Hello! Second batch of tribute introductions! I went back and added the character ages to the initial tribute list in Chapter 3 for reference.

ELIANA SCHAEFER, DISTRICT ONE FEMALE

I step into the main sparring room of the Platinum Training Academy, where rows of chairs have been set up on the floor. All the other trainees mill about and make small talk with each other, but I make my way to the last row of chairs and grab a seat, stretching my arms back to rest on the back of the chairs on either side. This doesn't feel like a great time to start conversations with all the other eighteen-year-olds in training.

Silve Lebedev, one of our District one Victors and the founder of our training school, stands off to one side of the room. I want to go up to her and discreetly ask why all the trainees have been summoned for a conference the day before the Reapings, but as I watch, someone else goes up to her and she waves him away. It's a no go, I guess. She'll answer questions when she's ready.

And, honestly, it's not like I really want to draw a lot of attention to myself in this room. It's been a long time since I was around this many of my peers. I'm keenly, painfully aware of Adrienne's presence on the other side of the room, and her brother along with her. Yeah. Best to keep my head down.

I occupy myself with glancing around at the room, seeing how they've pushed all the weapons racks and training dummies to the side to make way for the rows of chairs. Despite everything that's happened in this room, I've come to see the Academy as a second home. Maybe this meeting would be a good opportunity to talk to Silve and the other trainers about starting to work here after the Reapings. I'm not dead set on volunteering, but since I quit school ages ago and lost my job after the incident I do want to keep working around trainees. I'm here every single day, I'm sure they could use me as a trainer. Yeah, after this meeting I'll see if I can finally talk to someone about applying for a job.

Finally, I snap back to attention as Silve steps up to a lectern at the front of the room and everyone else rushes to find a seat. "Hello, all you lovely Platinum Academy trainees!" she chirps, "and thank you so much for coming to this meeting on such short notice!"

A small cheer goes up from some of the younger trainees. I'm not quite sure why, but you do you, kids.

Silve laughs, a musical sound. "Thank you! I love the enthusiasm. Now, we have quite a serious topic of conversation today. A few days ago I met with the founders of all the training academies in One. We recently got news that in District Two, the trainers are nominating their students to volunteer. Instead of having a competition to reach the stage, their volunteers are pre-selected in order to provide the district with the best chances of winning. We here in One agreed that that's a good practice and have decided to do the same. So, from all of you, I need a promise that, if not selected, you will not rush the stage for any reason."

A wave of dissatisfied grumbling and curious mutters washes over the group of trainees. I lean forward in my seat, curious. So, they're hand picking the volunteers now? On one hand, that makes sense. The district as a whole will have a better shot at victory if they can guarantee the strongest volunteers get up to the stage instead of just the fastest. On the other… imagine desperately wanting to volunteer and not being selected. That kind of failure would haunt me for years.

Silve frowns as the whispers refuse to subside. "I need all of you to agree to this protocol. Right hands up, repeat after me. I promise-"

"I promise," comes the sullen group response.

"-to respect the choices of the Head Trainers and only volunteer if chosen to do so."

The chorus of promises echoes back, and Silve is satisfied. "Wonderful! Now, I have good news for everyone in this room. As you know, Platinum Academy offers the highest number of training scholarships in the district, thanks to my generosity as a District One Victor."

I'm well aware of the scholarships. I owe my entire training career to that program. There's no way I would be in this room right now if it were up to my parents to pay for training. Most of the reason I'm still here is to make them proud.

"And, I'm proud to announce," Silve continues, "that not one, but both of this year's volunteers have been selected from the students here, among all the training groups in the district!"

Damn! I find myself cheering along with everyone else in the room. That's incredible! I'm not sure how many training students there are in the district, but to have two from the same academy volunteer is a major accomplishment. Silve must be proud.

It would be even more special to work here, with a reputation like that. I would be proud to work at a training academy that consistently produces top volunteers. And, after this Reaping, Adrienne and her brother won't be around anymore, so I could relax a little.

"And, without further ado, our volunteers: Eliana Schaefer for the girls, and Andros Valier for the boys!"

Excuse me?

Me?

I sit in shock as the room erupts in applause and hollers. I hadn't even considered that I might be chosen. In my head, I'm still the seventeen-year-old who couldn't keep up, who almost got kicked out, who couldn't control anything in her life. In my head I'm still just the failure I was a year ago.

