Chapter 2

~ District 1 ~

Pompous Lebeau, 16

A slim light-haired boy made his way across the training area for hand-to-hand combat. His steps were loud and precise, and his chin was tilted up. An aura of superiority radiated from his posture alone. A group of boys who sparred in the center of the matted area abruptly stopped. Their heads turned one by one, each one of them eyeing the confident sixteen year-old with a mixture of curiosity and malice. The tallest of the group of three spoke up first.

"Where you off to, Pompous?" he asked with a slight smirk. "Get yourself into trouble again?"

Pompous hid his irritation with a fake smile. He halted right in front of the three, and turned to face them.

"Where did you get that idea, Obsidian?" he asked with a raised brow. "I don't get myself into trouble."

Obsidian huffed. "Yeah, we know. People accuse you."

"Precisely." Pompous grinned. "I do nothing wrong. It's only natural for people to attempt to put the blame on someone else to keep themselves safe. It's not a coincidence that all those accusations were from people who loathed my very existence."

"Why would they hate you then?" Obsidian spat. "Giving me those lies will do nothing to your actual case. They hate you because it was you who did all of those things."

"I'm sorry, but my case is supposed to be in that room over there." He pointed over at the wooden door with a shiny brass handle by the corner of the area. "I'm wasting my time here, listening to your idiotic assumptions."

"Don't even try those big words on me." Obsidian stomped his foot in annoyance. "It's not going to work. I know it was you."

Deciding to finally drop the act, his smile fell and his shoulders slumped down. He took a big step closer to Obsidian, and leaned forward by his ear.

"If you try anything to sell me out, I'm going to make sure that on the first day of the Games, your big sister will be lying dead on the grass with a slit on her throat."

Obsidian stood firm on his ground, refusing to show any form of weakness. Instead he stayed quiet as Pompous took a step back, an easy smile back on his face. He then pulled out a shiny green gemstone from the pocket of his trousers. An emerald.

"That's the emerald from Head Trainer Paloma's office," Obsidian breathed. "I knew it was you."

"I didn't take it," Pompous snorted, tossing it up in the air and catching it with his right hand. "That would take too much effort. I made someone else do it."

Suddenly the similar-looking boy beside Obsidian spoke. "Why would you need that emerald? You're rich enough, aren't you?"

"It would be a mouthful to explain to you, Agate," Pompous sighed with fake sympathy. "Your lives are far too simple to relate to mine. And your patience is too thin to even attempt on understanding my little sister, and why she suddenly wanted an emerald for her seventh birthday. She wanted no ordinary emerald either. Not any of the ones we could find in our house."

He pocketed the gemstone, and clapped his hands together with a grin.

"As much as I would love to stay and chat, I have to go and convince Paloma that Shinley's the thief. See you in two minutes!"

Peridot Herveaux, 16

At six in the evening, the sky grew darker. Peridot pulled the hood of her jacket up, and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She walked quicker into a deserted alleyway, away from the group of merchant houses she just passed. It began to drizzle, and she broke out into a sprint. Finally at the end of the alley, it was a bit lighter. She stood in front of a smaller civilization of District One. Men and women scurried about, taking all their things indoor and dragging their children back inside their bungalows.

Peridot's house was the first house to the right once she reached the end of the alleyway. It was one of the bigger bungalows of their little village, but that didn't change the fact that it was one of the smallest houses in District One. Peridot pulled out her house key, but before she could do anything the front door swung open. She was rather surprised to see a tall, rather muscular girl with brown hair and eyes standing on her doorstep.

"Allure?" she greeted her in a questioning tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just visited for a while," Allure said with a nervous chuckle. "I wanted to see you actually, but I only found your mother. We talked."

Peridot blinked. "About what?"

"Nothing of importance," Allure said. "Just wishing her good luck. You too. I mean now that you're here. Good luck."

She offered Peridot a smile. The shorter brunette returned it with a soft smile of her own. With a quick wave, Allure sidestepped Peridot and ran through the rain. Peridot watched her until she disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway, to return to her better and more privileged life in the other end of that path. Still a bit confused about the recent happenings, she finally stepped into her home and threw her damp jacket on the couch. Her mother, Silvera, almost immediately appeared from the kitchen.

"Your friend was here," she said with a pointed look.

"Do my ears deceive me?" A tall fair-haired boy came skipping from the hallway. "Did Peridot actually have a friend over?"

"Go back to your room, Obsidian," Peridot snapped, following her mother into the kitchen.

