Hey everyone! Thanks for waiting an extra week for this chapter. My cat had kittens this week which was very distracting (and cute)! Also my work schedule has been crazy. Anyway let's get on with these two wonderful tributes.

Router Rowe (13)- D3M

The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as I approach the wealthiest neighborhood in Three. The guard of the gated community looks up from his book as I slow to a halt in front of him. He opens the gate without a word, and I silently hand him a newspaper from my bag which he takes it with a quiet 'thank you' before returning to his book. This neighborhood is full of actual houses rather than tenement buildings, each with their own small yard and flowers in the garden. Even a car or two. Wealth beyond the wildest dreams of everyone else in Three.

I always try to finish this part of my route as quickly as possible. I sprint through the entire street, tossing papers and letters as I go. I've practically memorized each address by now, so I know where they all go. The letters land on soft grass and ferns, some of the only places of greenery in Three. It only takes me ten minutes or so to finish my lap around the neighborhood before I leave the way I came, waving at the guard as I pass.

My route is almost over. The other postal carriers likely won't be finished for another hour or so, but I'm the fastest at the postal office here in Three. I'm also the youngest delivery person employed there, but I don't like to brag. My numbers speak for themselves.

The last part of my route consists mostly of tall buildings filled with apartments. I run up at least eight flights of stairs per each tenement, but I relish in the strain in my legs, the sharp breaths that fill my lungs with early morning air. I could use the elevator, but running is the best part of being a mail courier. It's always been my favorite hobby and form of stress relief.

Of course, seeing the sun rise over the city's skyline is a close second. I pause on the curb with my hands on my head. The breath in my chest is almost painful, but I love the feeling. It reminds me that I'm alive.

I pull out my little music player and some earbuds. Music can distract me from my work when I'm delivering, but since I'm nearly finished with my route, it can't hurt. I choose one of my favorite songs and hum along the best I can while running. I reach the postal office by the time the sun has come out, and the heat is just starting to rev up. The office itself mercifully has air conditioning, which feels great on my sweaty skin.

Battery is waiting in the backroom, poring over documents, letters, and newspapers. We're one of the only places in Three that still uses pen and paper to keep track of our business, completely devoid of the screens that light up the streets and wires that run through the District like arteries.

I tap him on the shoulder and he turns, looking impressed. "Great job, Router!" he says with a smile. No matter how many times I finish my route early, he always flatters me.

I return the smile and sign, «Thank you.» It's a simple one, something that most of my classmates and coworkers know even if they don't know sign language.

Battery nods back before returning to his work. Instead of going home, I take a seat in the front of the building and wait. The rest of the postal employees slowly trickle in one by one, each sweaty with messy hair, breathing hard as they head back to Battery's office. Each of them gives me a friendly nod as they pass, but they're not the ones that I'm waiting for.

Mecha and Mode amble in after everyone else has arrived. Mode's hair is wild with sweat, a huge grin plastered on her face. Even though she has the lowest numbers out of all the couriers here, she still loves the work just as much as me. And Mode, though her delight is not as palpable, is still smiling dizzily.

I wave at them as the door opens, and Mecha runs over to me with a giggle, Mode following not far behind.

"Hey, Router," Mecha chirps. "We finished six minutes earlier than last time!"

I nod, giving them two thumbs up. It may not sound like much, but compared to their speed before I was hired, they've improved quite a bit.

Mode drags Mecha to the back to meet with Battery, then the two of them reappear, their breathing evened out now. Mecha puts an arm around my shoulders as we walk out of the post office. Mode trails not far behind, her eyes glued to Mecha like they always are.

"Oh, the Reaping," Mecha sighs dramatically. "Everyone's so afraid of it. Why? It's going to happen whether we worry about it or not, so why bother?"

I throw my hands up in agreement, and Mecha laughs. Even Mode lets out a little chuckle.

Our pace is a bit too slow for my liking, so I take off into a sprint, my two friends following suit. The girls laugh as we race through the streets of Three, electrical wires buzzing above us and street lights flickering. The city is just starting to wake up, but unlike most days, the office towers are dark. Usually the computer programmers and engineers stay late at night to complete their work and come in early in the mornings. But not today. My parents will actually be there when I get home.

Mecha and I drop off Mode at her apartment, a rundown building near one of the worst neighborhoods in town. It's close to the factories where a good majority of Three's population work. I remember the boy in last year's Hunger Games lived near here before he was killed in the bloodbath.

