I am seventeen the year of my Games.

It starts with mandatory viewing. You can always tell when those days come because the streets turn deadly silent with only the Peacekeepers' footsteps to break it. Those days come like unfeeling clockwork, especially near the Games.

But today it is mandatory and the Games are still more than a month away.

"As you all know, this year marks the 25th anniversary of the Hunger Games," President Laurent says, with Vice-President Snow at his side, and the Panem signature behind them like this is all so normal. "In accordance with what is written in the Treaty of Treason, on every 25th anniversary of the Games we will be having a Quarter Quell."

That comes as strange. I have heard the Treaty of Treason repeated every year and never did I hear anything about a 'Quarter Quell' or whatever this nonsense is, but I don't dare say that.

Mom sits up, making the remainders of the sofa we are sitting on creak and shudder. I see the fear in her eyes. I see it somewhat in Dad's too but mostly I see the grinding of the mine there. I wonder sometimes if they didn't used to worry, back when I was still a small child or even before then, when they didn't have kids at all. I don't remember. I don't remember anything except the Games.

"For this Quarter Quell and every one hereafter, there will be a change in regulation, however slight or large, to keep remembrance of the Dark Days renewed in everyone's mind. This year's Quarter Quell will be…" Vice-President Snow goes to retrieve a box that is just off screen, opening it for the President. Within are dozens of envelopes, too many to count, all with a different 25 year written on them. It's sickening. I try to imagine the Games for a hundred years, five hundred, a thousand, and the cost is too great, too painful to bear.

As the President takes out the very first envelope, I start to wish I had found a lock to fix or trap to untangle or something from the Hob like I usually do when anything about the Games are on because I don't want all my attention on this, the last thing I want is to be watching this.

He opens the envelope, clears his throat, and continues, "This year because you chose to rebel against the Capitol, you will now choose the tributes for your district. On Reaping Day, mandatory voting will be held for everyone over 19. Men will be voting for the male tribute and women will be voting for the female tribute. The tribute you vote for must be within the usual age restriction of 12 to 18 and must not have won any of the previous Hunger Games. The…"

He goes on. He does so until he steps off the screen and the television goes to static, the buzz filling the entire room. But everything seems to fade away with that. Voting? For our tributes?

This is far worse than any Reaping ever was.

"He can't do that," I hear myself say, "can he?"

Dad presses his lips together. "He can do whatever he damn well pleases." He stands and walks outside now that the transmission is over. Mom pats my hand.

"Don't worry. They're not going to take you," she says and I get the feeling she is saying it more to herself than to me. "They're not."

Yondrie.

Her light gray eyes hold mine as we lean against the buildings near the square. People go to and from, shopping and living and trying to avoid the Peacekeepers that roam so freely. Rumor has it that there has been rebellion in some of the other districts which explains both the resurgence of so many Peacekeepers and perhaps even this Quarter Quell nonsense. The Capitol wants to show who is in charge.

But neither Peacekeepers nor people notice this couple leaning against the wall, their hearts so entwined they cannot be undone without ripping one or both of them apart.

"This is the best thing that could have happened," Yondrie says. "Now your name won't be entered in twenty-four times against all those who have only four or five."

I shake my head, looking around. "This is worse. Now we will be betrayed by our own neighbours."

"We won't," she says, rolling her eyes. "Kids from the Seam are too unknown. Probably some rich merchant kid will be, though." She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I wonder which one."

I am silent for a moment, my eyes roving over the crowd, unresponsive to her remark. But inside, my heart is beating faster, my mind jumping at the thought.

There is only one reason why I always protest the Games so, why I always refuse to watch them, and why I always distract myself if I am forced to do so. It is because in the most sickening way I am entertained by them, as much as a Capitol citizen must be and sometimes I wonder if even more so. Never could I tell Yondrie that I have thought over many times what the best Games scenario would be, who the best tributes would be, and now, what would be the best strategy for voting.

In my heart I know the Games are sick but something about them always gets me so excited, like danger or adventure or, when I admit my more dark fantasies to myself, perhaps even the blood and death.