"Yes, do so." Silvera nodded as she set the table. "Dinner is almost ready. Go get your brothers."

Peridot took a seat as Obsidian left the room with his mother's orders.

"So you're really volunteering this year then, are you?" Silvera asked, avoiding her daughter's eye as she placed the food in the middle of the table.

Peridot wrinkled her nose, and put her head down. "I know what you're going to say."

"I'm sure," Silvera chuckled as she took a seat of her own. "You don't have to do this."

"Wrong," Peridot said monotonously. "I have to."

"Of course you don't have to," her mother snapped. "The Academy gives you a choice on this, do they not?"

The brunette scoffed. "It's barely a choice. They're just using their words to make you think that you actually have a choice when in reality, it's take it or our whole family is at stake. If I don't agree, we'll all be outcasts. And mom, even you have got to admit that we need that prize money."

Silvera sighed, a sad look in her eyes. "When was the last time you talked to Allure, Peridot?"

The Career lifted her head up. "I don't know. Before she started talking to Pompous Lebeau most probably."

"Well, she seems to have a lot of faith in you volunteering this year."

Peridot pursed her lips. Allure had been one of her first friends when she started training, but like all the other girls she used to talk to, she changed. Allure trained harder than ever, as she desired to be picked one day to volunteer for the Hunger Games. While Peridot trained just as hard, her desire to be picked was much less than the other girls who dreamt of slaughtering others in the arena. Because of this, girls from the Academy hadn't liked her very much. In the end, even Allure had deserted her and clung onto the wealthy swordsman, Pompous Lebeau. It was surprising that Allure had bothered to wish her luck.

When Peridot hadn't responded, Silvera put an end to the conversation. The four younger Herveaux boys burst into the room and took their seats around the dinner table. They all bowed their heads as Silvera blessed the meal.

~ District 3 ~

Huxley Locke, 14

The monotonous words of the teacher slipped in one ear and out the other. Huxley was on the verge of falling asleep in the useless class of biology. He much rather enjoyed chemistry because of the mathematics involved with it, but despite Huxley's advanced reading on the subject, he was forced to stay seated in class with the rest of the fourteen year-olds who were required to take biology as a subject.

Only when Mrs. Bolt allowed them to do research on DNA did Huxley perk up. The word research seemed to have been a trigger for his hand to instantly dig into his bag, and pull out his old, worn, but still well functioning laptop. He placed the gadget on his table, and lifted up the lid. Before Huxley could turn the power on, the biology teacher snapped his name.

"Mr. Locke! What do you think you're doing?"

Huxley blinked, clearly confused with his teacher's sudden outburst. "Er... Researching?"

A few of his classmates snickered. He could feel the heat rise up to his cheeks. Obviously he had done something wrong that he still had not realized.

"When I meant do your research, I meant read the chapters on DNA on your biology book," Mrs. Bolt said slowly as if she were talking to a mere child. "Get your reading materials, Mr. Locke. Keep that gadget."

"Reading materials," Huxley muttered bitterly. "Right."

And so the boy slipped his laptop back inside his bag, and brought out his book for biology. After the second page, Huxley's forehead fell heavily on the papers with a thump. The bell rung fifteen minutes later, and only then did Huxley sit up straight again with a sleepy look in his eye. Mrs. Bolt had not noticed his obvious lack of focus on the subject, but the rest of his classmates did. Hiding his face from their smothered laughs, he briskly walked out of the classroom. He was about to sprint down the corridor for his next class (which was Computer Science so he was almost always first in the classroom), but someone grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"Whoa there," a small blonde laughed when he turned around with wide, alert eyes. "You really should take it easy. Not everyone's trying to come and get you."

Huxley released a small chuckle. The girl's name was Techa, and their anti-social tendencies brought them together as friends if that even made sense at all. They were an odd pair. Techa was five feet flat with bright hair and eyes. Huxley was taller by about six inches, and was rather dull when it came to his appearance. With brown hair and brown eyes, there wasn't much going for him that was very memorable.

He took in the look on Techa's face, and almost immediately did he know what she was about to say.

"Don't think about it too much," Huxley said before she could speak. "Yeah, I got that."

Techa raised her eyebrows at him. "How'd you know I was going to say that?"

"Your forehead creases and your eyes always get shifty whenever you say that to me," Huxley replied in a quick, snappish tone. It was not that he was irritated. It was just the way he spoke, and to people who weren't Techa, he would seem a tad rude.

"Right," Techa chuckled. "And I say that all the time?"