I shudder at the memory of watching Faroud from Four stab him through the heart on TV. I'm certainly not afraid of the Games, but no one should have to die like that. Poor Dylan.

Mode gives me a little "Thank you, Router," then turns her eyes to Mecha, giving her a quick hug. She looks embarrassed after she pulls away, staring at the ground before mumbling, "See you later, Mecha," and shutting the door.

Mecha turns to me with slightly red cheeks. "Well, I…" she laughs a little. "Let's get going."

She turns to run back down the stairs, and I shake my head after her. Mecha and Mode are always doing this dance, and I suspect they have been since before I even met them. Despite all my encouragement, neither one of them has made the first move.

The tenement is tall, and I feel a tingly sensation in my legs as I look down from the balcony to the ground. I quickly turn back to the stairs. I'm grateful that my own family's apartment is near the ground floor of our building. My parents make enough from their engineering jobs for that, at least.

A few people emerge from their apartments to sit on their balconies, and most of them don't seem to even notice us. Their eyes are fixated on the horizon and the bright lights from the factories that never turn off no matter the time or the day. Melancholy hangs in the air like a thick fog. Mecha and I head down to the street and run home.

After making sure Mecha is safe at her house, I hurry to my own, keeping an eye on my watch. I get to the door of our apartment right as the digits change to 6:36. I quietly open the door, peeking my head around it, trying to see anything in the darkness of the living room. Sensing nothing, I step through, not wanting to wake any of my family.

"Boo!"

I jump halfway into the air like a spooked cat, my bandana nearly slipping off my head.

Lum's laughter resounds throughout the apartment as he flips on the light. "Got you."

I shrug, signing, «First time this month.»

"I'll get you again tomorrow."

Somehow I doubt it. Lum always tries to scare me when I come home, but he rarely wakes up in time. Only on days when he needs to get up super early. A big exam he needs to study for, an interview at Gallium, or the Reaping. It's always weighed heavily on his mind, and it especially has since last year when I turned twelve.

«You have nothing to worry about,» I sign to him, then reach for the cereal on top of the fridge. «I didn't take any tesserae this year.»

"I know, I know," Lum says dismissively, turning away and wandering back into his bedroom. When he opens the door, I can see the artificial light of his computers already booted up and ready. Ugh.

Lum is on the fast track to working at Gallium, the biggest computer engineering company in Three, the same place where my parents both work. Today's the only day of the year they aren't scrambling to get to work and staying late until Lum and I are already in bed. Computer programming is common in our district, but that only makes it more competitive.

I'm not computer smart like my parents and my brother. I never have been. The fact that I can't talk has only made things worse for me. When teachers asked questions in class, I couldn't just raise my hand and answer. Everyone thought that I would end up working in the factories making simple pieces of tech for the Capitol, until one day when I discovered my love of running. Not running anywhere important, or for any particular reason. No, just running. The pain in my body, my feet, my arms, was the only way I could express my frustrations. Then one day I came upon two young girls struggling to deliver mail in the pouring rain. The rest is history.

My parents are still sleeping in their room, so I quietly turn on the TV and flip through the channels, hoping that there will be anything other than Hunger Games propaganda available to watch. No such luck. I was hoping for a sports game, maybe even Cato's recent boxing match with Azo Steel. If I was a Capitolite myself, I would want to be a marathon runner or some other kind of athlete. It would be amazing to compete in one of the nationwide races they hold each year.

Instead of watching interviews with the Head Gamemaker or rewatching footage from Leto's Victory Tour, I settle on a rerun of a former Hunger Games, the 68th. Aluminum Godfrey's dirty-blonde hair flows gently in the wind as she gazes out over the arena through a skyscraper window. I shudder at the thought. I could never live for two weeks in a deserted metropolis. I'm just glad I was too little to remember her Games when they first aired. The final fight where she accidentally fell from the skyscraper after killing her opponent would have haunted my nightmares for months. She only survived because the Gamemakers deployed a giant airbag to break her fall.

The only reason I keep watching now is because of Aluminum herself. She's Three's latest victor. I'll be seeing her in person later today when she stands on the stage with our other three living victors. She's always been an inspiration to me. People always assume that I'm deaf because I can't talk, at which point one of my friends or family members has to explain that I'm only mute. Still, when Aluminum lost her hearing in that final fall, the impact exploding her eardrums, she brought a lot of attention to people such as myself who use sign language. My parents only knew to teach it to me because of her. I may only know the basics, making up the rest as I go, but even that simple level of communication was life-changing for me.

