Chip Maxen, 13, D12M:

I'm in a full state of panic. All of my thoughts are muddled together. This isn't some inappropriate joke that I can explain away when a teacher catches me, or a mocking bully that I can run away from. The Hunger Games are final, and I'm going to die. I'm absolutely certain of it, there's no way I'll escape the arena.

I've always been a hopeful person, but I'm not stupid. Thirteen-year-olds from District Twelve don't win Quarter Quells. One actually survived last year, but his family members all suddenly 'died of old age'' right after he won, as punishment for making the Capitol look bad. At least I don't even have to worry about that happening to my parents and Zeke, because I'll probably die in the first few minutes.

"Chip, I know you're afraid," Mother says. She ran to get Father from his work, and now they and Zeke are sitting in the Justice Building with me. "But if you allow yourself to be afraid of circumstances beyond your control, you give up your power to make thoughtful choices."

"Mother, I get that you're into philosophy, but this isn't the time for cryptic messages. I'm about to get sent to my death!"

"What I mean is that you're going into the Hunger Games no matter what, and the worst thing that can happen is that you die. Try not to worry about that. Instead, you've got to make a plan of action to reduce the chance of dying as much as possible. You're entering with the assumption that you'll get killed early on, so find ways to prolong it. It's like your homework, you know you'll have to do it at some point, so you don't dwell on it and procrastinate as much as possible. You know, stonewall until you almost forget there is homework." That's a little better of an explanation, and I try to dissect it further.

If I keep in mind that dying is the worst case scenario, and remind myself that every choice I make can only improve my chance of living, I can just try to prolong it. I noticed Mother's joke about my homework, and that's a good way to think of it. Just like I think to myself that I'll just put it off one more hour, I'll tell myself I just need to survive one more day. There's a chance that could actually be helpful. I might have a fighting chance now.

"Plus," Father puts in, "The Hunger Games aren't all about combat ability. More often, sponsors take a liking to tributes because they project a certain image. You're a young boy from District Twelve, and if you're as jovial and sweet at the Capitol as you are here, they'll be sympathetic to your cause and want you to survive. Remember, those sorts of folk are drawn in by the allure of entertainment, and everybody loves an underdog."

"What sort of dog is that?" asks Zeke. "Is it like one of the mangy ones that hang out near the butcher's house?"

"It's not a real dog," I explain.

"What is it under? His porch? His chair? Ooh, I'll bet it's under his kitchen table!"

"It's not a real dog," I repeat. "It's a person who's predicted to lose a competition but a lot of people support them."

"Then why is it called a dog?"

"Zeke, I really don't know. I'm sure Mother will tell you later, but I've only got a couple more minutes before I have to leave." I hug him goodbye, and Mother and Father, and before he leaves with my parents, Zeke offers me a drawing.

"Take it as your token," he urges, so I do, folding it neatly in quarters as he leaves. The grumpy, teal-haired escort comes in to collect me.

"Aren't you so very excited to go to the Capitol?" he says dryly.

"Are you being sarcastic?" I ask.

"Me? Never," he drawls.

I follow him into the corridor, and although I'm grateful he's not a stuck-up priss, I'm a bit unnerved by him. How has this lazy, sardonic man actually been placed in a position of responsibility? If my mentor is like this, I'm lucky to survive long enough to even enter the Hunger Games.

Emily Parker, 12, D10F:

I look warily at the Peacekeeper by the door. Was he one of the few who Trey bribed to let him go? Trey, who kidnapped me, chained me up in a tiny cellar, and tortured me. Trey who killed the five friends I was with.

Trey who I'll now be going into the arena with. He'll fit right in with the Careers, I'm sure. I won't stand a chance. If he's happy to murder young children in District Ten where it's illegal, he'll be delighted to murder slightly older children in a public fight to the death with no consequences whatsoever. Mama and Papa and my brother Jacob are here, all trying to console me, but I feel so hopeless. Trey doesn't like feeling foolish, and when I escaped his clutches, he probably felt very foolish indeed. He'll target me first, I'm certain of it.

"...Emily? Emily, are you listening?"

"Sorry Mama, but I wasn't. Trey Copper is there! He's going to kill me! There's no chance I'm ever going home!" I start crying again, and Mama slumps forward. Nothing she says is going to make me feel better. Papa tries instead.

"Oh, Emily, of course you can make it. Don't think that way! Remember the thirteen-year-old boy from Twelve who won last year?" I do, but younger tributes rarely survive. Plus, the last Head Gamemaker mysteriously disappeared after that victor was crowned, and the new one is probably not going to make the mistake again of letting some twelve-year-old win, especially not a Quarter Quell.

