Chapter 1: Too Late

My breath is still coming out of me in rough gasps, just a tick or two below hyperventilating. I pace the grassy border of the fence like a caged animal, the hem of my blue Reaping dress swishing at my ankles. Wearing the nicest article of clothing I own under my Daddy's hunting jacket may have seemed like a good, thinking-ahead idea at the time when I got up this morning, but now it hardly matters.

The hum of electricity grates against my ears, causing me to furrow my brow and glare at the metal, man-made barrier as though it has done something to offend me. Next to me, Gale Hawthorne is shifting his gaze between me and anxiously staring at the sun, letting its place in the heavens help him measure time.

"We can't risk touching the wires," he states, rather self-evidently. "So we can't climb over." Well, of course we can't – even if the electricity to the fence wasn't on, the chain-link is made up of barbed wire that could puncture through a person's palm. "And we can't crawl under – we would get caught in the chains, and then electrocuted besides." When the power isn't on, that is Gale's and my usual way of circumnavigating the fence. I now take to staring longingly at the gap we usually wriggle under, just off of my booted feet. When we've come out here before, Gale and I are always careful to roll it back into place. I'm fairly skinny, so I don't need much space to crawl under. Gale, on the other hand, has always been thankful that such a significant portion of the barrier is loose – even then, with his girth, he barely fits.

Once again, I curse my stupidity, frowning down at Mother's old hand-me-down dress like it's somehow now the garment's fault as well. Even if the fence's power weren't on, I wouldn't risk wriggling under the fence. I've never gone out hunting before in my blue Reaping dress, so I can't guarantee that the hem wouldn't catch on the chain-link. It didn't this morning, thank the State, but I would be terribly mortified if it did.

Can't go over, or under. I check the sky. Judging by the sun, the Reaping has already started by now. It's the one of only two government-recognized holidays out of the entire year in District 12, the other being the Harvest Festival, and Mandatory attendance is expected. In my sixteen years, I've never known anyone to dare risk skipping the Reaping, especially not anyone who is age-eligible. Are the Peacekeepers coming to look for us at this very moment? And if they should find us standing on the wrong side of the fence…

With his stoic demeanor, Gale doesn't show it easily, but I can tell he's worried. It's his last Reaping this year, so it would look really bad if he skipped his final one. I wonder what the punishment would be. If we don't think of a way around this barrier soon, we'll miss the ceremony in its entirety; we're already horribly late. And the chances of us not getting caught are slim to none. Every eligible child between the ages of twelve and eighteen is required by law to register for the Reaping by surrendering a blood sample, to be matched against our genetic sequence on file in the Justice Building. The authorities will know they don't have Gale's and my blood on file for this year.

A scream lodges in my throat at our Head Peacekeeper's unreliability, even if the logic makes sense. Old Cray has been tolerated because he usually leaves the citizens of this district the hell alone, lazy ass that he is. The only thing he bothers to have energy for is shagging underage district women in his bed for a few coin. In fact, I think this is my first Reaping when the fence has been on – and for as long as Gale and I have been hunting together, we usually are careful to not bring as large a haul in on Reaping morning. Probably for fear that the Peacekeepers would be watching even more carefully than usual.

Something must have happened. Cray must be putting on an extra show of force or something for his superiors in the Capitol. He's probably the one being watched now, and he's turned on the fence to prove he can control his own district.

My breasts are ballooning like a bellows under the bodice of my dress with every heaving breath I take. My grey eyes dart about like trapped game. Gale is scanning too, when he suddenly starts and points.

"THERE!"

Several hundred yards off, we spot a tree with an overhanging branch stretching above and across the fence. It's probably our only chance. We dash towards it.

"Climb…. Climb!" Gale scales first, and I rapidly follow, spotting him from below. When we reach the branch that dangles out over the fence, we inch along it. It's not very wide, and I wince as I find that it is only just sturdy enough to take our collective weight. Even then, I can't be sure. Gale is a rather large man; his bulk alone could at least put a strain on this branch.

Gale somehow manages to edge far enough out without the branch cracking beneath us, so that he is now suspended over the other side of the fence.

"Jump!" I call to him. "I'm right behind you!"

Gale jumps, landing in the grassy knoll on the fence's other side with a more or less graceful crash. He quickly kicks to his feet, holding his arms up to me.

"Catnip, jump! Come on, I'll catch you!"

I scowl at his attempt at chivalry. As if I'm not capable of dropping thirty feet to the ground myself! But I daintily swing so that I am hanging onto the branch by my fingertips. Then I let go.