Watching Aluminum survive and fight through whatever the Gamemakers and the other tributes throw at her is heartening, even if I don't want to admit it. It gives me hope that Three may actually have a chance of winning this year. Extra food, vacation days for my parents, luxury treats sent to us from the Capitol. I've never had a chance to experience it, but Lum still remembers it a bit from when Aluminum won, and my parents talk about it every year when the Hunger Games roll around.

I thought I would have a chance to experience it last year, but then Caillou ended up with a knife in her chest.

My parents eventually amble into the living room, greeting me with a soft, "Morning, Router," to which I motion a «Good morning.»

My father makes a pot of coffee and slowly sips it from a cup that reads, Best Engineer! with the Gallium logo underneath it. It's the same one he drinks from everyday, even though he barely works anymore. He senses me watching him and turns to smile at me. People have always told me that we have the same dark eyes, the same pointy nose, and the same curly black hair. Ironically, I've never seen myself in him. His computer smarts are like a different language to me. The math, the rules, the sitting, it's just never been for me.

"What are you planning to do after the Reaping?" Dad asks, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

I smirk and simply shrug.

Never let anyone know your next move.

My dad laughs a bit. Despite his apparent good mood, I can see the anxiety in his eyes and the dark circles underneath them. He's always exhausted, even during the weeks where he doesn't work. It was about a year ago when his health problems first started. No doctor was able to give us a clear answer to what was wrong with him, but it's my suspicion that the problem lies with those bosses at Gallium, always pushing him for more, more, more until there's nothing left. No energy, no passion or even sorrow. Nothing but dead eyes and a slumped body sitting in an armchair.

It hurt to see Lum go down the same path.

"Router…" my dad suddenly says.

I turn to see him looking more melancholy now, more like how I'm accustomed to seeing him. I look him in the eyes to let him know I'm listening.

"I know that things haven't been easy for us these past couple months. Well, years. I still feel guilty for making you take tesserae last year…"

I wave my hands wildly, making sure he knows it's not a big deal. I've already forgotten about it. It doesn't matter. There are so many things I wish I could say, but I have to settle for a few zany hand gestures.

Dad smiles sadly at me. "I know it's been tough on you. You shouldn't have to work so young. I just want you to be happy. If you end up like me… like this, I would never forgive myself."

«No.» I sign it as forcefully as possible. I don't regret any of what I've done. I took tesserae to help my family, and I took my job at the post office for the same reason. And to be able to run for hours everyday, of course.

Dad looks at me in the eyes again, and this time his smile reaches his eyes. He reaches over to grab my hand, then his other reaches for his mug once again.

I reach down to touch the merit badge on my jacket. I've been employee of the month for the past half a year. I quietly smile to myself, I may not be computer minded like the rest of my family, and I may not be able to talk, but no one can say that I can't create a life for myself just like everyone else.

Gretel Saga (14)- D3F

I rub my eyes as I stare at the lines of code on my screen. The numbers seem burned into my retinas. Daphne shifts beside me, snoring lightly. Zinnia rolls over beside her in the bed, her black hair getting tangled in the blankets. Kamela is the only other one awake. She quietly flips through a college level book about astrophysics. Mouthing the words as she goes, she traces a line on the page with her finger, absorbed in her own world. One of spinning planets and exploding stars, completely different from the one inside my computer that's filled with lines of code. Still, I'm always fascinated by the fact that they speak the same language. A tiny laptop can hold knowledge the size of galaxies.

I turn back to the screen and the strain on my eyes return. My head pounds and my eyelids are drooping. I need to sleep, but I know my night will be filled with nothing but nightmares. It always is the night before the Reaping.

Well, the morning of. I can hear Hansel beginning to move around in the kitchen. My parents will soon knock on my door and ask for everyone to disperse from the house. At least, Kamela and Daphne's parents will. I doubt Zinnia's parents will even notice that she's gone until the Reaping.

"Psst. Gretel."

I turn to Kamela, whose dark eyes are fixated on me, fluorescent in the light from my laptop screen. She smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes.

"I have to pee," she whispers. "But I can't get out."

She gestures to the other two girls who are lying between her and the edge of the bed, keeping her sequestered against the wall.

I clear my throat. "C'mon Science Quartet, we've got math club in two minutes!"