"Will the both of you come on up here, please?" Automatically I rise to my feet and make my way to the front of the room. Andros, who was sitting in the middle of the room, beats me to the podium by a narrow margin, and while he's shaking Silve's hand I have a moment to look around. By force of habit I pinpoint Adrienne. She's refusing to even look at me. Fair enough.

Silve shakes my hand, and I stand next to Andros uncomfortably. We've taken some training classes together, and I know the guy's a beast, but we aren't close. He's a chill dude, though. Maybe he doesn't know the full extent of last year's incident.

"These two tributes have been selected for their dedication and skill. When we selected Eliana, I spoke highly of her dedication to training and her deep ambition."

I don't even hear what Silve says about Andros as I retreat inside myself. My dedication… I've essentially been training full time for the last year, since I have nothing else to do. Nothing else motivates me. There's no other productive use of my time.

Is that what it takes to win the Games? That dedication and fear of failure? I hadn't really considered volunteering a viable option, but if all the trainers see that I have what it takes… maybe they're right.

I already know I'm capable of the violence.

Maybe what they see in me is correct, and training means something deeper than a simple distraction from myself. Maybe this is the best way to show everyone- and myself- that I'm worth something again. Maybe this is a calling of sorts.

"Eliana and Andros, do you accept this offer of volunteering?"

I don't hesitate to respond. "Yes."

CALANDRA BELMONT, DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE

With my eyes closed, I can feel the breeze toying with my hair. It smells faintly of honeysuckle, and I take a deep breath, inhaling all the scent I can. It'll be humid and warm in the middle of the day, but for now it's cool and dewy.

Wait… what time is it? I jerk fully awake and open my eyes to a pitch-black sky. As I start to take in my surroundings, I realize I'm sitting on crumbly, rocky earth. What am I doing outside in the middle of the night?

My eyes start to adjust to the dark and I look around. Trees, gently sloping hill, stars in the night sky. Stars as far as the eye can see, and even the Milky Way is visible. The sky is so big and deep that I feel like I could float away and fall into nothingness. There are no lights on the horizon. The district is asleep.

A rustle next to me brings me back to reality. "Adalyna!" I hiss, prodding my best friend.

"Hmm?" she blearily murmurs, uncurling from her sleepy fetal position and turning to look at me.

"We fell asleep out here. It's the middle of the night!"

"Wha- huh? Why? Where are we?" She rubs the grogginess from her eyes and sits up.

I giggle. "We're in the orchard. Remember, last night we came out here to drink our mint tea and talk before I went home for the night? We must have stayed up too late and fallen asleep."

Adalyna reaches for her empty cup, discarded in the dirt after its contents were drained hours ago. "Oh. Right. Yeah."

"Look at the stars. Aren't they pretty?"

Adalyna peers up at the sky with me, and for a second the world comes to a stop with hushed wonder. I briefly imagine that we can feel the turning of the Earth on its axis. The stillness is broken when Adalyna breaks into a huge yawn.

"I think we should probably go back inside. I'm worried that my parents won't know what happened to us after I didn't come back last night."

"Can I come with you? I'll go home at dawn, but I don't want to wake my parents up in the middle of the night. They need their rest after working in the fields all day."

"Of course! You know you don't even need to ask, Cal. You're my best friend and basically another daughter to my parents."

I grin as I stand up and brush the dirt from my legs. "I know, but I like asking just to be sure." Adalyna smiles as she breaks into another yawn, and I pick up my teacup. "Ready to head in?"

We make our way down the hill towards Adalyna's house, dodging orchard trees left and right. In the dark it's hard to see the path that leads out of the rows of trees, but we both know instinctually where to go. We've spent years playing around this hill and these trees, and I could probably find Adalyna's house barefoot and blindfolded if I had to. This isn't even the first night we've accidentally fallen asleep outside at night. I think I'm just lucky I didn't fall asleep in a tree and wake up as I rolled off a branch and fell to the ground.

The house is completely dark when we make our way up to the door, and Adalyna unlocks it carefully, opening the door slowly to keep it from squeaking.

"No one's awake," she whispers, "My parents must have gone to sleep not long after we went outside."

"Good, that means they won't have worried about us."

"Could you imagine what would have happened if we slept all night outside and they woke up to us missing? We could have scared them to death!"

"Where would we have gone? To my house? Nothing's out there to worry about except mosquitoes at this time of year."