"But sweetie, remember, it is a Quarter Quell, and while that might not seem so good, you will at least get a better mentor than usual. District Six, I think."

"No," Mama corrects. "District Seven. And that is a real piece of luck." District Ten is one of the worst districts, with only two living victors. They both try to help, but they just aren't very good at being mentors. District Seven, on the other hand, while also having only two living victors (their other four got sick and died of an illness last year that ripped through the Victor's Village; the mourning was televised for weeks), gets their tributes pretty far. I've had a horribly unlucky day, but maybe the odds are in my favor just this once.

"Yeah, but they can't help me once I'm inside the arena. And I don't have any useful skills, and there's no way I can learn enough to escape Trey in only three days."

"Well," Jacob pipes up, "Maybe you should ask the training people. I bet they have some obscure weapon that'll be just right for you." Finally, something useful. I'd much rather have my family plan with me than comfort me. And maybe they do have something I can use. Maybe some little-known thing that Trey won't know how to defend against.

That's not going to happen, though. Because Trey will probably go for me the second the Hunger Games start, and I won't have a weapon.

"We love you, Emily," says Mama.

"Yes, we really do." Papa agrees.

"And we hope to see you soon." adds Jacob.

"I'll come back," I say halfheartedly. One more hug and then farewell to my family, almost certainly forever. The escort knocks on the door, then comes in.

"Emily," he informs me, "If you're all finished with your goodbyes, I'd like you to come with Trey and I to the car. We're going to be heading to the Capitol soon." I want more time, but I can't have any, so I make sure I still have my bracelet, which will be my token in the arena. It's a bangle Jacob bought for my birthday a long time ago, and since I've never taken it off and my wrist has grown a lot, it's stuck on there permanently. I check anyway, though, because I want that little piece of home. After confirming it's still there, I follow him out to the car. He sticks by my side, making sure to always stay between Trey and I (probably having heard what he did to me), and although I'm grateful for the care he's taking, I don't want to be lulled into a false sense of security.

Once I'm in the arena, this man and his loud red-checkered waistcoat will not be able to save me from Trey. Nothing can.

Ryan Ritz, 15, D5M:

The first thing Anthony says when he comes into the big Justice Building room is that I don't need to worry about the littler kids because the twelve-year-olds are back at the Kitters' place to handle things. It's pathetic that people who chose to run an orphanage are so neglectful that someone who's not even a teenager yet has to care for the children there, but either way, I'm glad they're safe.

Anthony sits right down next to me on the plush velvet couch. It's the nicest piece of furniture I've ever seen, and I sort of pet the fabric absentmindedly. "So what's your plan?" he asks me.

"I dunno, dude. Probably team up with a few younger kids, hide somewhere, and maybe scavenge food."

"So basically what we've done for the past five years?" he asks. When I think about it, he's definitely right. Sometimes the Kitters didn't let us have food, and I had to find some, not just for me, but for the others too. When Mrs. Kitter was fuming about something or other and found something scary to hit us with, I had to hide, and hide well, because I was in her house and she knows most of the little nooks in it.

"Yeah. What else is there to do? I'm not a murderer, Anthony. Not like the Careers are." The Career Pack is the threat ahead of me that scares me above anything else. Trained tributes frothing at the mouth, just waiting for the opportunity to taunt and torture and murder the rest of us. Even though I might have to defend myself with a weapon, I don't want to hurt anybody on purpose.

"I know that. Whatever you do, I'm sure you'll be fine. There's no way anybody will know how to stick out tough things the way you can." There's also some truth to this. Pain isn't as frightening to me as it is to other people, because my whole childhood has been a worst-case scenario. The other tributes, particularly the richer and better-fed ones, simply don't know how to endure the way I do. It takes experience with some seriously bad situations to truly be accepting and comfortable with a constant state of fear.

"You're right, I'll be fine. What could possibly go wrong?" There are actually quite a few things that could go wrong, but what am I going to tell my best friend? That he's going to have to watch somebody rip my intestines out on live television? And the little kids will have to see it too? And he'll probably end up even more traumatized but then he's going to have to take care of them anyway, but without my help? There's no way I could do that to him. "Nothing's going to happen to me, and I'll come home, and we'll finally be able to get fed on a regular basis and have a proper house to live in."