I crash into something solid, and Gale's burly arms steal about me, breaking my fall. I freeze uncomfortably at the way he holds me, and Gale quickly sets me down like a gentleman.

"Run. Run like hell."

And we do. We sprint through much of the Seam and half of Town, but by the time we get to the Square before the Justice Building, we are panting…

… and much of the crowd has clearly dispersed.

I scan the few clumps of remaining faces. "I wonder… if Mother…" She and Prim couldn't be already back home, could they? We likely would have encountered them on the path coming back…

My hunting partner and I try to remain inconspicuous and not meet the eyes of any lingering Peacekeeper. Maybe, if we turn around right now and start walking for home, we won't get caught playing hooky from the Reaping for at least a day or two. Let the bureaucracy of the Justice Building haul us in. The execution of policy here might be inefficient and slow – housing policy alone is dictated based on new marriages licensed by the District Clerk – but when it finally does catch up with you, district law is swift and sure, if not necessarily as harsh as it might be in some other districts. I have to consider it a miracle that I've never been beaten down for breaking the law of crossing Twelve's official border, and routinely. The reason for that is probably because half of Cray's men are in on the take of my kills; plenty of the game Gale and I sell in the Hob black market goes back to the troops at the Barracks.

Missing Mandatory attendance, however…. Missing the Reaping… an infraction like that is going to carry a different weight. If Gale and I don't get caught at all, it'll be because something miraculously fell through the bureaucratic cracks… and I'm not counting on that.

Suddenly, I spy the fading blonde hair of my Mother…. Coming out of the Justice Building? And why the hell isn't Prim with her? Where's my sister?

"Mother!"

"Katty! Katty…" Mother dithers as she lifts her skirts, scurrying down the majestic stone steps of our government seat. Her eyes are red and puffy, as if she has been crying, and she grabs me rather vehemently for a parent who has spent much of the past five years neglecting my sister and me in her grief over losing my father. "Where have you been?!"

"I… I have no excuse," I can only stutter. Even if I cared to elaborate, I'm sure Mother has worked it out already – she knows I go into the woods.

"Your sister… your sister is inside…" Mother hiccups, nudging me towards the door. "If you hurry, you can sign in for visitation rights…"

The world stops turning. I feel the blood freeze in my veins, and I turn ghastly pale. "What?! She…" I look to Gale for help, almost whimpering at the anguished, shattered, profoundly guilty look on his face.

"No…" he croaks, before I can.

Now, I curse – fluently, and in a way that is rather unbecoming of a district lady. "Her very first…. The one time I…. I never should have gone out today!" And I pelt for the doors, tears stinging at my eyes.

I can feel the Peacekeeper on registrar duty eyeing me coldly as I dare to show my face, mumbling a request for visitation rights to see my sister. My twelve-year-old sister who was apparently Reaped as the female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games in my absence. I can't even believe the bad luck. Prim was one slip of paper in thousands! Her very first Reaping, and she's chosen!

As I turn to take my place in line, I clap a hand over my mouth to tamp down the wracking sound. I stifle a wailing moan behind my hand. If I hadn't been out in the woods… if I had been here in the Square… when Primrose was Reaped, I could have volunteered. And I would have. Without hesitation.

Except now it's too late.

I slowly advance up the queue, surprised and strangely touched that there are actually people ahead of me in line, to see my sister. I perhaps shouldn't be so shocked. Prim is innocence and purity, sweetness and light. Many people, Merchant and Seam, adore her. Plus, she is beautiful, inheriting our Mother's fair looks from her Town heritage. We Everdeen girls are actually half-Merchant on our mother's side; she eloped with my Daddy, a poor Seam miner, and caused quite a scandal.

I am grateful when the Peacekeeper on guard finally nudges me inside what looks to be one of the Mayor's private living quarters. "You have fifteen minutes," he tells me.

On the loveseat clear across the room, my sister stands, lip trembling, before traversing the entire length of same room and flying into my arms. I hold her close, weeping quietly.

"Katniss…. Katty…."

"Ssssh, baby, ssssh…. I'm here…."

"Where were you?" Prim warbles, sniffling. "Mother and I had to leave for the Square without you."

I wince, profoundly guilty even as there was nothing I could have done. Except maybe find that tree with the overhanging branch faster. "I was held up," I finish, lamely. I want to elaborate, tell her about the fence, but I hesitate. For all I know, the rooms here in the Justice Building are bugged. Confessing to what is technically a crime on tape, even if I've never been prosecuted for said crime before, would look even worse in light of having skipped the Reaping itself.