"Jay, are you alright? You're shaking."

"I'm fine," I snap a little too quickly, "and to your comment, no matter if some messed up merchant kid is voted into the Games or not, they will always still be wrong."

"Shh!" She jerks at my coat, darting her eyes back and forth. "Are you insane? What if a Peacekeeper hears?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe I don't care."

"Well you should," and here she finally smiles, "I won't have you dead until we are married."

I smile back. "I am not going anywhere, least of all with a Peacekeeper."

"Well, you don't know that. None of us know that," she whispers, her fingers entwining with my hair, pulling me closer. "So why can't we get married now?"

I sigh, knowing we're going to go through this entire conversation again. It's not like I don't want to get married to her, but I also don't want me dying and her left with our child and no source of income, or worse still, her slaughtered in the arena. "Once we're nineteen, Yondrie. I promise."

She looks at me pleadingly. "But that's so far away, Jay…" I kiss the crown of her head but she's still trying to be mad at me. "You're not answering my question!"

"Which one?" I murmur, trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. "As I recall, your previous sentence was not a question."

"Jay…"

And then I'm kissing her, really kissing her, and I think any second she's going to stop me and tell me to answer her question already. But she kisses me back and we stand there for an eternity.

She pulls back. "What was that for?" she asks, laughing.

I just smile back. "Come on," I say, "let's go someplace warm."

I probably never would have met Yondrie if it hadn't been for Kit. Well, Kit and my family's abject poverty.

Kit's from the Seam too and we have been friends ever since the start of school. Both of our fathers work in the mine together so we have nothing but boundless time alone in the woods, and to be fair most of that time we spend hard at work. I trap and Kit uses a bow and arrows, one he had found in the woods, remnants of wars or people killed and arrested by Peacekeepers, their stash left to be raided by others. He was alright, when he actually hit his target. Most of the time he missed.

"Well, why don't you try?" he huffed at me once when I had made fun of him. "All you do is sit on your ass making traps all day. Come on over and prove me wrong."

He held out the bow to me and I almost took it. But I knew that hunting reminded me far too much of the Games.

Instead, I smirked. "You're right, Kit," I said, laughing. "I'm all talk and no deeds. The reason I don't use a bow is because it would make you look like a decent archer!"

He snapped an arrow over my head for that.

At the end of every hunt we pulled in our game at the Hob, almost always sharing it equally and dividing the spoils over who needed what most.

The Hob was run and owned by a large extended family, though who you dealt with on a daily basis was usually Yondrie. Ever since she was a young girl she had been making the deals for the game, usually with some sharp remarks in-between which always caused her father to laugh, clasp her shoulders, and say, "That's my girl!"

Her mother had died – or at least that's what people said – and one day when she was about twelve or thirteen, her father too just disappeared.

That happens far too often in this district.

But no matter her words or her history, in the end, Yondrie always gave a fair deal. At least that's what I thought until I was about fifteen.

"I am so lucky to be friends with you," Kit said to me once as we walked out of there with two new pairs of boots and enough food to last us to the end of the week.

"Oh," I said with some amusement, "and why exactly is that?"

"Because of Yondrie's crush on you."

I stopped right in my tracks.

"What?!"

"Oh, lay off it, Jay," he said, laughing. "You can't say you haven't noticed. The way her eyes always look at you, the way she blushes when you talk to her, the way she gives more for your game than anyone else."

"Really?" I was still trying to wrap my head around this concept. Yondrie, having a crush on me? Why? What did she possibly see in me? Not that I really minded…

"If you don't believe me, I'll show you next time."

"Good," I said. "Because you are talking big here."

And we did. The next time we went hunting we split the game instead of pooling it. And when we went into the Hob, we behaved like we had been hunting separately too.

"Beat you to it, Tipper," he said as we walked in. "Admit it, my skills far surpass yours."

"Never!" I said. "You may have quantity, but I, my friend, have quality."

Yondrie was with another customer at that moment but she looked up once she heard our voices, her eyes flitting over Kit and then staying pinned on me.

Could it be then? Did she really have a crush on me?