The yelling is probably loud enough to wake up half the neighborhood, but it does the trick. Zinnia and Daphne jolt up in bed like they stuck a fork into an electrical socket. Daphne immediately starts in on me, while Zinnia does the same with her sign language, gesturing more wildly than she ever does, black hair wild. Kamela laughs so hard she hits the back of her head against the wall, and my laptop nearly falls onto the floor.

"Fuck you- hic- Gretel!" Daphne yells, reaching out blindly for her glasses in the mess of blankets that make up our blanket fort around my bed. "Where the fuck are my- hic- glasses?"

Daphne's Tourettes is always worse when she's surprised by something, making her squeak more frequently. Kamela's laughter finally dies down as Zinna tries to squirm her way out of the fort, knocking the blankets off my bunk bed and completely ruining the blanket fort. I watch as the beautiful fort that we spent so long building last night slowly collapses.

"Noooo!"

Our chorus of screams resounds through the bedroom. The door opens in the middle of it to reveal my older brother, Hansel, his hands over his ears. "What the hell are you guys doing in here?"

"Zinnia ruined the fort!" I complain as Kamela jumps up and sprints to the bathroom, the path finally clear. "We spent so long making the perfect blanket last night using physics!"

Zinnia rolls her eyes, signing that she didn't do anything. «It was Daphne looking for her glasses. »

"It was not Daphne!"

"What is she saying about me?" Daphne asks, still searching through the blankets for her spectacles. "I still can't- hic- fucking see."

"You guys better stop swearing before Mom and Dad hear," Hansel grumbles as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

As Daphne continues to dig in my bed, I carefully save my work on the laptop before shutting it and placing it on my desk beside my prized flash drive. It's shaped like a queen's chess piece since we were the queens of the science bee at school, as proclaimed by our math coach. It holds all of our winning formulas and answers from that year's competition.

As my fingertips slide over the surface of the laptop, I suddenly remember what I forgot to worry about. The Reaping. Any vestige of a smile is wiped from my face. My fingers move over to the flash drive and wrap around it before stuffing it into my pocket. It's not a good luck charm. It's not. Superstition is silly and unscientific. It's simply to remind myself that I'm a queen even in the face of danger.

"Gretel?"

Kamela has returned from the bathroom. "Let's get something to eat."

…

The stack of story books in the corner window seat has grown taller since the last time I was here. My parents' office is usually off limits during the day, just in case Hansel and I disturb their creativity, but on days like this, the door is wide open. So is the window itself. I curl up beside the books, relishing in the gentle summer breeze that ruffles the papers covering the desks. I push my glasses further up on my nose as I stare out the window. The girls are long gone and it's only an hour until the Reaping begins. I should be getting ready, finding some dumb dress to wear and an ugly bow to put in my hair instead of my favorite red bandana. But instead I'm sitting here, feeling uncharacteristically glum. I'm always the one that the quartet can count on to stay level headed and calm, but not today. Every year when the Reaping comes around, I crumble.

The door to the office slowly opens. I don't bother to look at who it is; I know it's Hansel by his footsteps. He comes over to sit beside me, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"The new book seems to be going well," he says, gesturing to the messy desks on the other side of the room. Papers are littered everywhere in a sort of organized chaos. Papers stacked on the floor, on the desks, even on the chairs. A few flutter when a gust of wind blows in through the window.

When I don't respond, Hansel continues, "They'll need Daphne to do some more drawings for them soon."

My eyes drift over to the framed pictures on the wall. Most of them are almost as old as I am. They started as small scenes with stick figures, drawn by my parents to help me visualize their stories. As writers themselves, they couldn't believe that they had produced a child who could barely read and who didn't have a mind's eye. But despite my shortcomings, they never gave up on me. They wanted me to be able to enjoy stories as much as everyone else. So, the pictures became more elaborate. They evolved from stick figures to full portraits, from one-dimensional settings to detailed backdrops that added to the story rather than simply presenting it. My parents eventually needed outside help creating these illustrations, and Daphne was the perfect choice. She was an art prodigy and she needed job experience if she wanted to become an artist in the future. That being said, she still hasn't decided if she wants to be an artist or a chemist.

I glance down at the titles of the storybooks beside me. The Summer of the Flower Fairies. Princess Topaz. Life Among the Stars. Most of the books that our parents write don't sell many copies, but every now and then one of them hits the right market at the right time. Two years ago, a Capitol company bought the rights to one of their stories to include in an anthology for TV!. Mom and Dad are more worried about the producers sticking to the original story, but I just can't wait until it airs.