"Yeah! And I bet you could do more to help the little kids too!" he exclaims. I bet I could, if I survive. The conversation sort of dies out, and we stop talking about the probability that I'll win the Hunger Games and be able to come home, which is just as well because the Peacekeeper guarding the door says we're out of time. He yanks Anthony outside before I even have a chance to actually say goodbye.

Oscar Poudret, 17, D1M:

Lucia and Logane come into the Justice Building first. They're happy that I'm getting away from Alise and her abuse, but concerned that I might not win the Hunger Games. They should know better than that. I might not have trained of my own volition, but I've still managed to excel with my weapon of choice. Anything less than victory is unthinkable. Alise will see it as me winning to make her rich like she once was, but I'm in it for a different reason. Once I'm a victor, I'll have enough power to get her killed, or at least imprisoned.

"Of course I'm glad for you!" Lucia exclaims. "It's a huge honor to be a Career in a Quarter Quell, and I don't doubt for a moment that you'll do amazing. It's just important to remember that every one of the other Careers is just as passionate and prepared to win."

She's definitely right about that. At this point, I'm flip-flopping between bouts of confidence and pure fear. My district partner, the girl who calls herself Livi, is straight-up terrifying. It's not just that she's tough. She also holds a natural disdain for the people around her, but it doesn't even come off as arrogant, just matter-of-fact. When I had to shake her hand, I know I didn't just look lesser. I felt lesser too, and the best I can do is pray the Capitolites couldn't tell.

I'm certain they could. I naturally have the Career mentality when I get into my fighting enough, but Livi's on a different level, a higher one. There's no doubt in my mind that she'll lead the Career Pack, and heaven help me if I dare argue with her. Her intimidation strategy is obvious, but it's very, very effective. It contributes to my already mounting fears about the Hunger Games.

Most of the tributes, I could probably take on. My most pressing concern are the Gamemakers themselves. They like bloody fights and seeing tributes run from packs of vicious mutts and erupting volcanoes. They like driving tributes into one another's path and blocking paths or draining lakes. If they don't like what I'm doing, they can summon a bolt of lightning to jolt me into next Tuesday, or better yet, kill me on the spot. Everything in the arena is engineered by them, and I'd better learn to get on their good side.

Come to think of it, that'll work for Livi too. I'm certain she's going to be my biggest threat, and if there's someone out there who's strong enough to frighten her, I'm absolutely screwed. As if reading my thoughts, Logane speaks up. "Even the strongest competitors have weaknesses, Oscar. You just have to find them."

"Yeah," Lucia agrees. "You were under Alise's thumb because she's your mother and you live in her house. There's nothing preventing you from fighting back in the arena." She's right of course. I could have hurt Alise badly, but in District One, fighting is outlawed unless it's supervised by an instructor at the Academy. I didn't dare to try, since I already had one strike because of an unfortunate altercation last year that ended with the other boy a bloody pulp. I guess it'll be easier to fight when there are no repercussions.

"Anything else I should keep in mind?" I ask.

"Uh-huh. Remember the Quarter Quell twist? Your mentor will be from a different district. Ten, I think." I'd forgotten. Usually the Peacekeepers are the only people who really keep on top of little things like that. "Also," he continues, "The other bit of the twist is that the Cornucopia will have less supplies and sponsor gifts will be more expensive."

That's also not fabulous news. It'd be great to have more supplies, but the sponsors will be there for the Career Pack even if the gifts are pricier than usual. Eventually, there are more words of encouragement, and then hugs goodbye, and promises that I'll win for them, and the Peacekeeper leads them out. Then the true gravity of the situation sets in. I will not be able to avoid and evade the way I do here in training. The Gamemakers will force me into direct confrontation, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that I'm going to need some people on my side.

My best shot will be the Career Pack, even with Livi heading it. All I can hope for is that the mutts and disasters will take her out before she can kill me. A sudden pit of dread fills me as an even more concerning thought comes to me: I haven't even met any of the other Careers yet. This is a Quarter Quell, where only the cream of the crop volunteer, and Livi's level of skill is not exceptional but rather, just to be expected. I am not cut out for this.

Ardledge Merton, 18, D4M:

The Justice Building is richly decorated, and although the tchotchkes are reminiscent of the fishing I do, they're far too ornate. I'm almost nervous to sit down; I feel like if I muss the plump seashell cushions, or worse, smudge the white loveseat they're arranged on, some cranky lady with gray hair and glasses with a chain is going to come in and scold me for disturbing things.

