"Does he just stand there like that? Every day?"

I watched the cliff – and the boy. He was a skinny kid dressed in baggy brown clothes with a mop of red hair. That vivid hair was the only notable thing I could pick out about him, besides his standing right at the edge of a cliff that plummeted a hundred feet down into the river. A half-dozen jagged rocks stuck up from the water like predators waiting to nab the boy if he fell. But he didn't, nor did he move. He simply stood there, waiting for nothing.

"I've seen him a couple of times," I murmured.

Dawn snorted and shifted on the rock to my left. "A gust is gonna push him off if he stays there. That, or a Peacekeeper will if he stays there through the Reaping."

"I don't think he'd do that."

"How d'you know?"

"I don't think anyone would do that, Dawn."

Dawn scoffed. She may have been my cousin, but our resemblances ended there. She was two years older than me, at least five inches taller, and had the same dirty blonde hair of my father. It figured, since she was the only child of my father's older brother, and Dawn bore plenty of other resemblances to the man – and more than just physical similarities. Privately, I wondered from time to time whether my father would have preferred her as a daughter.

She glanced back up at the boy on the ledge. "Maybe he's too old for the Reaping."

"Why do you care?" I grumbled.

Dawn shrugged, and with a smirk said, "I dunno. It's just fascinating in a morbid sort of way. Kid on a ledge all by himself. Why's he up there?"

"Exploring? I do it in caves I find, even by myself when you're not around."

"Do you stare off of a hundred-foot ledge when you do it?"

"No, but –"

"See? Not normal, then," Dawn said, looking triumphant.

I looked back up and felt a pang of guilt. For all Dawn knew, the kid had plenty of reasons to be up there. I'd felt left out in school many times, and now I was sitting quietly as my cousin poked fun at a random boy for exactly the same thing. I didn't doubt that to some, the trip off of a high ledge looked a lot more inviting than the trip back to town.

"Let's just go," I muttered. "It's a couple miles back to City Center."

"And at least two hours 'til we have to be there to sign in," Dawn sighed. She brushed dust off of her trousers, glancing back at the boy once and shaking her head. "Good girl Terra, pooping on the party."

I ignored her as we set off hiking down the canyon. I didn't know why I put up with Dawn. Maybe I was desperate for friendship, and her spending time with me, even if it felt exhausting, was still better than real loneliness. I'd never liked crowds and had struggled to connect with others, and in the tightly-knit community of District 5, that had weighed me down like a rock tied to my foot. I got along with my coworkers up at the solar arrays, but besides Dawn and her friend Cliff, only my brother paid me much attention.

Dawn didn't help on our hike back.

"You gonna meet up with anyone before the Reaping?" she asked, tossing a rock up and down as we walked past a pyramidal red rock jutting out into a bend in the river. A trio of tiny mud brick houses stood across the river, flanked by a gaggle of giggling toddlers and a tall white wind turbine. The tower's vanes were still in the stagnant afternoon air, with the sun from a cloudless sky glistening off the metal. It was a far cry from the dust storm that had moved in so fast yesterday and hung around until sunset.

"No," I said, staring down at my feet.

"I'm gonna meet Cliff and a couple other guys beforehand. Are all your friends with their families?"

There we went again. I knew she knew what I'd say, but I figured Dawn enjoyed having the upper hand. "I'm just going alone. With Flint, I guess."

"You need to get out more, Terra. Go talk to more people at school."

Great. I'll pluck some friends off of my friend tree. "Yeah, sure. I'll get on that."

Dawn dominated the conversation on the walk back to the Merchant Quarter and home. I only half paid attention, my mind drifting towards the Reaping. It wasn't because I was afraid of being Reaped, given that only four slips read "Terra Pike, Age 15" on them this year. The thought of standing in the midst of thousands of other teens, with the cameras focused on our every move, unnerved me.

The Hunger Games frightened me almost as much as the constant focus of the cameras as it did from the prospect of a brutal death.

As an ache grew in my feet from the walk, the brown and red buildings of town popped up along the canyon walls. People filed over the stone bridges that arched across the canyon river, some heading home to spend time with their children, others heading off for a pre-Reaping drink. Screens as tall as two men stood here and there for the adults, most of whom wouldn't fit in the public square in City Center. The Merchant Quarter was a hive of activity as Dawn and I strolled back into town.