I reach into my pocket to fiddle with the flash drive. I try to imagine what the show might look like, but as always, my mind simply draws a blank. I remember the story itself, of course. Hansel read it to me over and over after it was published so that I practically had the words memorized. But for the life of me, I couldn't visualize a thing without the help of the drawings done by Daphne.

"There's no reason to worry, Gretel,'' Hansel says softly. Annoyingly practical as ever. He reminds me of myself sometimes.

"There's just something that's bothering me," I say.

Hansel repositions himself to look at me more clearly, his eyes intently boring into mine. "What is it?"

"The Hunger Games…"

Hansel immediately stiffens at the words, but he doesn't break our eye contact, which I appreciate. Sometimes I can't tell if someone is really listening to me unless they're clearly paying attention.

"The Hunger Games are supposed to be a story, right? Sort of like the stories that Mom and Dad write, except they're real."

"Right," Hansel says slowly, like he's trying to figure out where I'm going with this.

I nod vigorously. "So, what's the point? I understand it's a punishment for the districts for rebelling against the Capitol, but none of the rebels are alive anymore. I mean, Mom and Dad have never hurt anyone and neither have we."

"Gretel, you shouldn't ask things like that," Hansel says. I blink at him curiously. He never denies my curiosity.

"Why?"

"It's not safe."

"Why would it not be safe?"

"It's just not," he says, uncrossing his legs and standing so quickly that it startles me. He sighs and looks at me with something akin to pity. "Sometimes we have to accept things that we don't understand."

…

As the Gamemaker pricks my finger and squeezes out a droplet of blood, I barely register the pain. Instead, I lean forward over the table, inspecting the book of blood samples. The Gamemaker snaps it shut and the faceless mask turns to me. I can't imagine what his expression must look like underneath the mask, but it must be one of annoyance.

"How do these devices work?" I ask, pointing to the needle that pricked my finger. Zinnia would probably be able to explain it to me if she were here, but she's already made her way through the line. Biology is her specialty. She's fascinated by lots of gross squishy stuff, living and dead.

The Gamemaker is still and silent for a moment. Then he says, "It analyzes DNA."

"Yes, of course," I say dismissively. "But how? The sample is so small that you must need to reproduce the DNA sequences in order to analyze them."

The Gamemaker is silent once more, then waves me through.

"But, I don't unders-"

"Next!"

I try not to pout as I move through the line and into the Square. I hear the Gamemaker sigh behind me as he pricks the finger of the next girl. "When are they going to reassign me out of Three…"

I sigh as I make my way over to the fourteen-year-olds' section, side-eyeing the Peacekeepers. Why can't they ever just satiate my curiosity for once? They're always so dismissive and unwilling to answer my questions. I just want to know how the world works! It's not like I'll ever get to leave Three to see it for myself. They could at least indulge my curiosity.

My brother's words ring in my ears. 'Sometimes we have to accept things that we don't understand.'

I squeeze into the fourteen-year-old section as Daphne tsks. "Took you long enough. As always."

I wave my hand at her, then turn to Zinnia, who is looking more anxious than usual. «How was the concert?»

Zinnia smiles uneasily at me and signs, «It was alright.»

Zinnia's parents are musicians in Three's biggest (and only complete) orchestra, which is filled with the most talented and wealthy performers in the district. They always perform the night before the Reaping as a part of the Capitol's celebrations. They've been recognized even by Capitolite musicians who have reviewed their shows and even broadcasted a few on national television. Of course, Zinnia, being partially deaf, doesn't experience the orchestra the way hearing people do. And unlike my parents, who did their best to include me in their professional worlds, her parents have always treated her as a lesser.

"What are the odds again?" Daphne interrupts anxiously, signing as she speaks so that Zinnia can understand.

".061%" I answer immediately. None of us have ever taken tesserae, so we each only have three slips of paper in the bowl. "There's only a .061% chance for each of us."

"That's just individually," Kamela chimes in. "There's a .25% chance that one of the four of us could be picked."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Kamela."

".25%?" Daphne asks, her eyes growing wide. "That's so much – hic – higher than last year. Just a quarter of a percent…"

"People took less tesserae than last year according to the statistics that aired two days ago. Plus we each have one more piece of paper," I say automatically, although the words cause slimy dread to curl in my gut, where it's been hiding out for the past few days.