Sweet Prim doesn't ask questions, holding me as I clutch at her and sob. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Prim. I never should have…. If I had just stayed…"

"Katty, stop it!" Prim chides, sounding remarkably beyond her only twelve years. "You could not have changed what happened!"

"Yes, I could have!" I half-shriek, stamping my foot like a child. Prim only smiles sadly.

"I don't blame you, you know. It's ok…."

"No, it's not OK…."

"We can't do anything about it now!"

I lean back out of our hug, stroking her hair. She only comes up to my waist still; I had been dreading the day that she hit her growth spurt and thus puberty. Now… I likely will never see that.

Prim puts on a brave smile, even with her blue eyes still wet. "Take care of Mother. And… maybe Toast the bread with someone…" Her irises now dance with matchmaking mischief.

I actually let out a watery laugh, still patting her head. "I'm never getting married, Little Duck…"

"You say that now… but Mother will want to see grandchildren…"

I still as I comprehend the implication behind those words. Prim seems to be saying I should marry and settle down, have babies (expectations placed unspokenly on district women of the homeland, but ones I have disavowed) because I likely will be the only one who can. The only one who would be able to continue the Everdeen line, some point in the near future. I shake my head, kneeling so that I am eye-level with Prim.

"I won't need to marry or give Mother grandchildren, Primmy. Because you will. Because you are going to win, you understand me?"

Perhaps to spare my feelings, Prim tries to hide how doubtful she looks, though I can't necessarily blame her. No one younger than fourteen has ever won the Games, and the fourteen-year-old was an outlier case that happened nearly a decade ago.

"When the gong sounds, I want you to run. Find a good place to hide and stay there, as long as you can. Keep careful count of the sound of the cannons. If you can hear and count 23, you'll be safe." I search her eyes, hoping she is listening to me. "Primmy, do you hear me? Promise me!"

"I…. I promise," she gets out shakily.

I smile weakly, kissing her forehead. "You'd better come home to me, Little Duck."

Prim smirks, cheekily shaking her little bottom. "Quack."

I chuckle; it almost morphs into a sob. "There's a good girl. …. I love you."

The Peacekeeper appears at that moment, as if on cue. I don't fight him when he escorts me out, as much as I might want to. Hell, even take my sister's place, damn the rules!

When I emerge from the private living quarters, I nearly walk right into Gale.

I blink. "What are you doing here?"

"Is she in there?" he answers my question with one of his own.

"She is. She'll be glad to see you."

"Good. The line for the poor sod other end of the building looks like it's dwindling."

The boy tribute. "Any idea who was picked?" I shudder as I picture a hulking Seam boy Gale's age.

But Gale is now smiling tentatively. "A Townie, from the scuttlebutt of it. One of the Baker's boys. Mellark."

I go still as stone, my heart now feeling like it is dropping out of my chest. I see, but don't fully register, how Gale's eyes furrow in concern.

"Catnip? Are you all right?"

I can't breathe. I feel dizzy. Suddenly, all I can see is the sheet of a rain's downpour. The faint glow of lights in an industrial building.

A boy, armed with bread and with ashy blonde hair and those eyes…. eyes as blue as a summer sky….

A name echoes in my brain: Peeta Mellark!

Oh no. Not him…. Snow's Roses, the State preserve us, not him….

"Catnip?"

"Huh?" I surface, blinking, out of my stupor.

"You don't look so good. A Townie getting Reaped means he won't know what he's doing. Helps Prim's chances, don't it?"

"Gale, how can you say that? We trade with the Baker!" The man has been known to have a guilty pleasure for squirrel. Gale and I often get staler bread out of the bargain.

And that's not even the worst part: if Peeta Mellark was Reaped, that means District 12 culled an accomplished wrestler. One who came in second in the all-district wrestling competition in school, and that was only to his own brother.

I wheel through everything I know – which is decidedly little – about the Mellarks. The father is kind, with three strapping sons and a shrewish wife. The oldest brother, I can dismiss out of hand – he aged out several years ago, is now married to the undertaker's daughter and has a child, to the best of my knowledge. The middle son, the one who clinched victory in the wrestling championship, is known by reputation as being a clown and a cut-up. He's ahead of me in school… by a year? Two years? I can't remember. In any case, today was one of his last Reapings, if not his very last.