I felt like smacking that stupid grin off of Kit's face.

She dropped her eyes once I returned her gaze, going back to her customer at hand.

"…for the last time, Jim, no. That's all you're getting. You're lucky you even have this place to trade in."

The man scowled and left, taking his supplies with him.

Alright. Just because Kit was right once didn't mean he was going to be right again. He stepped up with his game.

"Right, what you looking to trade for?" she asked but he just leaned onto the counter with this really stupid look on his face that again made me want to smack him.

"Darling," he said, looking up into her eyes, "I know it is too much to ask for. I know it is, but my mother's birthday is coming up and alas, we have nothing to get for her. And I was wondering if perhaps you would maybe help me get her a cake?"

She did not look pleased. "A cake?" she repeated. "You want me to trade this trash in for a cake? Do you even know how much sugar itself goes for?"

He looked at her in mock shock. "Offensive!" He leaned down to protect his game as if could hear her remarks. "I lovingly killed these creatures with all of the strength and manly prowess within me. Is it so much to ask that they be traded in to give my mother a nice birthday?"

She seemed unimpressed. "I could have killed these creatures with all the manly prowess within me."

"Yondrie," he said, stretching out her name like it was a key to a lock. "Yondrieeeee. Cut me some slack here, eh? You know, you're the prettiest girl I talk to."

"I'm the only girl you talk to."

I couldn't help it, I let out a snort of laughter there though I quickly turned it into a bout of coughing.

"And besides," she continued, ignoring me, "I know your mother's birthday was last month so what are you really after, Bennett?"

He scowled, all trace of his previous saturation gone. "Guess I'm just here to buy a new string for my bow."

She looked through her inventory and gave it to him, bidding him a rather sarcastic farewell.

My turn now.

Why was it that I was the one feeling nervous now as she locked eyes on me? What was it that was making me suddenly think and rethink every word I was going to say to her?

A good contributing factor might have been Kit leaning up near the counter, making a huge show of restringing his bow. By the time I was finished with him, he was going to have bruises for weeks.

"Uh," I said to Yondrie, throwing up the game onto the counter. "Hey."

Why did I say that? Had I ever said that before?

"Hey," she said back, her eyes flicking up to me for only a moment with a slight smile on her face. Was it just me or was she blushing?

Kit's bow let off a twang, startling both Yondrie and I.

"Sorry," he said. "This bow is sure acting up today."

Many, many, many, many, many bruises.

She rifled through my game. "What do you want for this, Tipper?"

"As much as this'll get me."

"This'll get you two loaves of bread and a jar of jam."

I shifted on my feet. "Look, Yondrie, I know that I asked for more last week too, but my family…my family's not doing so good right now."

I hated doing this for such a petty little bet. I had asked her to stretch my game before but only in the direst of situations, when my family hadn't eaten in several days. We could always use more food but I wasn't one to ask for a handout when we could clearly make it on our own.

But still, as much as this was wrong, I did really want to know if Kit was right.

Her mouth dropped open. "Really? Really?! First Jim, then Kit, and now you? Do I just have a sign around my neck that's informing you all to harass me?!"

I raised my hands in defence. "Alright, alright. Point taken. Sorry I asked."

But even as I said it, she went back and fetched me two more loaves.

"That gonna be enough for ya?"

"Yes. Thanks. Really, I mean it." And I did.

"Yeah, well, don't mention it." There again I swore for just a second she blushed.

"So, was I right or what?" Kit said just after we had left.

I laughed. "This proves nothing other than the fact that you are a lousy negotiator, which you are by the way."

He shook his head. "You are blind, there is no other explanation. Now, let's always pool our game and never speak of this incident ever again."

But I found that I couldn't forget about Yondrie, no matter how I tried. She was the one who was supposed to have a crush on me but I found I was the one who was always catching her eye. She was the one who was supposed to be flustered by my presence but I was the one who was infatuated with her every word, every jib and witticism and laugh. She was the one who supposedly blushed at my voice but I was the one who couldn't stop thinking about her every second of every day.