Then again, the Capitol has selected me for the Hunger Games, where I will be trained to hurt people with actual weapons, so somehow rumpling a few pillows doesn't seem like that big of a deal. I wonder how Winnie and Adrian will fare when I'm in the arena. Probably fine, Winnie's strong and will continue to fish, plus my parents will be there to provide moral support and help care for Adrian. My son, who might not grow up to know his father.

I don't like violence, so I avoided attending training at the Academy, and my parents respected my decision. Now I half-wish they had made me go, maybe I'd have learned something useful to keep me alive. Speaking of my parents, they enter now, smiling for my benefit. "It's not so bad," Mom tries to comfort me. "I'm sure you'll come out just fine. You'll be back home with us soon enough."

"No!"

"Why not?" she asks.

"Mom, I really don't think I'm going to be the victor. I'm not strong, not smart, and I can't even stand the sight of weapons. I'm done for," I say gloomily.

"Oh, Ardledge, of course you're not! Your father and Winnie and I will all be rooting for you, and we love you so much." That's nice of her, but really now, she can't actually believe I can win with an aversion to bloodshed and the power of friendship. Dad gives a grunt that sounds something like 'yeah', but it's impossible to tell for sure. The second they leave, Winnie comes in with Adrian on her hip, pacing angrily and swearing like the sailor she is.

"The hell are they on? Those dirty bastards are not taking you, honey. There must be some way, something I can do to-"

"Winnie, there's really not." I try to signal with my eyes that she should watch her language around the Peacekeeper. She's obviously just upset that I got picked for the Hunger Games, but the Capitol tends to misconstrue such things as rebellion, and they probably won't take too kindly to one of their tributes' family members calling them names.

"Oh yes there is! Maybe I could talk to the mayor, or better yet, ask the escort if she has a hand in anything, I bet she'll ask the Head Gamemaker or the President or somebody, I swear, if she says no, I'm gonna stick right by you until the goddamned Peacekeepers have to pry me off of you with a crowbar!" She pauses to glare irritably at the one by the door and scuffs her shoe against the baseboard.

"Winnie, please. You know you can't do that. I'll do my best to win, but you've got to be prepared for me not to come back. You need to take care of Adrian." Winnie looks at his sleeping face and smiles.

"You know I will. He's more important than anything else in the world." As if on cue, Adrian flutters open his eyes.

"Hey, honey," coos Winnie. "Are you ready to say goodbye to Daddy?"

"Da!" squeals Adrian. He can't say proper words yet, just gibberish, but he's on the right track with the letter sounds. What if I die and miss his childhood? What if I'll be absent from every one of his memories?

"Yes, I love you too!" I lean down to kiss his tiny cheek. The Peacekeeper grunts from his spot by the door.

"Time's up!"

"Please, just a few more minutes, one would even be enough-" Winnie asks.

"Fine, but then you need to get right out of here," he warns. She kisses me quickly on the lips.

"I love you."

"Love you too, Winnie." She leaves quickly, at the Peacekeeper's bidding, and I sit quietly, contemplating the dilemma before me.

If I don't fight for my son, I am a terrible father, but if I do, I will be a murderer.

Damon Archer, 14, D7M:

I can hear Ma in the Justice Building long before I see her. "Where is my son?" she demands.

"He's right down this hallway, ma'am," says a Peacekeeper. She frantically brushes past him into the room.

"Damon!" she exclaims, practically running me over. She carries a gingham-covered platter. "I made the pie I promised you!" TShe did promise me a post-Reaping pie, but this is unusually ditzy of her, so I'm anticipating either a hidden meaning or an ulterior purpose. The Peacekeeper's ears prick up.

"Pie? What sort of pie?"

"Blackberry pie!" Ma squeals. "Do you want a piece?"

"Sure, I could go for some pie." Ma dishes him up a large slice onto a napkin and he leaves the door unattended to go outside and eat it. Why Ma distracted him, I don't know, but she definitely has something important to share.

"Damon, I have something important for you."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do." She produces something from her dress pocket and presses it into my hand. It's a silver bracelet with a small charm on it. I look a bit closer and realize it's a tiny axe head. "When your father died in the Hunger Games, they sent this home with his body. It was his token, and I presented it to him just like this fourteen years ago. I was still working as a logger, and I had saved up all of my extra money to buy it for him. I had been planning on surprising him with it, but I gave it to him early, in this very room. They haven't even replaced the furniture." She runs her hand along the suede armchair I'm curled up on and her face is clouded with anguish.