Adalyna giggles. "You're right, I suppose. Anyway, we're back now!"

"Shh! Not too loud!" At my protest, she rolls her eyes and squeezes my hand. We creep through the house towards Adalyna's room, and she grabs an extra pillow from her closet for me.

As she starts to crawl into bed, she makes a small noise of displeasure. "I'm so dusty from the ground outside, and now it'll get all in my bed!"

I stifle a laugh. "Isn't it close enough to laundry day anyway? It's the middle of the night, let's just go back to sleep as quickly as possible." Adalyna whacks me with the pillow and before I know it we're both in silent giggle fits. I tackle her onto the bed and she lands with a whoomph and a cloud of dust from her clothes.

"Calandra!" she cries, and the sudden loudness of her voice shocks us both into more laughter. I bury my face in the pillow to keep from waking the rest of the house.

Finally, we recover and crawl fully into bed. Adalyna curls up next to the wall, and I lay towards the outer edge of the bed so I can look out the window at the sky. This has been our arrangement for every sleepover since we became friends.

I turn partway towards Adalyna. "Thanks again for letting me spend the rest of the night here."

"Of course," she replies drowsily. I look out at the stars again as her breath slows and steadies- within a minute, she's asleep again.

My mind starts racing, and I know there's no way I'll get back to sleep as quickly as my friend. Once I've woken up, I'm awake for better or worse. I try to monitor my breath, to keep it deep and slow and relaxed, but my thoughts wander. How long til dawn? When should I go home? Will I wake up and see the sunrise out of Adalyna's window? Will her parents laugh when they see that I'm still here? At what point in the morning do the lights of Eleven turn back on and block out the stars?

It looks like I'll be lying here awhile.

ALTHEA BIACHI, DISTRICT THREE FEMALE

I wake up craving scones. Why me? Why today? I pull my pillow over my face and groan into it.

First of all, my family's personal trainer would never allow me to eat pastry for breakfast. If I'm lucky, today I'll walk downstairs and be served egg whites, yogurt, and fresh fruit. A sausage would be miraculous.

Secondly, the last time I craved scones this badly was the last time I was pregnant. There's no way I could be knocked up again… I don't think.

I simply do not have the time to consider that option at the moment. Today's Reaping Day, and if I don't look perfect, I'm going to get yet another lecture from hell.

I pull my duvet cover over me and pretend for a moment that I'm a caterpillar in a cocoon, but judging by the position of the sunlight in my room, I've already overslept.

"Fuck me," I mutter, reluctantly throwing off my covers and swinging my legs out of bed. I'd literally kill someone for a scone right now. I'd commit arson for some raspberry jam to go with it.

I finally muster the motivation to stand up, and I glance at myself in the full-length mirror before I make any decisions about what to wear today. Same body as always, I guess. Toned, morning-skinny, good curves. I certainly look too slim to be pregnant. Good.

Pastels might look good today. It's only early summer, but I already have a reasonable tan going. I march over to my wardrobe and dig through my clothes. Here's a white skirt that would look nice and my parents would approve of it for public events… and maybe that light blue top with it?

No. That shirt has short sleeves. I don't want to slather my arms in concealer today if I have to be outside with all the other teenagers in Three. I'm so glad this is my last Reaping ceremony… after this, there's nothing left tying me to childhood. Maybe I'll actually be able to wriggle out from my parents' strict house rules. They can't stop me from getting my own place, even.

I select a flowy, dusty pink blouse with long sleeves to go with the skirt. I'd rather be wearing my pajamas, or party clothes, or nothing at all, but if I have to make a public appearance as the youngest Biachi child I had better look the part. I'm as tired of getting the 'Althea, you have to represent our family' lecture as I'm sure my parents are of giving it to me.

I slip into the outfit and then step over to my dresser. I cringe at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My complexion isn't the best right now, and I'm getting a fresh breakout from my makeup.

I wouldn't have to wear so much if nobody cared about what I look like. I don't see the girls at the speakeasy parties wearing makeup like me unless they're prostitutes.

Then again, am I really that different? I certainly don't always act like there's a difference. If there's money involved, or anything to gain really, why not take off my clothes?

I lean in towards the mirror, examining the pores on my nose, the bags under my eyes, and the bruises around my throat. Ugh. Some people just don't know when to stop. Some of these are from my trainer working with me on escaping chokeholds, and some… are from that man a few nights ago. I'm not complaining about the events of the night, just about the lingering reminders.

