Fun Fact of the Chapter: This is the fifth (and last) tribute whose name begins with a "C". The others are Carreen, Che, Chantelle, and Caprice, making it the most common first letter for tribute first-names in this story.

…..

Cameron Ray, District Eleven

I never knew my father. My mother would never talk about him, and I've only heard his name once. In fact, she must have convinced the whole sector not to mention him. I don't know where he is, or why he's not here with my mother, and, frankly, I'm not quite sure I want to.

It's better this way, I guess. For me and Delilah not to have his absence be a major force in our lives. We're getting along just fine, what with our little farm and whatnot. We're happy enough here, and we make enough to get by, though we're certainly not rich or even middle-class.

I'm glad Delilah doesn't have to be here, crushed by this crowd. District Eleven is huge, and so instead of being divided into ages, we're divided into sectors, with about a third of the kids from each sector being chosen to go. I'm one of those unlucky ones, though I suppose it was coming to me. For the last two straight years I've had it off. Delilah and Momma are back somewhere less crowded, in the streets or in a hotel or something. It's good that the whole population doesn't have to be here, otherwise nothing would be able to get done and...

The grand mayor of Eleven—the representative of all the sector mayors—finishes up his speech and introduces our escort, Brubeck Dee. He's a new guy, just bumped up from Twelve, and you can see why he got a lower district—he takes no pleasure in the job, treating it very solemnly as if it were a sacred ritual rather than a celebration (as the Capitol sees it) or a lottery of doom (as we see it). Brubeck mounts the stage, greets the district—speaking as if it were the whole district, rather than a select few—and picks out the girl's name. "Caprice Alexander!"

The cameras sweep across the crowd and lock on a girl from Sector Four, and I'm startled by how, well, different she looks. Pale, when most of us are dark-skinned. Thin, but well-fed, from the looks of it. Her hair is a flyaway tangle of red, orange, and copper. She looks panicked for a moment, and then pulls herself together into a firm, unemotional expression. Her eyes dart around, taking in everything. Smart. Very smart. Probably a contender, at least more so than some of the other tributes from Eleven in the past years.

Brubeck calls for volunteers, but the crowd stays silent. He goes over to the boys' bowl and sticks in his hand. I suck in a breath and cross my fingers, hoping that it's not me. Anybody but me. Momma and Delilah need me here, to work on the farm, for the tesserae and all...

"Cameron Ray!"

No! I immediately think, heart sinking. It can't be... Delilah... Momma... they need me on the farm.

It takes a while to get up to the stage, and I hope for the sponsors' sake that I look strong enough to be a contender as well. Caprice and I shake hands—her grip is firm, but not crushing—and Brubeck leads us to the Justice Building for our goodbyes.

It takes about ten minutes before Momma and Delilah rush into the room. Momma seems like she can't do anything but sob and sob, whenever she tries to say something it's always cut off by more sobs. Delilah is oddly strong, if trembling a bit. "Cameron, you'll try to come home, right?"

I nod, though in my mind I can't help but think, I can't do it.

The eleven-year-old grips my hand. "You're strong. You can tie ropes better than anyone I've seen. You know how to skin and kill animals, at least on the farm, so you can hunt-"

I don't have the heart to protest. I pull her up onto my lap and look into her sad little eyes and try to convince myself that everything's going to be okay, even when I know it's not. I can only kill animals that I've tied up and are dying anyway, though she might be right about the hunting. I can't swim, I'm claustrophobic, I'm too nice and whenever I'm not I have an uncontrollable temper. I know what the Capitol will see me as. Just another one of those tributes. The bloodbaths.

Just another one of those tearful goodbyes, those unimpressive chariot outfits, those mediocre training scores, those nerve-wrecked interviews, those early, unremarkable deaths. Because we're just entertainment for them. Entertainment and maybe a little bit of vengeance.

"Goodbye, Delilah," I whisper into her ear, and then send her out to go, trying to stay strong.