District 9

Trick Carssen

I stand in the fields on reaping day, just like I have every year since I became eligible. Which is four years, at this point. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. It's funny how I'm almost counting down until I'm safe. Anyone who says to enjoy your childhood must not be from the Districts.

Crispen runs up to me and gives me a grin. "Hey," he says. "You ready?"

"God, no," I reply. "But do I have a choice?"

"Only if you think you can evade the Peacekeepers for the next several decades."

"Alright," I say in mock defeat. "Town square it is. Let's go."

The two of us join the fifteens and wait for our fates to be decided. Poplar—that's this year's escort—runs through the Dark Days speech. My hands are sweaty in the pockets of my trousers, and I try to wipe off the moisture. I'm not very successful.

The boys bowl looks awfully full this year. Our chances are probably pretty good, then.

"Crispen Willow," Poplar suddenly calls, and our chances don't look very good at all anymore.

Crispen goes ashen next to me. "Shit," he whispers, and shakily starts heading for the stage.

I consider my options very carefully. Cris only has one hand. He lost his right one in a threshing accident when he was nine. He's done great since, but he's got no hope of surviving.

Me, on the other hand… I might have a chance.

So I volunteer. "Trick Carssen," I say. "Volunteering as tribute!"

Crispen turns around and stares at me.

"You're my best friend," I say, as if that excuses it. He just keeps looking at me.

Ellinor Harris

There's a picture of Ollimer above the fireplace. I used to think he looked so old. Now he just looks like me. Dark hair and dark eyes standing out from pale skin that's stretched too thinly over our faces. Mom always said it would fill out once we grew up a bit.

Well, he didn't. Jury's still out on if I will.

We head for the center of town the somber way we have since he was reaped. I play a bit with the necklace dangling near the collar of my blouse as we wait for Poplar to finish the Dark Days speech. It kept me safe last year. And Olly never had a good luck charm like I do.

Poplar fiddles in the boy's bowl for a moment before selecting some kid with only one hand. I feel a flash of pity for him—he's got zero chances of surviving.

And then something happens that never does in District 9. Someone volunteers.

They're the same age group, but look nothing alike, so they aren't twins. Friends? I can't think of any friends I'd die for, but hey, that's his problem.

Trick—I think that's his name, the mic was a bit quiet—climbs onto the stage, and the crowd stares at him. We don't get volunteers out here. He must know it's a death sentence.

But Poplar, for her part, moves on to the girls.

"Ellinor Harris," she cries, and suddenly I am Ollimer, watching my life flash in front of me.

Reaped at thirteen. Just like Olly. Will I die in the same fashion? With the hands of a stranger around my throat as I gasp for breath, begging for my life through strangled words, all while my family is forced to watch at home as the light fades from my eyes?

I don't want to die.

Please don't let me die, Olly.

Please.

Trick Carssen

"You're a goddamn idiot," Crispen says the instant he walks in the room. "I'm not worth as much as you."

"You can't possibly believe your life is worth less than mine," I reply. "So you must be the idiot here."

He sighs. "But—why? You know I never wanted you to sacrifice anything for me. Especially not your life!"

"I'm not sacrificing anything," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's a fair trade. To be honest, Cris, you had no chance in there. I do. That's the difference."

"I got reaped, though."

"Yeah." I rub the wooden carving of the scythe. Good luck, maybe. It kept Magnus safe. "And I wish you hadn't been picked."

Crispen runs his hands through his dark hair and looks like he's on the verge of tears. "Maybe we can still switch it back. I'll take your place again. Don't die for me, oh God, don't die for me."

"I'll do my best," I say, and I mean it. "But… if I don't make it. If I don't survive this. Please don't blame yourself. You didn't try to get reaped."

He nods, and that's the end of our conversation.

So instead I try to figure out Ellinor. She doesn't exactly look strong. I try to approach her to discuss strategy before we reach the Capitol, but she shies away from me. She's scared.