I grab my red powder and work it into the marks, blending until the tone evens out. Then I take the green and start furiously color-correcting all the imperfections on my face and throat.

Why does makeup take so damn long? I could get an extra half-hour of sleep if I didn't need to beat my face to model-level appearance.

I get sloppy with the concealer, dabbing it on all the marks and acne I can see. Sure, I miss some of the smaller spots, but if I use enough foundation they'll be covered anyway. And if I do a bold enough lip, I can distract everyone from a complexion that maybe still has a few splotches. Besides, I know enough men around the district who enjoy looking at my lips anyway. Or just, you know, not at my face at all.

So it goes.

After I finally finish my face, I drag a brush through my honey-blonde hair. It falls in perfect waves, thank goodness, and I don't have to worry about styling it much further than that. Not like I really want to anyway. I just want a damn scone.

I slip on a pair of wedge heels, elevating my already tall height to something completely Amazonian. Good to have a little morale boost, I guess. Reaping Days are always miserable all around. Some sorry poor kid gets picked for a death match, my parents are on my ass about being a perfect model child in front of the district even though the attention isn't even on me for once, and all the general stress.

When I get downstairs, I'm met by the personal trainer. "A special treat for your last Reaping Day!"

"Ugh, what is it? A single piece of bacon?"

"A smoothie to go with your egg whites! Berry flavored, with extra protein!"

I manage a small smile. "Thanks. Is there a straw? I don't want to ruin my lipstick."

"Althea!" My mother's greeting isn't friendly, it's a command. I obediently walk over to where she's seated in the front room and present myself for examination. She peers at me, carefully scrutinizing my clothes and makeup.

"Am I presentable?"

"That'll do. Nothing's a problem. Make sure to add a nice necklace before you leave the house, though."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

My father latches onto my tone immediately. "Young lady, don't speak to your mother that way. As a child of the Biachi family, you need to-"

"To represent the business brand and estate to the utmost standard, I fucking get it! I just want to drink my smoothie before I put on jewelry, is that acceptable for you?"

"Apologize first."

"Fine. I'm sorry." I roll my eyes again, making it as clear as possible that I am not, in fact, sorry. I turn around sharply and stride back to the kitchen.

"Here's your smoothie!"

"Thanks." I snatch the glass and head back up to my room. I'd rather finish my breakfast alone.

SHARIF NAFTI, DISTRICT EIGHT MALE

"I knew I'd find you here, silly!"

I flinch out of my reverie as Amira waves at me from the base of the old watchtower. I wave back and give her a small smile. I wanted to be alone this morning, so I could just think and relax and breathe a bit without anyone around, but it's fine that Amira's here. It feels good that she sought me out to spend time with me. If it was anyone else, I might be annoyed, but I'm glad to see her.

"Well? Can I come up and join you?"

"Of course." I watch as she makes her way up the ladder and plops down next to me in front of the long-broken window of the watchtower.

"I figured you'd be up here this morning. I went to your house to ask if you wanted to get breakfast before the Reaping, but your parents said you weren't home. This was the only option."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "You know me. Predictable. Out of the way."

"How long have you been here, Sharif?"

"Since sunrise." I had a difficult time sleeping last night, and when the sky started to lighten I knew I wanted a good vantage point for the sun coming up. Not that I particularly care about the sun itself, but it was calming to just exist. Myself, the sun, and the city just starting to awake nearby.

"Nice." Amira leans back, resting her elbows on the cement floor, and we sit in comfortable silence for a minute.

I liked being alone, but it feels good to have Amira join me. Funny how friendship does that. I let myself relish the fact that she searched for me. It shows how much she really does care.

I inhale deeply and sigh through my nose, trying to release the tension in my chest. I don't know if it's Reaping Day or Amira's presence or both, but I'm nervous.

"What's up?" Amira asks. She must have noticed.

"It's nothing. Just… you know."

She nods. "Reaping Day." She's right, of course, but it's more than that. Not that I plan on telling her so.

We sit for another few minutes, listening to the distant bustle of the city preparing for the day. My parents are out there somewhere, hopefully enjoying their day off. As much as they can, anyway.

"I'm scared," Amira admits, and I glance over at her.

"Yeah."

"It's just… what if, you know?"