"He sat on this same chair. I was only seventeen when I said goodbye to him. You know, that bangle isn't the only thing sent home with his body." She pulls out a heavy envelope with an intact wax seal on the upper flap. "Your father wrote this letter to me when he was at the Capitol and asked for it to be sent to me." I already know what it says, because I once went snooping around in the chest under her bed and found the letter, which had already been opened.

"He loved you so much, and he was so sad he never got to meet you. He said that he wanted the both of us to have everything of his, and that I was the best wife a man could ask for. You're so very like him, you truly are. You share his looks, his personality, his old clothes, even his name. Would you like me to read his note to you?"

"Yes, Ma." I already know what it says, but having it read to me is a different experience.

"Alright then. Here it is: 'My dearest Amelia, you will never know how much you mean to me. You're everything I've ever known and everything still left to learn, and when I'm by your side, I've never felt more fully like myself. You've always lent me courage and patience when I fall short, and I'll always owe you my love for that, but I'd give it freely anyway. You're the love of my life, and you'll be an amazing mother to our child."

"Tell them of my love, for you and for them, and care for them every day while I am gone, and in the event of my death, raise them up to mirror you. Maybe they'll inherit your gentleness instead of my anger. But no matter what, never let them make the mistake I did, of hating the Capitol so much that I ostracized the people who could've helped me, but after what I did when I was there, there's no chance that I'll be leaving alive. Buckets of love to you and our baby. I'll never forget you, my dear. Damon.'"

"So, Damon, don't do anything stupid, okay? Don't piss off the Capitolites, don't harass them, don't even mock them. They're disgusting, and they've rained abuse down on the rest of Panem since the beginning of time, but you can't afford to lose their support!" She grips my arm so tight it almost hurts. "I don't want to lose my son as well as my husband. So please, keep your wits about you, and wear your father's bracelet. Hopefully it'll bring you better luck than it did him. I love you, stay strong."

She kisses my forehead and turns on her heel to leave right as the Peacekeeper comes back, licking berry juice off of his fingers, to announce that she has to leave. For her, I know I can survive.

Lyra-Rose Ripley, 16, D4F:

My family members all stream into the Justice Building together, Mother, Father, Stacey, and Dorian. Dorian isn't smiling. Even the baby has turned against me, so I scowl at him until he starts crying again. Good, it's what he deserves. Stacey, my nasty, backstabbing sister, is next. "You made me volunteer!" I shout at her. My parents hang back; even they know pissing me off more isn't a good idea.

"I did no such thing. You volunteered on your own, Lyra."

"Yes you did! You glared at me and made me volunteer!" She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes.

"I glared at you, yes, but you were the one who decided to volunteer. I didn't make your choice for you."

"Yes you did!" I screech. "And I'd like to know why you did too!" look around for backup, but only Mother speaks up.

"Honey, you volunteered on your own. If I'd venture a guess, I might think that you knew you had a much higher chance of surviving than Stacey and stepped up because you felt guilty for bullying her so much." So much for her help. Stacey's the villain, not me. How can you explain why everybody is friends with her? Bribery is the only answer I can come up with. Obviously she can't make friends by being a nice person, I'm clearly much nicer than her, and prettier, and smarter, and stronger, and more humble too!

"I do not bully her, she's just a conniving bitch and keeps playing the victim!" I argue, but Mother shakes her head.

"Lyra-Rose, please don't speak ill of your sister."

"Don't get me wrong, thanks for volunteering," Stacey puts in. "But you usually are pretty mean to me."

"I am not! How come it's my fault you're short and ugly and stupid and pathetic and a whore?"

"Lyra-Rose!" Father interrupts. "Let's try to stay cordial, alright? I'm so proud of you for volunteering, but even if you hadn't, it would have been a great triumph for the Ripley family. Any child of mine who takes part in the Hunger Games brings me pride."

"So you're more proud of me than Stacey, right? She never even bothered with Academy training, so I'm obviously better than her, and being a Career, I'd clearly have a much more important role."

"I'm proud of you both equally. Let's leave it at that. So Lyra, let's talk tactics. Who are you going to ally with? What's your strategy?"

"The Careers, obviously. They're sure to fall down at my feet and beg for me to be their leader. I'll use a bow and arrow, same as usual, probably get a twelve in training. Then I'll shoot the weaklings in the bloodbath and hunt the strong contenders down for sport afterwards with the rest of the Pack as my minions, then take them all out at once towards the end!" To my dismay, Father busts out laughing. Which doesn't make sense, because I'm dead serious.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Please tell me you're not actually planning on that," he says.