I glance over to the group of adults hanging out by the check-in table. A few of them pass out slips of paper with pencils, while others are writing down their bets and slapping them down on the table for the dealers to count. As much as I love math, I would never bet on something like this.

Daphne gulps loudly. "It's only going to get worse from- hic- now on, isn't it?"

"Likely," Kamela chirps. "Hey, what game do we want to play tonight? Chess?"

«It's starting!» Zinnia signals, and we all hush down as the ceremony begins.

Router Rowe (13)- D3M

The video played on the big screen is the same as last year and the year before. President Snow's droning in the background nearly puts me to sleep as I stand in the thirteen-year-olds' section. I hold back a huge yawn and eye the victors onstage rather than watching the sad excuse for a film. Aluminum and Beetee stand near each other, and I can tell they're subtly signing to each other with their hands down at their sides, having a discreet conversation of their own. I catch Aluminum signing, «Boring» and Beetee responds with, «Agreed.» The other two, Wiress and Gamma, stand with their eyes glazed over, swaying a bit in the wind and looking like they're not really there.

Once the film finally ends, the escort steps up to the mic. They're completely different from the escort we've had in the last couple years, whose bubblegum hair and matching pink skin was sickening to look at. After Caillou's success last year, she was probably moved to a better district. The new escort seems a bit nervous as he gazes out over the crowd, even though we're nothing but lowly district citizens. He's surprisingly normal looking compared to our previous escort, with untinted black skin, neat twists of natural hair, and no obvious body modifications.

"Good morning, District Three. I hope you've all had a pleasant morning. As the Hunger Games are just getting started, it's good to remember how this tradition began."

Ugh. He may look different from the others, but you can't judge a book by its cover. He's just as brainless as all the rest.

"I wish you all a Happy Hunger Games!" he says, and as he scans the crowd, the resounding lack of enthusiasm appears to hamper his confidence. He visibly gulps. "May the odds be ever in your favor. Let's get started."

The Square is dead silent as he moves over to the girl's bowl without another word. He reaches into the bowl and grabs the first slip on the top; no showmanship other than the ever-dramatic unfurling of the slip before he reads it into the mic, the syllables echoing off the concrete walls of the Justice Building.

"Gretel Saga."

There's a beat where no one moves, then after a few moments a lone girl appears from the fourteen-year old section. She has darker tanned skin similar to my own, her eyes wide with terror as she moves up the stairs like a robot. The escort puts a hand on her shoulder to direct her to face the stage.

"Welcome, Gretel. Is there anyone who would like to volunteer for Gretel today?"

The only sound in the entire Square are the clicks of coins behind us as the gamblers settle their bets. After no one breathes a word, the escort drops his hand from her shoulder. I study her, Gretel, as she stands there looking shellshocked. Her hair is long and black, her eyes are dark behind her round framed glasses, and she looks well-fed. Not a street kid for sure. The one thing that catches my attention is that, unlike the other girls in the Square, she's wearing a simple graphic t-shirt and shorts rather than a fancy dress. She clearly didn't expect to be on camera today.

"Now for the boys."

The escort moves to the boy's bowl and for the first time since last year, I feel my mental fortitude falter. Could it be that…

"Router Rowe!"

My breath catches in my throat. No. Fucking. Way.

A few of the boys around me know who I am, given that I've delivered mail to all their houses at least once and go to school with them. Pretty soon, everyone is staring at me and I suddenly realize that I can't just stand here like a moron.

Well, I might as well make a good first impression. I take a deep breath before launching myself into a sprint, dodging past all the other boys like I'm on an obstacle course. I jump up the stairs and run across the stage and soon I'm somewhere I never thought I would be: right beside the victors who I've watched on TV for so long. They each stare at me like I've lost my mind, but I can sense some admiration in the gaze of the escort. He's probably thinking he's hit the jackpot with a new eccentric tribute like Caillou. He doesn't know how right he is.

I wave to the crowd and give them some finger guns before turning to my district partner to proactively shake her hand. Up close, I realize her shirt reads Math Club with a picture of a neutron or something. I was never good at science.

She shakily reaches out and I grab her hand, feeling how sweaty it is. I turn back to the escort as he addresses the crowd. "Let's all welcome Gretel Saga and Router Rowe, your tributes for the 79th Hunger Games!"

The crowd begins to applaud just a tiny bit and I wave at them once more, trying and failing to find Lum's face in the fifteen-year old section. Whatever. I'll see him soon anyways.