"We're eighteen. This is the last day we have to sit through the ceremony. Statistically, we're unlikely to be selected."

"I know, Sharif, but what if? Someone has to be chosen."

The anxiety knits itself into a tight ball in my stomach. "I know. I'm scared too, just trying to think logically about it to talk myself down."

Amira smiles nervously and elbows me lightly in the side. "You could have said that, you goon. It's easier to talk when you tell me how you feel upfront and I don't have to guess from your fantastically expressive face."

I smile and glance away from her, trying not to be embarrassed. "Aw, come on."

"I'm just teasing! And trying to cheer you up."

"I know. Thank you."

"Can we keep talking about it though?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Because honestly, I'm really scared. Like, I don't think I've been this scared in any of the previous years."

I frown and look at Amira. "Why? What's changed? Is something wrong?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I think it's just because this is the last year and if I make it through, it's finally over. But if I get chosen… I'll have made it through years twelve to seventeen only to get stuck in it now."

I sigh. "Makes sense. I'm there with you. It's like running a really long race, and you've made it this far and the finish line is in sight, but you don't know if you'll be able to jump the last hurdle."

"And it just sucks, you know? 'Cause there's nothing we can do to affect the outcome, and even if it's not me or you, it's some other kid who'll be sent to their death."

"If I focus too hard on the inevitable death of twenty three teenagers, I just shut down. Like, I have to focus on the fact that it's not me and be grateful for that, otherwise it's just too much. It might be horrible, but I just try to focus on myself because I can't change anything else in life. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it really does. That's smart. A little sad, sure, but probably important." Our conversation trails off briefly, and I take a deep breath. The sun beats through the broken window of the watchtower and warms my face and arms. It's nice, but it'll probably be blazing by the time we get to the ceremony. "Hey, Sharif?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you plan to do after the Reaping?"

"No plans for the afternoon, why?" My heart beats a little faster.

"I mean, like, what do you plan to do with your adult self?"

I lean back, letting myself sprawl on the cement floor. "I don't know, start working full time in the textile factory with my parents. That's the only real plan."

"That's boring."

"It's realistic," I counter, "and I'm not exactly going to find a better opportunity."

Amira smiles at me. "Typical solemn Sharif."

MALEK TREVELIAN, DISTRICT SEVEN MALE

"Rania? Dell? Are you guys up and dressed?" I call down the hall to my youngest siblings. I can hear faint laughter from their room, and suddenly Rania bursts through the door in a giggle fit. She's wearing overalls and mismatched socks, and her hair is still a rat's nest. "I can see that you're not quite ready for the day."

"Malek!" She hurtles down the hall and takes a flying leap at me, and I nearly collapse as she clings to me like a monkey.

"Oof! Watch out, you nearly took me down!"

She gives me a goofy grin. "You're basically a grownup, you can still pick me up sometimes!"

I chuckle and try to get my breath back. "I'm only five years older than you, and you're getting tall. You're basically grown-up-sized yourself now."

"Is it time to go?" Dell pops out of the room fully dressed and ready to head to the town center.

"Yeah, buddy, just about. I'm going to walk with Maven and Rania to the teenager check in point, and you and Mom will probably come a little later, all right?"

"I'd rather walk with you," my little brother pouts, shuffling down the hall and giving me a hug. He's nothing like his usual rambunctious self.

"I know, my man. But enjoy it while you can- next year, you'll be twelve and you'll go in with Maven and Rania. You have nothing to worry about this year. Just do your best to keep Mom happy, okay?"

"I know."

Rania crosses her arms. "I have nothing to worry about either, right?"

"Right, Rania. If you're chosen, Maven would be willing to volunteer for you." I wish that Dell was a few years older or I was a little younger. Maven can protect our younger sister if she's Reaped, but I'll age out of the system just as Dell enters it. If he's chosen in the years to come, I won't be able to save him at all.

"But what if you or Maven is chosen?" Dell worries.

"Then we'd do our best to come home. But that's not likely. There are plenty of people whose names are in there more than us." I try not to think too hard about the tesserae I've had to take out since Dad got arrested and we lost everything. I don't actually know how many times my name is in that bowl today.

Their curiosity sated, Rania and Dell stampede to the kitchen to forage for breakfast. I slip past my mother and Maven, who are discussing something over coffee, and sit on the front stoop. A moment to myself. A moment to relax.