"Of course I am! What's wrong with my plan?" I demand.

"I'd hesitate to even call it a plan. It's just a bunch of wishful thinking. People won't always like you, especially when you put them down or insult them." He nods in Stacey's direction. "And assuming you're the strongest person in the room is a real mistake. The Gamemakers have a very high threshold for training scores, and being arrogant won't compensate for a lack of skills. Let's face it, Lyra-Rose, you're good at archery, but you can't earn a perfect twelve, and you won't kill your fellow tributes as easily as you'd think."

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that?"

"Because people aren't like the still dummies and targets you shoot at during Academy training. People will move if you fire arrows at them. People will have spears that they will throw back at you. People will have swords that they will try to cut you with when you hurt their allies. People will have skills that you won't have known about or won't have prepared for. And they will be trying to kill you too, no matter how good you think you are."

"Time's up," growls the Peacekeeper.

"Goodbye, Lyra! We love you!" Mother says. Stacey says something too, probably only for our parents' benefit. Right after they leave, the teal-haired escort comes in.

"Are you ready to come out to the car, honey?"

"Ready to win!" I counter.

"Atta girl! But to win, you've got to get in the car." I really like the escort, she's definitely my kind of person. My father is wrong, obviously. I will win, no matter how much doubt and cowardice he's trying to sow in me.

Jenna Reyer, 18, D7F:

Father doesn't visit me in the Justice Building, so Mother doesn't either. My friends, however, do. Hickam and Juniper pile onto the hideous pale pink settee with me right away, the laughing and hollering of earlier this morning completely absent. I don't know if I've ever seen Hickam this quiet, and it makes me a bit uneasy to have so much silence surrounding me. He's normally so lovably obnoxious, and I find myself missing the jauntiness he normally provides.

Juniper's not playfully scolding us like she normally does, and she's taken on a frightened look that sobers me much more than her usual mildly exasperated face. I get the feeling that they're truly worried for me. They definitely have reason to be, getting picked for the Hunger Games is no joke. My usual strategy for conflict is evasion. Sometimes two loggers get into a dispute, and when people with knives and axes are fighting, I've found it's best to just ignore them and steer clear.

I've got a huge scar on my arm because someone once started working too close to my area and didn't notice me, and their axe blade hit me. I know from that and from watching the fights from a distance that an axe, especially a freshly sharpened axe, is a formidable weapon. I do have some pretty clear advantages when it comes to enter the arena. I'm older and the strength, endurance, and climbing skills I've picked up at my job are going to help me for sure.

"You can use an axe," Juniper says firmly, as if reading my mind. "I've seen you. You can use an axe in the arena. The Capitol probably has some really fantastic ones that are extra sharp or light or something."

"Do you really think they'll give you an axe? Sometimes there aren't any in the Cornucopia. And didn't they say something about here being fewer supplies than usual?" Hickam asks.

"I've got to do well in training," I reply. "The Head Gamemaker is obviously good at her job to be promoted just in time for a Quarter Quell. Gamemakers in general are usually in their fifties, at youngest, but the escort said that this one is only in her twenties. You don't get to be the Head Gamemaker in your twenties by screwing around. She'll want a good spectacle, and if she thinks I can give her one, she'll deliver for me. If I impress her in the private sessions, it'll be too enticing of a prospect for her to say 'nah, let's not give them axes this year.' My getting an axe will add drama, and she needs there to be drama so people keep watching."

"Yeah, but you've got to be sure," Juniper warns. "I don't doubt you'll perform well in training, but she might decide to not give you an axe for whatever reason. Capitolites are a notoriously fickle lot. And you have to make sure to prepare for that possibility."

"You're right," I decide. "I think she'll give me an axe, but if I'm going to win, I'd better plan for every eventuality. Thanks for reminding me about that, guys." Hickam cocks his head to the side.

"You will come back, right?" I pull both him and Juniper into a hug at once.

"Of course I will," I promise. "And when I come back you can all come live with me in Victor's Village."


Hey y'all! I hope you like this chapter, so please tell me what you think about it. I've been wanting to get a general idea of what predictions and thoughts you have about the tributes, so I've started putting up polls on my profile page. The current one talks about who you think will die in the bloodbath, and I'd recommend filling it out so I can get the best idea of what you all think. And thank you so, so much for getting this story to 100 reviews! I love writing this so much, and I really can't wait to get to the Capitol after the next chapter!

~LC :)