"Yes, you do."

"Well okay then." The blonde cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," Huxley said, standing awkwardly. "Did I say something to offend you?"

"No. Of course not." Techa shook her head with a smile. "I'm just– Well, just don't mind the class. Thinking about them too much will just lead to you believing that you really did something wrong. And you did nothing wrong... But I do think you should try new things you know. Mrs. Bolt was kind of right. There are things in a book that you can't find in your gadgets. And if I were you, I'd see it from a bigger perspective. There are so many other activities and hobbies out there that you can find fun in too. It doesn't always have to be all technology with you, Huxley."

"I don't remember Mrs. Bolt saying that," Huxley stated, but he was getting her point.

"Maybe that's because you were too busy drooling over the chapters we were supposed to read," Techa replied humorously. "Now come on. We'll be late for Computer Science."

With the mention of Huxley's favorite subject, he turned on his heel and brisk-walked to the classroom. Techa sighed, and jogged after him.

Zaria Falon, 14

The second Zaria stepped in her home she was beyond shocked. Standing in her living room were her parents, still in their work clothes and looking rather cheerful. Zaria had not known what to ponder on first. It was either the fact that they were home way too early than they were supposed to be, or that her mother had a big grin on her face. Both facts proved to make Zaria feel very uneasy, but she closed the door behind her and shakily stood before her parents.

"Mom, Dad," she greeted them. "You're both early today."

Her mother, Jocelyn, had seen her first, and immediately her smile fell. Looking over

"Straighten your back, Zaria," she snapped. "Do you really walk around school with your back hunched like that?"

Zaria did as she asked without saying a word. Jocelyn's eyes looked her over as if she were trying to find another fault. Her father, Dalton, though had offered her a smile. Zaria was too afraid to return it. Jocelyn finally shifted away from her youngest child, and the smile returned on her face. She stepped into a hallway that led to her kitchen. As soon as she was out of eye and earshot, Zaria slouched and bolted up the staircase.

Why her parents were home so early was beyond her, but that only meant one thing. Her mother would be giving out orders in about twenty minutes once she feels that she's doing too much by herself. If Zaria were lucky, she'd call on Esme or Hunter to help her first. But Zaria knew she couldn't take any chances. Her precious twenty minutes of freedom shan't go to waste. As soon as she walked into her room, she unzipped her bag and spilled all its contents on her study table. Homework wasn't going to do itself.

As she tried to answer the biology homework given to the class by Mrs. Bolt, Zaria found it rather hard to concentrate. Her parents were well-respected engineers in the District, and they work day and night in their factory. Zaria rarely ever got to see her father even. She saw her mother more often, but she did nothing but give Zaria instructions, and snap at her if she made a mistake. It was odd to see her mother with a smile instead of a scowl on her face, and her father home before ten in the evening. Obviously homework wasn't the biggest matter in the household. There was something else going on.

Ultimately giving up on her attempt to finish her biology worksheet, she picked out a creased rectangular piece of paper with printed writing in cursive. On the paper was a congratulatory note from her school because she graduated middle school with honors. It had not seemed to be very big achievement when she received it this morning, but maybe it would get her parents to give more attention to her hard work and how that had paid off for her; not just for Esme or Hunter.

Satisfied with her plan, she proceeded to continue with her homework. There was a knock on her door all too soon. Hunter popped his sandy-haired head in.

"Mom's calling," he grunted.

"Already?" Zaria replied in a rather sarcastic tone.

"Yeah. Esme's on her way home. She said to fix the living room because she's having some friends over."

"Alright," Zaria said with a nod as she stacked the books by size on her table. Before Hunter could leave, she spoke again. "Why are they home so early?"

Hunter sighed. "We're having a dinner celebration for Esme. She found out this morning that she was number one overall in her batch in last year's standing." There was silence. Then Hunter irately added, "This is a load of bull because when I told them I was skipping a grade because the math was too basic for me, they didn't plan any celebration."

With a roll of his eyes, Hunter pulled his head out and closed the door. Zaria was left alone in her room, with a certificate that made her feel incredibly stupid. She crumpled the piece of paper in her fist and threw it in the trash bin. Since she was only graduating with honors and she wasn't good enough to skip a grade for advanced math, she figured the only way she could make her mother happy was to do everything she asked her to.

Jocelyn called for Zaria to come down, and as expected, the sulking fourteen year-old complied.

