I won't die.

In the square, Pellet is reading the Dark Days speech. Blah blah, rebellion is bad. No need to tell me.

He picks some boy, the brother of our last winner. He's boring, but looks capable enough to join the Career alliance. Perfect. Strong enough to be of help, but easy enough to dispatch at the end. His age doesn't matter. I'm certain I'm stronger than him.

And then I volunteer. "Lemrey Cuttle," I tell Pellet, and he beams at me with his Capitol-fake smile. "I'm fifteen, and I think I'm fifteen times more likely to win these games than anybody else!"

"Ooh, a confident one," Pellet croons, and the crowd goes wild. They remember how awesome it was for 4 when Brine won. They want another winner, and I won't let them down.

Rustle Hawkmeer

Brine is the first person I talk to before the train arrives. "Here," he says plainly, and holds out his hand.

I put mine out, and he drops a shell into it. "What's this?"

"My token," he replies. "From when I won."

I remember now. I remember how he scrubbed at it for hours when he got home, trying fervently to get the blood out of the little striations but never quite able to fully clean it. I can still see some if I look closely. It looks like rust if you don't know, but shells don't rust.

"Kill," Brine says suddenly, and I look up from the shell. "Get in with the Careers. Kill the moment you see someone not in your alliance. And don't fully trust your alliance, either."

My face is blank as I look deeply into his eyes. They've always seemed more haunted since he returned. And I suspect mine will look much the same if I return. I try not to focus too hard on that if.

Lemrey Cuttle

My parents hug me. I don't think they expected me to volunteer, but they don't mention it. Cassidy grabs my leg, and I gently brush her off. "Don't worry," I say. "I'll see you again soon." And I mean it. I have every intention of returning. Hell, I'm already imagining what my house in Victor's Village will look like.

Rustle doesn't look as pleased as I do. "Hey," I say, and approach him after the train leaves the station. "Didn't your brother win a couple years ago?"

"Yeah," he says, and turns away.

I step in front of him. "So? I'm sure he had some tips for you, right?"

He glares at me and doesn't say anything.

"Oh come on," I say. "We're careers. We're allies. Start treating me like one, or I'll tell 1 and 2 to leave you out of the group."

He sighs. "He told me to be ruthless, to kill everyone who isn't an ally. Happy?"

"Thanks," I say. That was no use. It's literally the most intuitive part of the Games. I get the feeling Rustle won't last long if he didn't know that.