The two brass bells on the nearby cobblestone-walled Church of the Triad clanged five times – one hour until the Reaping, the second to the last one in Panem on this day. Already, most of the tributes in the 96th Hunger Games had been Reaped, and many were on the trains headed towards the Capitol. District 5, however, was close to the central city; it'd only be a short overnight jaunt for the two kids picked today.

Dawn stopped me in front of a wooden stand laden with yucca fronds and jugs of white palm wine, glancing over her shoulder as two merchants argued to one another.

"I'm gonna go," she said. "See you 'round, Terra. Happy Hunger Games, and all that."

She scampered away as soon as she'd finished, leaving before I could get in a word. "Yeah," I muttered, kicking a pebble under the merchant stand. "Happy Hunger Games to you, too, Dawn."

I plodded through the red dirt streets, sliding past bantering young men chattering about tributes selected earlier in the day. I had too much on my mind to listen in.

A number of revelers happy for the day off of work clustered around the wooden doors to an old, two-story bar near the southern end of the Merchant's Quarter. Pike's Cantina, read the blue block lettering on a splintering wooden sign above the door. Home sweet home. I hung my head and stared down at my feet as I walked up to the door, ignoring what was in front of me just enough to run straight into a brick wall.

"Oof!"

I tumbled backwards, clutching my cheek where the bone had collided with solid mass. It wasn't a wall I'd hit.

"The hell are you doing?"

A beast of a man towered over me. He'd lost the hair on his head long ago, but a thick, beard still covered his chin and cheeks in a black jungle. A long scar ran across the man's face from just beside his right eye down to his jawline. The man's broad shoulders and loose-fitting brown vest only made him look more fearsome, putting his bulging arm muscles on display. It had been twenty-four years since Daud Mosely had won the 72nd Hunger Games, but he still looked the part of a natural killer.

I scrambled to my feet, still nursing my cheek. "Sorry, sorry I'm just – just going in."

Daud clutched a clear plastic jug of palm wine in his hand. He took a long swig of the drink and said, "Too young for this swill, girl."

"Just going home," I whispered, eager to get away from the brute of a man. Daud had a horrid reputation in District 5: Not only had he cut down his own district partner without blinking during his time in the arena, but he'd also had as little to do with anyone else here since then – and adding insult to injury, he'd only managed to bring one victor back home since his victory, when Finch had won in the 74th Games. Numerous times after coming home from school and work, I'd seen him drinking alone in the cantina, always choking back the same bitter palm wine in slow, measured swigs. Sometimes he clutched a tattered, leather-bound book in those boulder-sized hands of his, sometimes merely watching the bar like a vulture scouting out its prey.

I didn't want to know what he thought of the place.

As I pushed open the door, Daud grabbed my shoulder. I froze.

"Barkeep's girl?" he asked.

I didn't answer. Let me go. Just go away.

"Better get ready," Daud grunted, letting go of my shoulder. "Look pretty for the district."

Thwoosh. Daud took another swig from his jug.

Look pretty for the district. I wondered why he'd said "district," rather than "Capitol" – but then again, it was probably all the same to a man like him. My mother doubted the victor was all there in his head, and I couldn't disagree.

Things didn't improve for me as soon as I entered the bar.

The hazy, poorly-lit interior wasn't as full as I was used to, but two dozen noisy patrons still clinked together glasses and mugs. Judging by the acrid miasma of vomit and booze in the air, someone had drunk far too much in preparation for the Reaping. A pair of chairs lay upended in the corner of the sitting area, with a deck of playing cards scattered about like fallen birds all around them.

Up by the splintering wooden bar, a gray-haired man talked spiritedly with a lanky, dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes. Sometimes I wished my father cared about who my mother chatted up in this place, but to him, it was just good business.

My mother was business. I was income. My brother was an heir. That was our family, to each their roles.

"Mom," I said quietly, sidling up to the bar as far from the man talking her up as I could. "I need –"

"Go take a bath," she interrupted, not bothering to look my way.

"I know, I just need something to change into."

"Your brother put your dress out. Go take a bath."