I went there almost every day eventually, lingering as long as possible, to the point where Kit threw up his hands and said, "I admit it, I was wrong to ever tell you that she liked you. All you do now is spend your time at that damned Hob."

And then finally one day, I had had enough.

"Do you ever leave the Hob?" I asked once as I threw my large assortment of game from the day onto the counter, which I may or may not have compiled to impress her. "Whenever I come in, you're always stuck behind this counter."

"So?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "It's not like I have anywhere better to be. What are you looking to trade in for?"

"So? There's a lot more out there than this warehouse and I want that watch you have right there," I said, indicating to the gold one, almost rusted shut.

"This warehouse is my entire life and I enjoy it here and there's no way in hell you are getting that watch for just this game, hand's down."

"Have you even been outside the Fence? And that watch is a present and it has enormous significance to me, please let me have it."

"I don't need to go outside the Fence to have a life and no, no, no, there is nothing you can say that will make me give you this watch. Nothing."

I smiled. "Why don't I show you?"

"Show me what?"

"I'll take you outside the Fence this Saturday. I teach you to trap, what it's like and in exchange, for that and this game, you give me that watch."

She sighed, sifting on her feet and chewing her lip, considering it carefully before nodding her head. "Fine. But I decide when I think the watch is paid and not a moment before. So get ready to teach me for weeks. And you'd better be good."

"Oh," I said. "I am."

So that Saturday and every single one after, I took her outside the Fence and taught her to trap and at the end she always told me that my payment on the watch was close but not quite completed. And it was funny what we told each other that we never told anyone else, how her mother had disappeared, not died, when she was young and that her father had said she'd gone to District 13 even though that was impossible. How her father had been arrested for purported treason and never seen again. How my family had been part of the rebels and we were never allowed to talk them. About the cold, painful, restless nights when we had no food in our stomachs. And I loved how she never asked why I never hunted or used weapons and I never asked whether she missed her parents.

After a month, she turned to me at the end of our Saturday and said, "Well, Jay, I suppose you have finally paid your watch off." She pulled it out of her pocket, now rust free, and slipped it into my hand. "I suppose I won't need to go trapping with you every Saturday anymore."

I looked at it and promptly put it back in her hand. "Oh no, perhaps I didn't make myself clear. I want a design on it too."

"A design? What sort of design would you possibly want to put on a watch?"

I smiled and flipped up the cuff of my shirt, showing the mockingjay pin, "How about this one?"

She looked at it for a moment before shaking her head. "That's going to cost ya."

I flipped down my shirt. "Oh, I expect it will."

And so every Saturday after that, she carved my mockingjay while I told her the story of the pin and then when she begged, I sang that song.

The Hanging Tree.

And for the second time in my life, all the mockingjays burst into song with me.

"I've never heard anything like it before," she said after a moment. "It's almost as if the mockingjays were born to sing your songs."

"Oh, they don't," I replied. "In fact, that's the only song of mine they sing back."

And I sang every song I knew to prove it.

At the end of that month, she gave me the watch gleaming with a mockingjay encircled on top.

"This is beautiful," I said, looking at it for a moment more before handing it back to her. "Here you go."

She raised her eyebrows. "For me?"

"Well, I said it was a present, did I not?"

She shook her head but she smiled all the way to her eyes.

"I have a confession to make," I whispered into her ear. "I think I've fallen in love with you."

"I have a confession to make too," she whispered back before kissing me for the very first time. "I've been in love with you from the start."

The one problem with our love, the one thing that tugs at me when no one is looking, is the Reaping.

Now I worry not just for myself and Kit but Yondrie too. Yondrie is worse though because if she was called, there would be nothing I would be able to do except volunteer and sacrifice my life to try and save hers.

On my darkest nights I have nightmares about it, seeing her reaped and then watching with helplessness on a screen as she is slaughtered. The only thing scarier is when the real thing occurs, the rustle of paper before the name while my fear eats me alive and then my sigh of relief, no matter how cruel, that it is not her.

And only in those moments do I get a glimpse into the pain my parents must feel in watching the Reaping every year; hoping, praying, pleading, that I am not chosen.

It must be hell.