All too soon, Maven and Rania exit the house, ready to head to the ceremony. Well, it's not really too soon. I love my sisters more than words can say, and time spent with them is good time. Especially when Mother isn't close by.

"Mom would not stop talking about business strategy to me this morning," Maven groans as we start our walk. Rania bounds ahead of us, poking down street alleys to explore. Oh, to be uninterested in the family affairs. I'm almost jealous.

"Oh really? She's fully grooming you to be the next version of her and Dad?"

Maven rolls her eyes. She knows I'm teasing- fortunately, she's nothing like our parents except for the thick skin and business-savvy head on her shoulders. "She wants me to start building a brand for myself so I can start restoring the family name or whatever."

"I'm sorry. You're only sixteen, the least she could do is wait a few years."

"Well, it would be your problem instead of mine if you had been willing to take it on."

I wince. "Got me there."

Maven pats my shoulder. "It's okay. I really don't mind. It's nice to have a career set up for me, even if I do have to deal with the fallout of Dad getting caught. I mean, deal with it in a different way than we all do."

"I really am proud of you." It's true. Maven is smart and disciplined, and she can hold her own against our parents. Something I never was able to learn.

"Thanks. I love you, Malek." She jostles me a little and we share a smile.

"You too, Mave." We walk in silence the rest of the way to the town center, where we join the line to check in. "You remember what to do from last year, Rania?"

"Got it!" she chirps.

After our names are checked off the list, I bid my sisters goodbye for now. I hate that they group us by age and gender. It's not like I want to spend a ton of time with the boys in my group. I shove my hands into my pockets and try to slip into the edge of the eighteens section without drawing attention to myself. I see Martell joking around with some other of my old friends, and I let my gaze linger for a few moments. He looks like he's having a good time and doing well for himself. Of course, since he's still as wealthy as ever, he's not really at any risk of failure.

I miss him and the rest of the boys.

"Malek! Malek!"

I turn around and find myself face to face with Sanna, who's standing just outside the cordons for my section. What a relief. "How are you doing?"

She pulls a face. "I mean, as well as anyone can be on Reaping Day. What about you? I saw you looking over at those guys again."

I break into a grin. Sanna sees right through me and honestly, I'm grateful for it. "Same as usual. Missing the past. Seeing former friends never helps."

She subtly raises her middle finger in the direction of Martell and his friends, and I can't help but laugh at her antics. Then she reaches up and cups my face in her hands. "Malek, you're better than them and you had better take my word for that. I'm your friend, right?"

"Through thick and thin!" Truly, she's been the only one aside from my siblings who I've been able to fully trust. The only one who's made time to listen to me and never ditched me for someone more profitable.

"Exactly! And as your friend, I'm telling you that they don't matter. Especially not today. I have to go stand across the aisle, but I'll stick as close to you as possible, all right?"

Sanna never fails to cheer me up. I hug her tightly and then watch as she joins the rest of the girls. She turns back to me and gives me a thumbs up, to which I respond in kind.

The escort for District Seven taps the microphone. "Welcome to the Reaping Ceremony for the 21st Annual Hunger Games!"

One last time.

GARETH ABRELL, DISTRICT TWELVE MALE

The Peacekeeper at the check in station drops his list of names as he marks off the boy in front of me in line. I bend down to pick up the list and return it to the man. "Here you go."

He stares up at me for a second before nodding and accepting his tablet back. "Name?"

"Gareth Abrell. Fifteen. Should be at the top of the fifteens section."

"Yes, there you are. Please proceed to your roped-off section." He checks off my name and I step into the town square. It's bustling and busy, full of nervous teenagers huddled with their friends, and equally anxious family members and citizens.

Careful to not bump into anyone or cut off any conversations, I make my way to my section and easily step over the rope to take my place. I loom nearly head and shoulders above anyone else eligible for Reaping, and I feel like a target standing out in the open. Inevitably, I'll hear someone mention my height or how much I stand out in the crowd. I just hope that today, it'll be a casual remark to a friend not knowing I'm within earshot, and not a taunt meant for me to hear. To distract myself, I try to find my mom and older brother in the crowd, but they're lost somewhere in the jumble of people.

I position myself at the back of the fifteen-year old section, to keep from blocking the view of too many people, and stick my hands in my pockets. My pants are too short again. I'll have to ask Mom to make new ones- these have no more hem to let out.

