And we're off with the first reaping! As I mentioned previously I'll be doing the districts in order so stay tuned for district 2. Hope everyone enjoys meeting our first two tributes.

District 1 Reaping

Sterling Jacinth (18)

The double doors of the academy slam open with a bang. My friends and I spill into the entry chamber with its polished marble floor. Lining the walls portraits of previous victors stare down disapprovingly. From behind the mahogany doors the sounds of shouting and general chaos are still audible.

"Did you see their faces?" Onyx doubles over, his laughs coming in short little wheezes. "I thought old Ovinski's head was going to explode."

"I wish he had, would've been worth seeing." I can't deny, planting firecrackers underneath the head table had been one of my better ideas. The Head Trainer—Jet Ovinski—had been halfway through his annual speech on honor and loyalty to the Capitol when the fireworks had made themselves known with a loud bang and a conflagration of sparks.

"Do you think they'll know it was us?" Next to Onyx Paris looks nervous.

I shrug. "Does it matter? We're 18, after this afternoon we're be free forever." Or at least they will be. I'll be on a train bound for the capitol. A shiver of excitement races down my spine at the thought. No more tense family meals or lectures from my father. Only fantastic parties, adoring fans, and the flash of the camera.

I check the silver watch at my wrist—a present for my 18th birthday. "We should get going." There's still an hour until the reaping but I want to get there early. I have to be where the cameras can see me.

Before we can leave the door to the great hall creek open. Patina Merchant slips out, stopping dead when she sees up. Her face contorts into a grimace.

"Of course it would be you." I can't help but notice that she's already decked out in her reaping day best—a frilly white sundress that makes her look more like a doll than a tribute ready for the games. Blonde curls bounce around her face like coils.

I give her a mock salute. "Happy reaping day Patina."

She crosses her arms as we approach. "The headmaster's gonna kill you, you know that?"

I spread my arms and put on my best innocent voice: the one I usually reserve for nights my father catches me sneaking home after curfew. "Patina you wound me. Why would I disturb such an important celebration?"

Her eyes narrow and she toys with the end of her hair. A shame really that she doesn't smile more, she wouldn't look half bad without the scowl. "I don't know. Have you ever needed an excuse to cause mayhem before?"

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Sorry we can't all be as perfect as you Pats." Her frown deepens at the nickname. "Besides even if it was me, what's he gonna do? Send me into the games?" Behind me Paris lets out a little snicker.

"You might try to have a little respect." There's acid in her voice. "Being chosen for the games is an honor."

"Is that why your parents are sending you in honor? Or is it because your dad finally gambled away the last of the family fortune?" There's hardly anyone in the academy who hasn't heard the rumors about her family. The Merchant's might be an old name in District 1 but that doesn't exempt them from gossip.

A slight flush rise in her cheeks and I can tell I've hit a nerve. "You don't know what you're talking about."

I raise an eyebrow. "Don't I? Everyone knows you only get to train here because your mom and the headmaster are—

"You talk too much Sterling." Patina smiles, and I immediately decide I prefer the frown. Her eyes are like ice. "If I were you, I'd shut my mouth before someone shuts it for me."

"Is that a threat Pats?" I'd being lying if I said I wasn't impressed. While we've trained together for years I've never known Patina to speak out during lessons. She keeps her head down and follows orders without question. Turns out little-miss-perfect has a ruthless streak just like the rest of us.

"Just be careful."

"Likewise." I give her a wink. "See you at the reaping."

She turns on her heal and flounces out the academy door, blonde curls bouncing. Onyx lets out a low whistle.

Patina Merchant (18)

I rock backwards and forwards on the balls of me feet, craning my neck to get a glimpse of what's going on up on the stage. Not for the first time I curse my mother's side of the family for passing me the gene of shortness.

Like every year the square in front of the justice building is packed to bursting. Kids from every part of District 1 cram into the roped off area just in front of the newly erected stage, while their parents are left to find space where they can. There's a particularly festive feeling in the air, that I don't recall from previous reapings. Banners have been hung from a few store fronts, and more than one person in the crowd sports a little District 1 flag.

They must know. While the Academy pick for each years volunteers is supposed to remain a secret until the candidate actually mounts the reaping stage, clearly someone—probably Sterling—has let slip the names of this year's hopefuls.

Everyone's always excited to find out the selected academy students. Not only is it an immense honor to the student's families, but academy volunteers always make it farther in the games than other tributes. Last year two scrawny kids from the jewelers district beat the academy candidates to the stage. They both died on the second day, and people are understandably eager to return to more qualified tributes.

I can see Sterling from my place among the other 18 year old girls. His untidy blonde hair is hard to miss, standing at least a head over most of the other boys.

Our earlier altercation still stings. I've never liked Sterling—his ego and his penchant for misconduct don't win any points in my book—but taking blows at my family is a low blow even for him. Not all of us were lucky enough to be born into perfect families where everything is handed to us on a silver platter. I'll make him pay for that once we're in the games.