~ District 7 ~

Linden Alder, 13

The sound of a cellphone ringing woke him up. It was two in the morning, and it only meant one thing. Any other thirteen year-old boy would have switched the phone off and jumped back into bed. But Linden Alder was a boy of thirteen who had done the exact opposite. Throwing his duvet to the side, Linden swung his legs out of bed and threw the doors of his dresser open. He slipped in a pair of faded jeans, and pulled a clean shirt over his head. Grabbing his jacket hanging by his bedroom door, he sprinted down the stairs.

His mother was already pulling her lab coat on by the bottom steps. She nodded at him when he joined her, but couldn't speak directly to him because her cellphone was in between her right ear and shoulder. She talked very quickly, but her words were clear and precise. Linden could vaguely hear the other person on the other line. He was starting to get worried. What could have happened in two in the morning that would drastically need his mother's assistance? He gulped, fearing the worst.

There was a small hospital by the center of District Seven. With majority of the working class in the District working as lumberjacks in the forests, the hospital was rarely ever empty. Linden had seen different sorts of injuries ranging from not so bad to completely insane. There were things had happened to people that he hadn't even known could still keep them alive. Still he found his mother's job as a doctor rather interesting, and ever since he was eight years old, he accompanied his mother to work almost everyday after school.

Even though he enjoyed being with his mother in the hospital, he experienced the haunting feeling of being unable to save someone from death, and it was something he could barely go through most of the time.

In the Alder living room, Linden's mother, Arlowe, still talked rapidly into her cellphone.

"Where did you find her?" she demanded.

Linden's ears perked up, automatically giving him the idea that the patient tonight was new, and she must have been in critical condition.

"Have you sent the truck for me yet?"

Right on time, a beep sounded from outside. Linden hopped up on his feet and briskly walked out the door. Arlowe finished her call, slipping her cellphone in her pocket. She cast a wary look down at her son.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, Linden," she said gently.

"I'm going." Linden shook his head stubbornly.

"It's not any of the older patients," Arlowe assured him. "None of your friends are in any real danger of dying right now. Not even Asher."

Linden sighed in relief. Although he had already assumed the patient was new based on his mother's phone call, he couldn't shake the feeling of worry for his old friend in the hospital. Asher had been confined for as long as he knew, and with no family, the poor old man had been rather depressed sitting all day in his bed with no one to talk to. Linden though was kind enough to keep him company when his mother didn't need his help.

But even with Asher alive and well, Linden could not turn down anyone who needed help.

"I'm going," Linden said to his mother, his word final.

Arlowe sighed. "If you're sure. I'll be doing most of the work anyway. Poor girl. She was pushed into the dam at two in the morning without knowing how to swim."

"Who would push her in the dam?" Linden asked incredulously.

"Not important at the moment," Arlowe replied grimly. "What's important is that she is tended to as quickly as possible. Her name is Marvina Nova. Ever hear about her?"

"A year older than me." Linden shrugged. "That's about it."

Nodding and suppressing a nod, Arlowe slid into the back seat of the hospital truck. Linden followed after her, expecting the worst.

Alana 'Lana' Miranine, 15

It was a slow day in the shop, but Lana was hardly surprised. They hadn't gotten many customers in the last years. She would constantly hear others exchange gossip about her father's flower shop even, though she had already trained herself long ago not to let this affect her. Both owners were completely deranged, they would say. But Lana knew it was all her father's doing that led them to a reputation like this. She had no part in it whatsoever, or at least that was just what she liked to say to herself.

To her, it was obviously her father's fault. He had abandoned his shop for a six year-old to tend to it by herself. Lana though actually had not minded. Her carnations were starting to wilt in the dark of her room. Placing them around the brightly lit shop let them bloom into something more beautiful, and really it was the only thing that had mattered to Lana. The one thing that her father could never take away from her were her flowers, no matter how much he detested her for what happened the night her mother died.

The bell that hung by the door tinkled, and Lana sat straighter on her chair behind the counter. She sighed in disappointment when she identified who stepped in.

"Hey, Lana," sixteen year-old Hannibal Crew greeted his fellow fair-haired friend with a smile.

Lana returned it with small smile of her own, but it immediately fell when she felt something suspicious with the way he was eyeing her.

"Hello," Lana replied. "What brings you here?"

"Why, can't friends have a one-on-one talk once in a while?" Hannibal chuckled.

"You're here for something else," Lana quickly said, making the older boy raise his eyebrows at her. She immediately composed herself, realizing her mistake.

Hannibal cleared his throat. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask about Marva."