Love you too. I so adored our family talks. Glancing back at my mother talking to the patron at the bar made me think of the boy on the ledge that afternoon. There was something peaceful about being alone on top of a cliff like that, I thought as I tromped down the stairs to our basement washroom. Peaceful, powerful, alone – but in a good way. Maybe Daud was right to turn away from this bustling, busy district full of people I was eager to avoid.

I let my thoughts diffuse into a jumble of nonsense as I washed the red dust of the canyon out of my hair. Look pretty for the district. I wouldn't do any more than pretty. Everything would just get dirty again as soon as the wind kicked up, filling every available nook and cranny with the desert sand.

Mindless. That was the best I could manage as I pulled on the solid blue Reaping dress my brother had laid out on my bed in our bedroom. Step out of the bath. Put the stuff on. Walk to the Reaping. Stand. Go home. Not my idea of exciting television, no matter what the Capitol thought.

"Terra?"

Flint peeked in from my doorway, already dressed in smoothed-out brown trousers and a green button-down shirt. In a way…he did look nice.

"You look fine," he said, reciprocating my thoughts. "But put your hair up. It's a mess."

Always that "but." Still, I didn't argue. I pulled up my hair and fixed my ponytail with a blue ribbon before Flint hurried me up the stairs, urging that we were late. Late to him meant fifteen minutes early, and the thought of standing around with all the kids I didn't know in City Center made me nervous. Let's just get this done with.

Fellow teens flooded the street as Flint and I left the bar to a simple "hurry home" from our mother. I hadn't even seen my father since the morning. It made me glad, in a way: He wasn't someone I wanted to see before this. I didn't need him breathing down my neck about this or that as I tried to calm my nerves in the swirling school of children headed across the river bridge towards the gray stone buildings of City Center.

Clang!

The church bells banged again – one, two, six times. Reaping time, time for the afternoon shadows to grow long and thin as the sun neared the end of its trek across the sky.

"You alright?"

Flint grabbed my hand as we walked across the river. I only noticed then that I'd been clutching my sides.

"Fine," I muttered, lying more to myself than him.

"It's, uh," Flint stuttered. "Not good at this stuff, but it's just a short thing, Terra. We'll be back home in an hour."

I nodded. Just an hour.

The crowds on the street made my head feel hazy. I clenched my teeth as Flint and I separated at the tables to sign in for the Reaping. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply to steady myself. Just an hour with all these other people.

The sign-in line seemed to take an hour on its own, as we inched towards the Peacekeeper-crewed tables at a snail's pace. It was almost a relief by the time I got to the front and one of the Peacekeepers logged me in. Terra Pike, here for the fourth year. Three more of these to go after today.

The Capitolian media crew had turned City Center into a monument to Panem. Scarlet and gold banners hung from every building in the square, and workers had laid down artificial stone on the dusty ground to give a more classical take for the cameras. A giant, stylized portrait of the late President Coriolanus Snow hung from a white banner that covered the front of the Hall of Justice, accompanied by a smaller gold banner with the likeness of his son, the new president Creon. Pageantry! I thought. Maybe it looks better on TV.

I clutched my arms around my sides again as soon as I lined up in the roped-off fifteen year-old girls' section of the square. I clutched my hands to my sides as sweat beaded up under my arms. Most of the girls were quiet, but when I glanced up at the hulking cameras arranged around the rooftops, I imagined each of them looking down at me. Take a look, ladies and gentlemen, I could even now hear Cicero Templesmith booming. Look at this creature! Wouldn't want to Reap that! It might die during our pre-Games interviews!

I stood up on my tiptoes, trying to find Flint in the crowd. Nothing – nothing but heads, heads, and more heads, faces I didn't recognize, a sea of people probably wondering why I was craning my neck like a stork. Forget it. I stared at the ground as the last kids filed into the square. Up at the landing in front of the Hall of Justice, our old mayor had walked through the doors and was busy tapping the microphone in testing. He was alone save for one person sitting down in a chair off to the side – the last person I expected to show up early.

Daud. He looked half-asleep, but there he was, still clutching his jug of wine.

He wasn't alone for long. A flash of red hair burst through the door as a short woman hurried onto the stage, saying a quick hello to the mayor before siding up next to Daud. Unlike Daud, Finch Rivers was a respectable victor. The winner of the 74th Games may have kept to herself, but she'd emerged from the arena behind a minimum of bloodshed – and if cantina rumors were to be believed, Finch had done her best to try and bring someone home every year, even if she had failed every time. Even Daud seemed happy to see her when she plopped down in a chair beside him, offering up the first smile I'd ever seen from the man.