…

The first thing I do is ask the Peacekeepers for a piece of paper and a pen. They don't understand sign language, so I keep miming the action of writing over and over in the doorway as they continue to ignore me. «Listen to me you idiots!» I sign furiously at them. «What's the matter with you? Don't you know that I'm the next winner of the Hunger Games?»

One of them turns to snap the door shut in my face.

"Router!"

It's my dad's voice calling out to me. I begin to pound on the door in frustration until it opens, my parents tumbling inside. Their arms wrap around my shoulders like a vice, nearly strangling me. I wave my arms wildly until they start to let go of me and I draw in a huge breath.

"Router…" my mom says tearfully while Dad and Lum still cling to me. I huff in frustration and push them away.

«What's the problem?» I sign.

Lum laughs like he can't believe the question, wiping some tears away. "Router, listen. You have to play to your strengths."

«I know!» I sign, then continue miming the motion for writing.

"Here, here…" Dad pulls out a notebook that he uses for work and hands me a pen.

Finally. I begin writing out all of my thoughts, from my plan for the Games to what they all should do while I'm gone. When I'm finished, I hand it over to Lum to read out loud. Much quicker than trying to sign everything.

"'You guys are crying like I'm going to die,'" Lum begins reading, his voice cracking on the word 'die' before continuing. "'Do you really have such little faith in me? Tag won two years ago when he was only twelve. There's no reason I can't win at thirteen. But while I'm in there you have to take care of some important stuff. One; don't let Mecha and Mode start slacking on the job. Make sure Battery doesn't take it too easy on them. Two; don't worry too much about me. I know for a fact that no one will be able to catch me in the arena, not even the Careers.'"

Lum stops reading and glances up at me incredulously, his real skeptical self peeking through the grief and terror for a moment. "Really, Router?"

I shrug, pointing back to the paper. Lum sighs and continues reading. "'I'm going to win this thing in three weeks tops. And lastly, make sure Dad takes all his medication and doesn't have to work while I'm gone.'"

Lum sets down the paper on the table. "Confident as ever."

I nod earnestly.

Mom wipes her eyes once more and pulls me in for another hug. "We love you, Router. I promise we'll be cheering for you from home."

She pulls away and Dad steps up to me. His eyes are sad, but I can see a faint hint of pride as well. "You're such a good son," he says, still melancholy. "You haven't deserved any of this. None of it. I put so much on your shoulders and you're so young…" He reaches up to cup my face.

«What about you?» I sign.

They still don't get it. As much as I love them, it hurts that they don't believe in me. There's so much more to say but not enough time to write. The Peacekeepers come for them soon enough.

The next people to burst through the door are Mecha and Mode, who nearly knock me over in a giant hug. At least they aren't crying.

They pull back so that I can see their faces. They're still holding hands, and for once, they don't let go when they see me looking.

«Keep working hard while I'm gone.» I sign.

"Just stop thinking about work for one minute," Mecha says around a dry sob. Mode rubs a hand on her back, her eyes never leaving Mecha's face.

I sigh, reaching up to point at Mode until she finally looks at me. Then I gesture to Mecha, then throw my hands in the air. «When?»

Mode's cheeks redden and Mecha just looks confused. I sigh again. When are these two going to get on with it? Maybe when they're watching me on the TV, clinging to each other as I escape yet again from a bloodthirsty pack of Careers, they'll realize that they're meant for each other. Maybe they'll share an accidental kiss or gaze longingly into each other's eyes. Perhaps being Reaped was a blessing in disguise for me. I won't have to deal with their weird longing after I get back.

I grab the pen and paper that my parents left for me and write Mecha and Mode one last message.

'Tell Battery I'm keeping the Employee of the Month Badge. I'll be back to earn it again next month.'

Gretel Saga (14)- D3F

I sit pristinely in the silent room, my hands in my lap. The room itself is unlike the rest of Three. Most buildings in Three, even the factories and computer engineering offices, all look like the disemboweled innards of some electrical beast. Wires and cables run through the streets like arteries and even our windowless classrooms at school are lit up by LED computer screens. This waiting room is nothing like that. The wooden floor looks perfectly polished, and the light overhead is only a gentle orange glow. A few potted plants sit in the corner. I've never seen so many plants in one spot before. Up close, I can understand why my parents always wrote about nature so reverently. Living, working biology.