"What's there to ask?" Lana shrugged, but put a little sympathy in her tone. "It's a good thing someone found her before things could get worse. Do you have any idea who did it?"

"I do actually."

Lana's eyes darted to him, but were back on her table of yellow carnations in a second. Hannibal hadn't missed the action.

"Do you know about her cat?" Hannibal asked. "Her cat's ears were sown down his cheeks, and he's missing a tail."

Lana's eyes widened. "That's barbaric. She could always get a new one."

"You're missing the point, Lana. That cat was found by the dam, near the edge where she was pushed."

"So you think the cat has something to do with this then?" Lana laughed mockingly.

"Someone did that to that cat," Hannibal said, getting serious, "and I'm sure that it wasn't Marva."

Lana sighed rather impatiently. "I don't understand why you're getting so worked up about this, Hannibal. Marva's fine now. The best doctor in the District is said to be treating her right. If you're still worried, we can go visit her later."

The boy nodded and exhaled, running his fingers through his blond hair.

"Yeah, let's do that. But Lana, she was at your house that night right? I remember her saying she needed to talk to you about something."

"Yes, but then she left early to do some homework," Lana replied.

"Right," Hannibal mumbled, an easy smile back on his face. "Yeah, well I'll be off. See you later, Lana."

The faint tinkle of the bell echoed in the near empty shop when Hannibal stepped out. Lana let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he spoke earlier. She buried her face in her hands, calming herself down. For a second there, she was worried that he knew. She was worried that he had connected all the dots that lead him to all his answers. But he hadn't, and Lana was safe.

Moving away from the counter, she approached her displayed carnations. Her eyes locked on one, and her fingers brushed the soft petals. She could almost hear her mother in the back of her head, calling her name. A soft smile tugged on her lips.

"Mama would not think I'm a murderer," she whispered to herself.

Then an ugly scowl replaced the light expression on her face, and the real Lana Miranine was unmasked. She fisted her hand, crumpling the flower in her palm.

"But Papa does."

~District 8~

Ivanna 'Ivi' Keelan, 16

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ivi's eyelids shot open. Her arm stretched to the side of her bed, and her hand heavily slumped on her alarm clock. As soon as she successfully stopped the beeping, she sat up on her bed and stretched. A minute past six displayed on the digital clock on her bedside table. Looking out the window, the sun had barely risen. The trees swayed in the morning breeze, and the sky was a red-orange color that lit the murky sky. It was her father's favorite view to paint, and he was most likely awake by now too. Both Keelans were early risers, although Ivi liked to wake up early for a different reason.

Rolling out of bed, she put her dark red hair up in a tight ponytail. She pulled a clean set of clothes on, and slipped into a pair of dirty white trainers. After freshening up in the bathroom, she was ready to go.

Ivi did a few core exercises in her room first. She jogged in place for a minute, and dropped on all fours for push-ups. She did sets of thirty sit-ups and crunches, and jogged in place some more. The heavy thudding sounds her feet created must have woken up the entire house, but this hadn't registered in her mind until her stepmother came banging at her bedroom door.

"Do this outside Ivanna!" Polla snapped. She hadn't stopped banging her fist at the door until Ivi let her legs rest, and the quiet of the house resumed.

Polla slumped back to her bedroom, leaving Ivi to sulk about how unfair it was for her to stop her morning routine just for her stepmother to sleep. Still bitter about having to cut a part of her morning exercise short, she finally decided to jog a few rounds around her district to keep her mind off of things. But as she made her way to her front door, she passed by her stepsister's bedroom.

Deciding to check on Jezebel before heading out, Ivi pushed the door open and stepped in. She wasn't surprised to see the six year-old already awake, and she sat by the window with an easel. Her hair shined bright yellow from the light of the sun, and her green eyes darted from her painting to the view outside. She seemed to have gotten their father's skills in art, and Ivi had always been jealous of that.

"Awake already, Jezzie?" Ivi asked gently, sitting on the floor with her.

"You were making a lot of noise in your room," Jezebel said with a shrug, lightly tracing the edges of her painted sun with bright orange.

Ivi chuckled, feeling rather guilty. "Sorry. I didn't realize how loud I was."

"It's okay." Jezebel smiled at her. "I thought it was mummy and daddy fighting again at first. Good thing it was just you."