And then there's the youngest. My classmate. The boy who has always silently tormented me with his very memory and presence. Peeta…

"Miss?" The Peacekeeper is asking me to move along.

"I… I have to go," I stammer. "Give Primmy as much advice as you can!"

Gale nods solemnly, understanding me instantly.

I wander, stagger out onto the steps of the Justice Building, my brain in a vapid fog. I'm still in such a state of shock that I nearly walk right past the pair huddled in the shadow of the building.

They're about halfway down the steps, arms around each other, one redhead and one blonde. A boy and a girl. I pause, staring at them curiously, particularly fixated on the head of the blonde boy from the back. When he turns his head, so that his face comes into profile, I inexplicably want to collapse from relief.

Peeta….

Peeta Mellark is now turning all the way around, halfway standing up from where he's been crouched with this girl. "Katniss." He breathes my name, and it sounds almost like praying – religious ritual that is strictly forbidden here in Twelve.

My face is somehow on fire now, and I glance down at my boots, scuffing them on the stone. My hands are now hopelessly creasing the skirt of my blue Reaping dress without my being fully aware that I'm doing it. "Hey."

The red-haired girl, still sniffling and sobbing softly, quiets slightly as she turns to also take me in.

"Oh, Katniss," Peeta murmurs, hesitantly stepping closer. "I'm so sorry."

I lift my eyes, lashing fluttering, to take him in. I am oddly struck by how handsome he is, even while emotionally broken. "It's not your fault…" I murmur.

Peeta, however, nods, jaw set. "Yeah, it is." He lowers himself heavily beside his companion again. "I should have volunteered when Rye's name was picked. But I didn't." He's kicking himself. "I'm such a coward."

I stay quiet, studying him with almost fascination. My emotions are trapped on a seesaw. On the one hand, I am vacillating wildly towards anger. True, it's not Peeta's fault that my sister was Reaped. No one could volunteer for a tribute from the opposite gender, anyway. But he does clearly seem to believe that his brother's forced conscription into the arena is his fault. This is where the anger oddly comes in – I didn't have the chance to volunteer for my sister when I know I would have, while Peeta had the chance to take his brother's place yet chose not to! The injustice of it enrages me.

Then, as quickly as the anger flares up, it is tempered by a wave of guilt, but also… relief. Relief that Peeta's brother, and not Peeta himself, is the one going in to certain death.

I chance a glance at the beautiful, striking red-haired girl and the guilt surges to overtake both relief and anger (however irrational the latter). Her brilliant green eyes are blotched as she presses tissues to them, her body curled into itself like a ball. Peeta wordlessly pats her arm.

"There, there… Oh, it's all right, Delly… you'll be OK…."

"No…." she moans. "It's not fair! Rye and I were going to have a Toasting… get married… he was going to have a ring ready to propose to me next summer, we talked about it…..!"

If I'm hearing her right, it sounds like Rye – Peeta's brother – was in with the seventeen-year-olds this year, making this his second-to-last Reaping. It is custom for eighteen-year-olds, following aging out of their last Reaping to propose to their sweethearts, many of them right here in the Square. The second half of summer is usually filled with weddings both during the Games and after the Games are over.

I watch the girl, my heart going out to her at clearly losing her boyfriend to a fate so cruel. Only now can I place a name to a face, remembering what Peeta called her. Delly… Delly Cartwright, daughter of the Merchant cobbler. Like the man she was apparently seeing, Delly is well known largely by reputation. Today is probably the first time anyone will have seen Delly cry ever, because all the other times I've encountered her in passing at school, her radiant grin has never left her face. I've always found it a little off-putting, how someone could be so – too – happy in a terrible, subsistent pit like District 12. I've always chalked it up to naiveté.

So, in a strange sort of way, it feels almost… right that someone so ludicrously happy like Delly Cartwright finally knows what it's like to feel pain, like everyone else in this shithole. I inwardly cringe. I'm starting to think like Gale. Gale, who seemed all fine and dandy seeing a 'Townie', as he calls them, go in because Snow knows that doesn't happen nearly often enough. I've tried to not match his resentment of the elite, upper class. People are people, and though he and I trade with decidedly few Merchants, the ones we do conduct business with have earned it because they are kind and fair. Like the Baker.

Like the Baker's handsome youngest son, sitting before me, comforting his almost-sister-in-law….

I look away. "I have to go…" I mumble.

I barely reach the edge of the Square before I break into a run, tears streaming down my cheeks, for home, where Mother is undoubtedly already waiting…