Up on the stage our ever-cheerful escort, Servilla fuses with the microphone. Behind her our mayor and the two victors who will be serving as mentors this year sit on carefully laid out chairs. I recognize the man immediately: Charles Lacourt. I've watched the reruns of his games half a dozen times. His victory over a club wielding boy from 4 is generally remembered as one of the greatest highlights of Hunger Games history. The dark-haired woman next to him is also well known to me, though in my books her reputation is far less admirable. Beryl Carter won her games, not through skill with weapons or strength but by appealing the baser desires of capitol citizens. They showered her in so many sponsorships that she'd hardly lifted a finger her entire time in the arena.

I fervently hope that my house in the victors village won't be situated next to hers. From what I've heard she entertains a less than savory crew. Of course I could always move back in with my parents, but I've sworn to myself that, after my fathers debts are cleared I'll never step a toe inside that mildewed old house again.

The clock strikes ten and the reaping is off like clockwork. Servilla practically prances up to the front of the stage. Every year she choosing a different color scheme, and this year it appears periwinkle blue is her pick. A large plastic butterfly teeters dangerously on top of her curls.

"Welcome everyone! This year we will select one lucky young man and woman to compete in the 55th annual Hunger Games."

There are cheers from the crowd. Everyone is eager to get the show started. Servilla wastes no time on the pleasantries, instead crossing to the first of the two reaping bowls.

I don't even wait for her to read the name before I begin to shove my way through the crowd. My heart hammers. The academy might have picked me, but if I'm too slow my spot could still be snatched away by someone else.

"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

I push past the last cluster of 12 year olds and breathlessly race up the steps. Servilla takes my hand and guides me to the center of the stage. The capitol cameras flash as I look out across the assembly. I can't help but scan the crowd for my parents. I find my mother standing easily enough, a few places back from the roped off area, not far from Headmaster Ovinski. She smiles and waves encouragingly. My father—unsurprisingly—is nowhere to be seen—probably off in a side alley taking bets on how many days into the games I'll make it. The thought makes my stomach churn.

"A volunteer, how exciting!" Servilla beams at me, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. "And what's your name darling?"

I raise my chin and try to make my voice sound as calm and confident as possible "Patina Merchant." A small cheer goes up.

"What a lovely young lady." She pats me on the shoulder with her heavily manicured hand. "Now for the boys!"

Servilla crosses to the second bowl and pulls out a glossy white strip of paper. Servilla barely has time to read out the name before a voice calls out to volunteer. Sterling shoulders his way through the crowd and bounds up on stage.

"And what's your name young man?"

"I'm Sterling Jacinth." He grins at the crowd, sending a special wink in the direction of the cameras. I have to fight not to roll my eyes. "But you can just call me District 1's next victor."

Servilla lets out a little giggle. "There you have it ladies and gentlemen: the tributes from District 1. If you could please shake hands.

We turn to face each other. Sterling raises one blonde eyebrow as we shake. "Good luck Patina."

I dig my nails into the back of his hand and I see him wince. Good. District 1's golden boy bleeds like the rest of us. "Good luck Sterling."

Sterling Jacinth (18)

"My boy. My only son." My mother is crying, as if my entering the games is a surprise, not something we've planned for since I was nine. Violent sobs shake her body as she clings to the front of my shirt. I roll my eyes and pat her on the back.

It's my father who steps in after several more seconds of hysterical sobs. "Pull yourself together Citrine. You're making a scene."

I could point out that the only people witnessing this scene, apart from our small family, are the peacekeepers stationed on either side of the door, but I hold my tongue. I'm not really in the mood for a spat today.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes with a shaky breath. "I'm sorry you're right."

As gently as I can I push her away and smooth out the slightly damp front of my shirt. "Don't worry mom. I'll be back in no time at all."

"You there." My father snaps him fingers at one of the waiting peacekeepers. "Take her out until she's composed herself."

The man helps my mother to her feet and escorts her out of the room, door clicking shut behind them. I'm left alone, pinioned under my father's icy gaze.

"I wanted to talk to you before you left, father to son." He sinks into the chair next to me. "The entire country will be watching you in these games. If you dare to dishonor me…" He doesn't need to finish the sentence.

"I know, I know." I wave a hand causally. "Better to die honorably than besmirch the family name."

Anger flashes in his eyes. "You listen to me boy. I enrolled you in the academy because I hoped it would straiten you out, instill some discipline. Now I don't care if you come back in a wooden box or in a victors crown. But if you behave badly, shame yourself or this family, then you will no longer be my son nor will you be allowed back in my house. Is that understood?"

I'm not your son the moment I get on that train, and I'm never going back to your house. I think, but I don't say it. Instead I give him the answer he wants to here. "Understood."