The mayor of the district steps forward to read the Treaty of Treason, like always. The sullen mood hangs over the crowd like a stench. Twelve has no Victors. Only the Mayor and our Capitol escort Livia occupy the stage.

Livia steps forward, wearing her signature sky-high purple heels. Her skin is the same lime green as ever, and I still can't tell if it's makeup, tattoo, or something else.

"Hello, hello, hello, District Twelve! I can feel it! This is our year!"

The crowd rustles unhappily, and I pick up on quiet, bitter comments from the boys around me.

She's somehow still happy that Sorrel got 4th last year instead of dying in the bloodbath.
How can she bet on us like that?
I can't believe she says 'our year' like she's one of us.

I don't particularly like Livia, but I don't think she means harm. In her own, weird Capitol way, she wants the best for Twelve. I want our tributes to come home, too. Everyone does. I think it's nice that even Livia agrees even though she was assigned to us from the Capitol.

"Welcome to the Reaping Ceremony for the 21st Annual Hunger Games! As always, let's begin with the ladies." She totters to the first bowl and dips her hand in, snatching up a slip of paper. "And our tribute is… Willow Jamison!"

"I VOLUNTEER! THAT'S MY SISTER! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" A girl from the sixteen-year-old section bursts into the aisle, blonde hair whipping about wildly as she rushes down the aisle. Her eyes… did they just flash purple?

The murmur of the crowd intensifies, but now it's eager and shocked.

A volunteer from Twelve? What is going on?

The girl reaches the stage and Livia, thrilled, offers her the microphone.

"My name is Mary Sue Jamison and I volunteer as tribute in place of my baby twelve-year-old sister Willow!"

Huh. She seems so noble. It's funny, I've never heard of Mary Sue or Willow, and I thought I knew most of the teenagers in the District. I've gotten so used to keeping an eye out for everyone around me, to protect myself and figure out who's saying what.

Mary Sue holds her head high on the stage, and the crowd breaks into scattered applause. I clap too. She's saving her sister's life, and she's ready to sacrifice herself for family. If I had a little brother, I like to think I might do the same.

"What an exciting day! A volunteer for Twelve! Now let's select our other tribute." Livia practically skips to the other bowl. "And the name is… Gareth Abrell!"

My own name rings in my ears like a nightmare, echoing and burrowing into my brain.

No. I can't. I can't-how? Not me, I can't go up there. Everyone's watching, everyone's looking, everyone's whispering. I've heard people talk behind my back my whole life, now the whole district- I hear the gasps, the hushed whispers, the eyes finding me easily in the crowd.

I take a shaky step out of my section and try to still the quivering in my hands. The mutters and gossiping in the crowd feels like a smack to the face, and I can feel the beginnings of a deep migraine. As I stumble down the aisle, a wave of nausea overtakes me and the edges of my vision begin to throb.

Hold it together. First impressions matter. Keenly aware of my oversized body, I try to ignore the growing pain in my temples and keep my face calm. I clamber up the stairs, and in a moment of temporary hyper-focus I'm glad to discover that Livia is taller than me in her massive heels.

I zero in on someone sobbing in the crowd. Mom.

My head begins to pound in time to her cries and I'm barely aware of the microphone that Livia holds up to my mouth. I can't say anything. If she asked a question, I don't know what it could have been.

Mary Sue takes my hand and shakes it, but I don't even have the focus to return the gesture. How rude of me, some part of my brain thinks, but the rest of my mind is preoccupied.

I'm going to the Hunger Games. I'm going to be taken to the Hunger Games. I'm- ow.

A stabbing pain in my head makes me bury my face in my hands. I don't care about first impressions anymore, I just want to be off this stage and sitting down somewhere dark. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

I can't stop shaking. The taste of bile rises in my throat, and I force myself to swallow it down. The whole district is watching, but there's nothing I can do to stop any of this. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing.

And there you have it! I'm having a lot of fun getting back into writing prose and emotional narrative after writing nothing but academic essays and plays for five years! I'm also really happy with my plan to give each tribute 3 POVs before the Games, so I don't feel the need to info dump as much about backstories, etc. It's a relief!

Do people like having questions to answer in reviews? Here, have some questions!

What do you think about Eliana, Calandra, Althea, Sharif, Malek, and Gareth?

What got you into Hunger Games and SYOTs in the first place?

Hope to hear from all of you, stay safe and have a lovely day.