Fun Fact of the Chapter: This tribute's father, Sheldon, is named after the character from the TV show "The Big Bang Theory." Look out for references!

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Parker Bates, District Eight

"So, you see, Parker, it's even more statistically unlikely that you will get picked this year than the other years, given our escort's tendency to mix it up and then pick from the top. You have three slips—no tesserae—which, combined, take up approximately-"

"Thanks, Dad." I try to smile. "But I don't need the pep talk."

Dad stares at me almost uncomprehendingly, tilting his head and quirking an eyebrow. I shrug apologetically and then turn to Mom. Help. "Should I go wake up Mouse?"

"Nah, let her sleep in while she can," says Mom. "Why don't you go get dressed, though?"

I nod thoughtfully and head up the rickety stairs. Since my dad's the science teacher for the high school here, we can afford to have a nicer house than most—including stairs. Not as nice as the "rich kids", the ones whose parents are Capitol-employed, but nice enough for me.

Walking to my room, I pass Mouse's room. Her door is open and I peer in at her sleeping form, curled up under the blankets. She looks so sweet. 8 years old. At least she doesn't have to worry about anything today.

I head into my room and put on my reaping outfits, which I had laid out on my bed last night; a thick red sweater—it's cold this time of year in Eight—with a long beige skirt and matching red socks. I brush out my hair and wash my face, and then glance at the clock. We still have half an hour before we have to leave, but I should probably wake up Mouse, anyway.

I tiptoe into her tiny bedroom and crouch by her bedside. "Hey, Mouse. You ready to wake up?"

She yawns, rubs her eyes, and nods sleepily. I help her get dressed in an outfit that matches mine and brush out her hair. She's like a little miniature version of me: blond hair, green eyes, little yellow freckles across the nose. I lead her down the stairs where Mom has made us breakfast—fried eggs. They're a delicacy around these parts, having to be imported all the way from Ten, reserved only for birthdays and reaping days. Sort of like a little good-luck present to help you get through the day. I smile at the thought. If nothing else, our parents care about us.

We go out, walking to the city square. Dad talks to students of his—mostly stuff like, "You still owe me that paper, Bernadette!"-as we wait in line to sign me in. I find my best friend Juniper in the line and we talk quietly for a few minutes before heading to our section.

Right before the mayor comes on, Juniper asks me, "Are you scared, Parker?"

"Are you?" I ask, blinking. She thinks for a moment, then nods her head. "Well, look on the bright side. My dad was saying something about how this year it's statistically the most unlikely that we'll be chosen. Something about volume, and probability, and-"

I stop talking, because the mayor has started his speech. It's the history of Panem, tailored to District Eight. He then reads the list of victors. We were a rebel district for a while, and we were never Careers, so it's relatively few. The most recent one, Penny, won about five years ago. I see her around town sometimes—she's nicer than most of the other victors that I see on television.

After the mayor's speech, our escort, Gregor Dellacroy, strides across the stage and beams at us. "Hey, District Eight! Are you ready to rock this reaping?"

To the everlasting credit of my district, we say nothing.

"Well then..." he trails off, muttering, "Sheesh, tough crowd," to the mayor beside him, who glares. "Let's make this an awesome Hunger Games this year, okay? Let's shake it up and do the guys first!"

He heads over the the reaping bowl on the right, mixes around the slips, and plucks a name from the top, just as Dad said he would. "Yon Trizzle!"

I know him from school. He's a year older than me, and one of my dad's students. One of the rich kids; his dad makes frequent trips to the Capitol. Yon storms up to the stage in a suit, paying attention to no one.

"Awesome, guys! Any volunteers?" No one. There are no volunteers in Eight.

Gregor grins and hops over to the bowl on the left, mixing around the slips and picking the first on he sees from the top. "Parker Bates!"

My mouth drops open. Juniper turns to me, looking concerned.

Gotta stay strong. Gotta stand my ground. For Mouse. I walk up to the stage, trying to look like I'm not scared to death. No volunteers, not here, not now.

"Well then, give it up for Yon Trizzle and Parker Bates, everybody!" The crowd stays silent. Our final dignity. See, this is why Eight never wins the Hunger Games. The Capitol can't let them get away with stuff like that.

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, and the words echo around in my head without making any sense. Yon and I shake hands—he has this unnervingly blank stare on his face—and then Gregor leads us off the stage to the Justice Building. For the goodbyes.

Mouse, the sweet little thing, doesn't understand. "But why did you go up there, Parker? Where are you going? When are you coming back?"

I ruffle her curls a little and look sadly into her eyes. "I dunno, Mouse."

Dad clears his throat self-consciously. "Frankly, I'm shocked that you got picked. The escort must have moved his hand a good two inches to the right from his normal pattern, because there's no way he would've-" He stops, Mom putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"We love you, sweetie," she says quietly. That's all. We love you.

"Don't let Mouse watch it, okay?" I tell her. "And, hey, look on the bright side. If I win, we'll all get to live in the Victor's Village! Mouse will get a better life." I manage to crack a smile, and Mom kisses me on the cheek. I hug Mouse once more, and then they leave.

Juniper comes in, wishes me luck. I mostly say the same things to her as I did to my family.

"Look on the bright side, June..."

"Look on the bright side, Mom..."

"Look on the bright side, Mouse..."

There must be a bright side, right?