District 5: Alec Hampton (11) Pov-
(Adelaide Hampton's Brother)

For the past week, the sunlight filtering in through the scratchy cloth curtains hasn't felt quite as warm. The whining electric lights overhead haven't felt quite as bright. And a tissue or two doesn't seem to quell a stream of tears as easily as it used to.

I'd be lying if I said I don't love Adelaide. From the very start, she's always been there for me. My best friend. The one who stood behind me when nobody else did. The one who held out her hand whenever I fell, even when nobody else saw me. Especially when nobody else saw me.

Similarly to so many things that I've long since stop trying to count, sinking down onto the sofa doesn't feel relaxing. It just hurts. I've sat at the end of the couch watching hundreds of tributes die over the years, but it's only now that the horror of the Hunger Games is truly settling into my skin.

I can't say this out loud, but I can believe it in the privacy of my own heart. My sister, Adelaide Hampton, probably isn't going to come home. One in twenty-four. Those are the odds. I imagine a dart board with one twenty-fourth shaded, and then trying to hit the shaded area. It's probably not going to happen.

Papa doesn't say anything as he grabs the television remote and flicks on the interviews. The silence is heavier than I've ever known silence could be. It's like there's no tears left to cry. Like we've sobbed so much that there's a sort of silence. Like nothing will ever happen again.

The television screen flickers to life, and I wiggle into Dad's arms as Caesar Flickerman's laughing face comes into view.

"Skip to hers," Dad says. He hasn't brung himself to say the name of his daughter for a week.

Papa and Dad watch in solemn silence as Adelaide's face comes onto the screen, and tears threaten to burst out of me, my insides wrenching with pain. This is so horrible! So unjust!

Adelaide answers Caesar's first question. Papa shouts "turn it off!" and the next moment the television goes black, his hand still pressing down the rubbery red remote button.

I can't remember any other night the house has been this quiet.

District 5: Terran Wattson (51) Pov-
(Arthur Wattson's Father)

Conna ladles some of the hot soup into her bowl. Thick, almost grey steam floats from the surface, trailing out of the propped-open door. But she doesn't eat it. She just tosses the vegetables back and forth on the surface of the broth, watching them drift from one end of the bowl to another like lost ships in a sea.

She's been my wife for eighteen years, and since then we've built our lives up from the ground. Conna was one of the poorest in 5 when she invented the weather tracker from some scrap pieces in a junkyard. A couple million dollars later, we met, and five months later we were married. I had been diagnosed with severe depression when I opened the family wristwatch business, and it was the only thing that kept me from giving up every single day.

And then Arthur was born. I remember the day that Conna emerged from the bathroom and shoved the test into my face, eagerly pointing out the two faint lines. Joy flooded through me, causing my heart to flutter with excitement. Seventeen years later I can still remember feeling like I was floating.

And as Arthur grew older, I slowly introduced him to the family business. He was five when I handed him a few mechanical parts used in our watches, and he returned minutes later with an alien-like creature he'd created. I knew my legacy would never die.

And he grew even older, and I was more surprised than I should have been that boys grow faster than watches. He didn't like sitting still assembling those "stupid clock things" and wanted to go hang out with his friends, doing "cooler" things.

I just wish Arthur would listen to me! I wish I could tell him how much I love him! How sorry I am for all the times I've yelled at him.

I'm not seeing him again for a long time, but I believe he'll be coming home. I have to believe. It's my job as a father to have faith in my son even beyond all reason. If only I could see his smile just once, just to get me through these few weeks...

It breaks my heart to try to remember the last time I told Arthur that I love him.

District 9: Anna Hough (13) Pov-
(Harper Lamb's Best Friend)

I slam the door of my locker shut and start into my next class. The teacher already stands at the front of the classroom, scribbling something on the chalkboard. I take my seat in the center of the third row.

This is the first time the seat to my right has gone empty.

Occasionally, other kids will peer back at the chair with sad eyes. That's where Harper Lamb once sat. The twelve-year-old girl going into the games. For anyone this young, the odds of winning the games would be almost indistinguishable from zero.

"Hello," Ms. Merrill shouts. Over the course of a few seconds, the nervous chatting of the class dies down. "Today I am going to teach you about the corn harvesting process."

"As you all know," she continues, "the main industry of District 9 is producing grain for the Capitol and for Panem. However, we occasionally dabble in other crops, such as the corn we will be discussing today."

She points to the diagram she's drawn on the chalkboard. "Can anyone tell me which month corn seeds should begin germinating?"

Vary Laird raises her hand.

"Yes, Vary?"

"Early May."

"Correct. Can anyone tell me which month most corn growing takes place?"

Vary raises her hand again, being the smartest in the class, but Ms. Merrill ignores her and picks on Kenton Love.

"Yes, Kenton?"

"July."

"Correct."

The lesson is just about as boring as every other lesson in District 9 school. But it's even more boring without Harper. Without Harper to whisper to whenever the teacher accidentally says something funny. Without Harper to borrow a pencil from when I need it. Without Harper to tap out the answer for me whenever I'm called on in a lesson I haven't been paying attention in.

School from here on out is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

District 12: Smelter Pick (12) Pov-
(Hopper Vigo's Best Friend)

I peer into the hallway, able to hear the rumble of voices despite my enormous distance from the cafeteria. All of the staff are breakfasting down the hall, leaving the rest of the orphanage deserted. The perfect time for mischief.

"Everything in place?"

Sooty nods, holding out her pillowcase. I peer inside, noting that it's filled almost to the brim with dirt.

"I leaned out the window and scooped it up," Sooty explains. "But it's a little heavy. Can I set it down?"

I shake my head. "The Matron could be here any second. We have to work fast."

Sooty grabs the wheelie chair while I unwind the rope I've stolen from one of the cupboards. I stretch the rope around the bag of dirt and tie it into a tight knot. Balancing the bag ever-so-carefully on the palm of her hand, Sooty steps onto the seat of the wheelie chair and balances the bag of dirt on top of the door, propping in a few markers for extra stability. I tie one end of the rope to the doorknob, and we duck together under a nearby desk.

"Remind me how this is going to work," Sooty says.

"We make noise to lure the matron toward us," I explain. "When she twists the doorknob, that rope will go slack, and the bag of dirt will flip upside-down and pour onto her head."

A smile spreads across her face. "I like it!"

Clenching my hand into a fist, I beat the bottom of the desk with all of the strength I can muster, hooting loudly. Sooty joins into the cry, and it's not long before the Matron's girly voice can be heard from nearby ("I swear if it's those two kids again…")

"For Hopper Vigo," I mutter with a grin as the Matron's footsteps grow louder.

"For Hopper Vigo," Sooty repeats.

One second, the Matron's footsteps stop. The next second, there's a creak as she twists the doorknob.

With a boom and a crash, the bag of dirt flips upside down, pouring its filthy contents onto her head. The Matron staggers backward, gasping, as the pile of dirt spreads through the air like a cloud of dust. When everything settles, the well-worked vein in her neck looks just about ready to explode.

It's been a resolution of Sooty's and mine to play at least one good prank on the Matron every day. Like Hopper said, there's not much we can do to help him out now that he's in the Capitol, but I think if he doesn't come home this is how he'd like to be remembered.

Thanks for reading! This was one of my favorite chapters and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Next chapter is going to have a couple tributes' Pov inside the launch rooms, and the chapter after that one will be the bloodbath! Ah! So exciting :D

Question 1: If Katniss and Peeta both died in the 74th games, which tribute would you have wanted to win?

Question 2: In the games, would you rather die a painful but fast death in combat or a less painful but slower death from natural causes?