Ellinor will not be an asset. I will have to make my own luck.

Ellinor Harris

Dad can't enter the room. Mom tells me it's because the whole situation is too similar to Olly's, and it's upsetting him. But don't I have a chance? His story is over. Mine hasn't started yet.

I've got to live. For myself, for my parents, for Ollimer.

In my mind, the plan is clear. I will learn from Olly's mistakes. I won't let anyone betray me. I'll avoid all contact with other tributes, so they can't kill me when my back is turned.

I shrink away from Trick on the train. I don't want him to think we're allies and find me in the arena. Hiding is probably my best bet, anyway, and he's way too tall to hide in the trees like I can, even if we did end up with a truce.

District 10

Willem Vanner

Dad is pacing around the house again. It's my first year eligible, at twelve, and I've never seen him this nervous before. Dad is the only victor from District 10. Not the only 'living' victor.

The only victor.

Today, his nervousness stems from the fact that apparently, children of victors tend to get reaped themselves. I think he's overreacting. It's only been thirty-eight years since the first Games. There can't be that many victors with children of reaping age. I'm pretty sure he's just paranoid as usual, attributing coincidence to malice. I'm twelve. I'll be fine.

We leave for the center of town. It's full of scared-looking kids and their parents. I'm not one of them, and neither is Dad. I'm ready for whatever happens. Dad just looks sad.

Our escort fishes in the bowl for what feels like a lifetime. His fingers find a slip and pull it out. "Willem Vanner," he reads.

How? How? There was only one piece of paper in that whole bowl with my name. I never took tesserae, of course, since Dad had his salary, and I never was rebellious, and I never did anything to make the Capitol want me to die.

Maybe Dad was right. Maybe they do target victor's kids.

Rosalie Persell

The coin lands on the floor, dust puffing up from under it as it clatters against the wood. Heads. If I trust it, it says I'll be reaped today.

It's been wrong before, though.

I make for the center of town, join the other sixteen-year-olds, and hold my breath as the boy is reaped. It's the kid of our only victor, way back in the 7th Games. That's a pity. From what my parents told me, Drim was a real stand-up guy back when he won, super popular and all that. I'm quite sorry to see his son get reaped.

But then it's time for the girls, and my own life is on the line.

"Rosalie Persell." The words are out of the escort's lips before I can even process that the name belongs to me.

The coin was right. Of course it was. Of all the times it's wrong, it's stupid things like crushes and tests. It's been right on all the big stuff—previous reapings, deaths in the family—so I really shouldn't be surprised.

But I am. And I am angry; I want to chuck it off a cliff and get a new lucky coin.

But I don't.

I calmly walk up onto the stage and accept my fate.

God, what's wrong with me?

Willem Vanner

Dad pats me on the back and hands me a leaf.

"What's this?" I ask.

"It's from the tree in front of our house. They planted it back when I won. Maybe it will help you, somehow."

I pocket it. "Thanks," I say.

He sighs. "Look, kid. Keep your head down and your senses sharp. Don't go looking for a fight, and wait for the others to kill themselves off or at least get wounded. I do believe you can win. But please be careful."

I want to listen to him, I really do. But he was sixteen when he won, and it was thirty-one years ago. Times and tactics are different.

If I'm going to survive, I need to try something different, too.

Rosalie Persell

I flip the coin again. And again, and again, until my thumb is sore and I have no more questions for it. Each time I ask it how I can win these games—by staying hidden or by attacking, bloodbath or no bloodbath—but I know I can't truly trust it. It's a coin, after all.

And yet, I have to know what to do. It's a way for me to pretend I can influence my own survival. And it did predict I'd get reaped.

It's going to be my token, obviously.

Willem's token is dumber than mine. It's a stupid leaf. Like that isn't going to get lost immediately. But hey, whatever works for him!

I consider asking him for advice based on his dad's victory, but decide against it. I can't risk his strategy being to feed me misinformation. No, I'll have to figure it all out on my own.