The last member of the party emerged after another five minutes, bursting from the door with the usual swirl of his long, flowing charcoal-gray cloak. I never knew what to make of Elan Triste, District 5's Capitol escort. He looked like any other escort from past Games showings, but something about the way he carried himself ramrod-straight, with a careful, measured step, told me he carried something else underneath those robes.

To his credit – and my thankfulness – he didn't waste any time getting started. "I'll pass on the usual introduction I'm sure you've all figured it out by now," Elan said, rubbing a hand over his navy blue-dyed, short-cropped hair. "But I will take the time to say a word of remembrance."

Elan turned back towards the banner behind him. "Coriolanus Snow as a good man, an orderly man who presided over a strong rule for 50 years. The Hunger Games, Panem itself, models of stability. The Games themselves, after all, are as much a monument to that peace as anything. May our new president reign just as successfully. He deserves a moment."

The escort paused, clutching his hands together and closing one eye. Clearly Elan didn't care about following the usual protocol of kicking off the Reaping, but did he care that much about the late president? Was it all for show?

"Thank you," Elan said before I could think any further. I noticed a camera looking right at our section and I glanced down at my feet again. They're staring right at me. Right now. Ugh.

"Let's begin, District 5."

Elan hurried over to the first Reaping bowl. He hadn't announced which gender he'd select first, but he'd traditionally kicked things off with girls. For a brief moment, my breath caught in my chest. The thoughts of the cameras, the staring Capitol audience, the other kids packed in around me – all of those disappeared. For that moment, I only cared about Elan's fingers darting through the bowl.

Please don't.

He frowned as he plucked a strip from the bowl and read it over once. As if on cue, his eyes darted up towards my section.

"If I could ask Miss Terra Pike to come to the stage."

The square froze. I couldn't pretend I'd misheard what Elan had said. Terra Pike. Me.

Oh, no. No, no, Gods no.

Now all the cameras were looking at me.

I couldn't help myself. My left knee gave out and I stumbled down into the ground, planting a hand onto the fake stone to keep myself up. My eyes welled up as I glanced up. Two Peacekeepers were already on their way…and I knew I wouldn't be able to get up in time to stop them from dragging me to the stage.

"No," I choked as one of the Peacekeepers grabbed my arm, yanking me up off of the ground.

My eyes flooded over with tears as the Peacekeeper forced me forward. I hadn't really thought Dawn was a bad friend, or that my family thought I was a nuisance. Really! I could live with them. I wouldn't mind. Just not this, not this.

I could imagine Cicero's excited shouts already: "In the president's name, a real waterworks from District 5! My word, folks, we'll need a cleanup crew…"

I didn't care. Every step towards the stage and every jab from the Peacekeeper's fist brought another round of tears from my eyes and a pathetic little sob from my throat.

"Please," I cried to the Peacekeeper as I reached the stairs to the stage. "I didn't do anything. I don't want this!"

He jabbed his fist into the small of my back, sending me stumbling up the stairs. Right before I lost my balance, a firm hand reached out and grabbed my arm. I looked up, blinking away tears, as Elan stared down at me. Somewhere behind those dull gray eyes of his was a flash of something I didn't expect – sympathy.

"It's only for a little while," he whispered as he pulled me up onto the stage. In a snap, he turned back to the microphone. "Terra Pike, ladies and gentlemen. Your tribute for the girls."

No one clapped. No one did much of anything except for the girls exhaling in relief of avoiding another year, but I could barely focus on standing up straight. My eyes had turned into jelly, and my throat already was growing scratchy from crying. By the time Elan announced "Glenn Turner" for the boys, my dress's sleeve was drenched in tears I'd hastily brushed off of my cheeks.

I had to stop when I saw the boy who'd be joining me on this horrible misadventure. Glenn wasn't crying, nor panicking and pleading like me. He was as stiff as a board, his face as stony as the canyon walls.

I didn't know him by name, but I knew who he was. I'd seen him standing alone on a cliff just a few hours before.

/ / / / /

+ Thanks for all the reads so far, guys, and big thanks to BamItsTyler for the favorite and follow!