District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-

The sound of footsteps awakens me. My hands reach through the darkness and lock around my flashlight. I shine it at the clock. 2:34 A.M. Papa must be sleepwalking again. He always sleepwalks when he's nervous. Of course he's nervous. Today is the day of the reaping.

I roll out of bed and lightly tread down the stairs. Sure enough, Papa is standing in the parlor, milling in circles. He's muttering something quietly to himself, but I can't quite make it out.

"Papa!" I call.

He jumps. "Oh. It's just you, Adelaide. What happened?"

"You were just sleepwalking," I answer. I start walking toward the kitchen. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes, please."

I return in a few seconds with the glass. He gulps it down, sighing gratefully from the refreshing drink.

"Go back to bed now," I whisper, ushering him back toward the bedroom. "You're safe. It was only a dream. A figment of your imagination. Just a fantasy."

"Yes, only a dream," he mumbles, his voice fading slowly away. He must be falling back asleep already. I only walk back upstairs once I'm sure he's safe and sound in bed.

Upstairs, I find my bedroom door shut. I must have closed it on the way out. As I turn the handle, my sleeve falls down. A moonbeam falls through the window and illuminates my scar. I scowl and cover it back up. It's been three years since I got that scar. But I still remember it. Vividly. I was just trying to break up a fight when my friend Solena's father smashed a glass bottle into my arm. I'm still furious at him to this day. Even when I'm alone, looking at that scar makes my vision go red.

No matter how much I toss and turn in bed, I can't fall asleep. It seems like it's been an eternity when I finally grab a flashlight and dictionary. Memorizing definitions always calms me down. Definitions help keep in order the things that can't be kept in order. They help to explain the things I can't explain.

Bureaucratic (adj): Overly concerned with procedure at the expense of efficiency or common sense.

I like that word. It reminds me of a fancy building with heavy marble columns, though I'm not sure why.

Aglet (n): A metal or plastic tube fixed tightly around the end of a shoelace.

Interesting. I never knew there was a word for those.

Before long, I'm lost in a pile of pronouns, adverbs, past participles, articles, and helping verbs, and a dark wave of sleep washes over me.

District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-

The morning of the reaping is never different from any other morning in the Wattson household. Mom and Dad's loud conversations jolt me out of my sleep and I have no choice but to get up and make myself some coffee.

"I have good news!" my father gushes. "We made a new business deal with Microbite Incorporated! That means new advertising potential, and, my favorite, more money!"

"Can you quiet down?" I rasp, taking a sip of my coffee. "It's seven in the morning for Pete's sake."

"How can I be quiet when today is the start of a whole new era in our business?" Dad asks, louder than ever before.

"Well, could you start by lowering your voice just a little?" I say, annoyed.

"Hey! I don't like where this new attitude came from," Mom warns. "I'll take away your computer for another week, I will."

"So?"

"So?" Mom roars. "Go to your room!"

I can't hide my amusement. "You know I'm not seven years old, right?"

"It doesn't matter how old you are! You're under my roof, you're under my rules!"

"Fine!" I yell, storming up the stairs. Volkner stands on the first landing.

"What's with all of the noise? I'm trying to sleep," Volkner says groggily, evidently sleep-addled.

"Mom and Dad are just being stupid as usual."

He gasps. "Don't say that. They work hard to keep the household running." Volkner looks genuinely offended.

"Don't give me that. Just because Mom invents some stupid weather tracker doesn't mean she has the right to boss us around," I spit.

"You're going to regret all of this one day," he warns.

"I. Don't. Care!" And I slam the door to my bedroom behind me.

District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-

District 5's escort Amity Kilbane has hair a bit too yellow for my liking. She talks a bit too much for my taste. And her butt juts out much too far for anyone to be at ease.

"Are we ready for the eighty-third annual Hunger Games?" Amity bellows into the microphone before clapping her hands over her head. A few people clap.

"Good!" Amity reads through the Treaty of Treason and then makes a start toward the girls' reaping bowl.

Amity draws one of the slips and slowly unfolds it. Silence envelops the square.

"Adelaide Hampton!"

I always thought that if I were reaped I would cry. But crying is for things that you have no control over. Crying is for times where there is no option but to accept things as they are. This is not one of those times. There's no doubt that I can win if I play my cards right. Tributes win the games by outwitting their competitors just as often as overpowering them.

I swallow hard and walk to the stage as calmly as possible. It's funny how being reaped seems to turn the dial down on everything. All I'm thinking about is how the cameras are trained on me. I only have one shot at this. I can't screw this up.

"Congratulations, "Amity says. "What's it like in your first few moments as a tribute?"

I take two deep breaths to calm myself, but my voice still cracks a little from nervousness. "It's great. I can't wait to get to the Capitol. I wonder what it's like there!" I say, feigning enthusiasm.

Amity checks her watch. "My! We're almost out of time. We'd better pick a lucky boy before time is up!"

She shuffles over the boy's bowl. I wonder who'll be joining me in the games.

District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-

"Arthur Wattson!"

My name sounds weird through the speakers. There are a few seconds of shock, and then terror starts to set in. I am going into the Hunger Games.

Calm down, Arthur. You might not have to go anywhere.

I peer all around, panning over the rows of faces. Where is Arthur? Hmmm. I wonder where he is. I've never heard that name before.

Someone taps me on my shoulder. A boy I recognize from my grade.

"Are you Arthur Wattson?" the boy asks, though he looks like he already knows the answer.

"Nope," I say quickly. "Never heard of him."

The boy raises his hand. "Arthur is right here!" he yells.

"Shut up!" I hiss.

"Mr. Wattson, are you coming?" Amity repeats.

"Yep," I scowl. And I walk to the stage. Thanks a lot, stupid kid.

District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-

Dad and Papa speed into the Justice Building. I've never minded having two fathers. They're as loving as two parents ever could be.

"Adelaide," Dad says, "I know you can win the games."

"And with your eyes closed, too," Papa adds.

"I don't think we ought to arrange that, though." It's my lame attempt at a joke, and they don't laugh.

"You're smart," Papa continues.

"But what if I'm not smart enough?"

"Not smart enough? Oh please," Dad breathes. "You asked for a dictionary and set of encyclopedias for your eighth birthday. The others won't have a prayer."

District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-

My parents are the only people that come to say goodbye . It's not like I mind. I don't remember the last time I called anybody my friend. I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much.

"You've got to win, you've just got to," Dad says. "You've got to inherit the family business!"

"What if I don't care about the family business?"

Dad stops breathing for a few seconds, and silence envelops the Justice Building. He looks like he wants to argue, but he decides not to. Dad steps back and lets Mom do the talking.

"I love you," Mom says, tracing her finger over my ear. "And you're about to face some of the most difficult things you have ever encountered. Just remember how strong you are."

Surprise! Double update! Inclement weather had me trapped inside with nothing to do all day but write. Thanks to TheReaper94 for Adelaide and HoppsHungerfan for Arthur!

Question 1: What is an aglet?

Question 2: What beverage does Arthur drink every morning?