I'm messing with the chess flash drive in my pocket when the door handle jiggles a bit, pulling me out of my reverie. I blink a few times as the door opens to reveal my parents followed by Hansel. I can tell that Hansel is holding back tears, but my parents seem completely lucid. Dad comes to grab my shoulders.

"Gretel, you're going to be the smartest one in there. All you have to do is hide and wait until there's only a few left. And then… just get a hold of a weapon and…" His eyes look misty now.

"Dad…"

He's a storyteller at heart. I know my parents will likely come up with lots of stories for themselves after I leave. They'll tell themselves that I'll defy all the odds and come out unscathed, just like the folktale character that I'm named after.

.061%. I only had a .061% chance of being picked. It was near impossible, but the odds are never zero. Maybe that's the moral of this story.

I nod, feeling suddenly calm, not at all like the frazzled version of myself who's been worrying about the Reaping. Now that I'm here in this situation, I know what I need to do. I've watched thirteen Hunger Games, and I have a great memory. I can do this.

Hansel reaches for me and pulls me into a hug. "Don't forget who you are," he whispers.

As if I could ever forget. Our parents named us after the brother and sister in their favorite Old World fairytale. They get snatched away from home by an evil witch, but they outsmart their captor and make it home. I will find my way back.

…

The rest of the Quartet is beside themselves, as expected. Daphne's Tourettes is acting up even worse than before the Reaping, and she won't stop twitching. Kamela seems distracted and also fidgety, while Zinnia simply looks dejected and hopeless. Nobody cries during our last meeting, but we don't need to. We know each other well enough that we can practically tell what the rest are thinking.

«I'm going to miss you,» Zinnia signs to me. It's the only thing she says at all.

Daphne is the one who won't stop talking, sitting right next to me and staring in my eyes as she gives me instructions.

"It all depends on the arena. We've all seen how the Three tributes don't do well in the bloodbath so just run away; don't even try it. Stay hidden from the others during the Games and make some weapons for yourself. You can definitely win. Just remember–"

"I think she knows, Daphne," Kamela says sadly.

"It's okay," I say, nodding to everyone. "Tell me your ideas."

I need to plan for all eventualities if I want to win, and part of that includes being open to everyone's suggestions.

She continues for a few more minutes until the Peacekeeper comes to drag them away. The words drift in one ear and out the other, but I know I'll remember them later. As the three of them leave, Kamela leans over and grabs my hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. We share a nod, then the door closes behind them and I'm alone again.

I let out a deep breath. Then I close my eyes and begin filing through the memories of past Hunger Games that I've seen. Aluminum stabbing the heart of the girl from One just as she pushes her over the edge of the skyscraper. Beetee using an electrical trap to kill the final six. Wiress getting poisoned last minute by her opponent's spiked knife and having seizure after seizure as the hovercraft came to retrieve her. Caillou getting a knife to the heart.

It's about time Three has another victor.

…

My district partner is a bit strange. As we sit side by side in the car driving to the train station, everyone is silent, but it doesn't seem like it due to Router's zany gestures. I recognize a few signs here and there, but he seems to be trying to communicate to the escort rather than me. The escort stares at him, clearly not able to comprehend anything, and his flying hands nearly meet my face several times. I quickly sign, «Enough.» Router stares at me for a moment, then sits back in his car seat, looking sullen. I didn't mean to upset him, but I need time to think.

He doesn't seem deaf like Zinnia, since he listens intently to the escort when he begins giving us our itinerary in a slow, careful voice. I, however, let the words enter my brain for me to analyze later while I mentally file through all my options. I could make alliances, possibly with Router if he's open to it. But if there's no one else who seems smart enough to stay alive, then I'll go it alone. I would be comfortable with both. As for my training strategy, I know I need to talk to the trainers themselves. I'm not sure what tributes usually do in training, but I don't want to just sit around figuring things out by myself. I'll need the advice of experts.

The car jolts to a stop. The escort opens his door and looks at the two of us, his dark eyes resolved. "Are you ready?"

Router nods resolutely. I open my door and step out. We're so far away from the city that the skyscrapers look like mountains in the distance.

"Never been more ready."

Thanks to Platrium, the creator of Passion in UV, for submitting Gretel! And of course, CragmiteBlaster, who created Tag, Blossom, and Sock, for submitting Router. These are both super unique tributes and I hope I got them right in this intro. These are also our first pair of younger tributes!

Let me know in a review what you thought of Router and Gretel! And take a guess at which district we'll be visiting next~