Ivi's smile fell at Jezebel's words. Right on cue, they heard the familiar sound of raised voices down the hallway. The redhead immediately ran to the door and closed it, twisting the lock. Jezebel had stopped painting. Ivi flattened her back at the door. She knew it was coming, but she never really felt ready for it. She could hear the roar of her father's words, and her stepmother's accusations. Jezebel stayed seated on the floor, blocking her ears with her hands. Ivi returned to her stepsister's side, grabbing her hand. She needed to distract her. She always needed a distraction during times like these.

Slipping the paintbrush back in Jezebel's fingers, Ivi guided her hand around the easel. Though she was an amateur painter, even compared to a six year-old, Jezebel seemed to find something calming in the way Ivi tried to distract her, and in the end, both Keelans were able to block off the fighting of their parents and slipped into peace with each other; just like they always did.

Ivi had almost forgotten that part of her morning routine was listening to her parents' first fight of the day, but really she did everything to forget.

Kelvin Viper, 16

It was eleven in the morning, and the town square of District Eight was packed. Almost as many people you would see during Reaping Day were there, and Kelvin was just lucky that he managed to snag a spot near the stage. Many had tried pushing him out of the way, but he had stayed put, refusing to let go of such a good place. He constantly extended his neck up, and his head wildly looked around. As he did, he finally caught a glimpse of a jumping black-haired girl, with her bangs falling up and down her forehead.

"Kelvin!" she called.

Chuckling a bit to himself, he waved her over. In an instant, she ducked down and wormed her way through the crowd. She was rather petite so it was no problem for her to get to Kelvin. She squeezed into the copper-haired boy's side with a grin on her face.

"Aren't you excited?" she said, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Very," Kelvin chuckled at her hyperactivity. "I haven't seen the victor since she arrived here after her games."

"Yeah, me either!" she exclaimed happily. "It's really exciting. She's like our first victor in a while. Who knows? Maybe she's the start of many."

Kelvin smiled at her. "What do you think she's going to talk about though?"

"Maybe she's going to give the future tributes advice?" Kiko shrugged.

Her mentioning the reaping made Kelvin's stomach flip in slight fear, although he already knew he and Kiko's chances were very slim. They both never had to take tesserae before, and they had gotten through three reapings safely already.

"I guess," Kelvin replied. "I mean why else would she come here and give a speech?"

"Exactly." Kiko nodded.

Silence fell amongst the two friends, but their ears perked up when they heard someone yell excuse me's from behind them. Looking around, Kelvin felt his stomach violently lurch with butterflies when he spotted Cord making his way towards the pair. When he squeezed himself in between Kelvin and Kiko, the trio was completed.

"Great spot, Kelvin," he panted, pushing his brown hair back. "We can see everything from here."

"Hey, Cord," Kiko greeted him before Kelvin could reply. "Where's your girlfriend?"

Kelvin's eye twitched. This didn't go unnoticed by Kiko, but she did not comment on it.

"She's somewhere," Cord vaguely answered her, keeping his eyes focused on stage.

"Really, I don't understand why you put up with her," Kiko said with a bitter snort. "She seems like a whore me. And quite frankly, you don't really look good together. What do you think, Kelvin?"

He was caught off guard when Kiko put him on the spotlight of their conversation. He tried to ignore the way Cord was looking at him as he waited for his answer.

"She doesn't seem that bad," Kelvin said untruthfully. He had never been very good at lying, and Cord knew this.

"BS," Kiko snorted at his lie. "I know you don't like her either."

Kelvin avoided the look she gave him. There was something behind that statement, and Kelvin had a vague idea on what that something was. But he shook his head at the thought, stubbornly rejecting the idea he had formulated. She could not know. He had kept that one secret for so long so well that Kiko could not just figure it out by herself. Sure, he had never had an actual girlfriend before in his life, but he could pass as a normal guy who wasn't interested in that kind of relationship just yet. Maybe he just wasn't ready.

But looking at Cord now, he so desperately wanted them to know. He clung on to that small possibility that Cord was like him, and that they both held the same sexual preference. Then maybe it wouldn't be too hard for Kelvin to open up.

Author's Note:

Hiya. Here's the first batch of tributes. I kinda borrowed this format from Tales (TallTalesInk) but I'm doing this by 4 districts instead of by tributes. I'm doing this by districts because my favorite part of the tributes' lives before the games is kind of intertwining them with each other. Like I use some of the characters from one tribute's life and slip them into the life of the other tribute. An example is Peridot and Pompous. Allure is actually made by Pompous' creator, not Peridot's. I just wanted to use her to put emphasis on Peridot's past with her friends.

Now that I have that cleared up, I hope ya enjoyed this chapter. I'd appreciate your thoughts. :)

~jess