Algar Black (D4 Male)

"Ready...set..." The man in charge of our section paused for deliberate effect. A few seconds ticked through the air; my grip tightened on the weapon. I only had two more chances to get into the Games, win, and bring back the riches needed to support me and my sister.

But first I had to be the top-ranked in the class.

"GO!" Dozens of spears whistled through the air. I flung mine as far as possible, deadly force added to it so it wouldn't stick to the board and then just fly off. The iron tip dug viciously into the center circle at the far side. It quavered for a moment... and stayed there.

I exhaled deeply, looking to the other people's boards. Our section was full of boys, all wanting to get into this year's Games. A couple were eighteen and more desperate; I could see the perspiration beading on their foreheads as they stared at their spear gone wrong.

Everyone looked to the one empty target, with a skinny boy of fifteen standing there in front. His arm was shaking indefinitely, and he seemed almost afraid to throw it. Trout Morris, that was his name. A shrimp-like boy who his parents enrolled him into the Academy for the sole reason of getting tougher, stronger. He had started two years ago.

So far it hadn't worked.

I waited impatiently, wanting to hear the results. There were a lot of spears, at least seven, in the center circle. This all depended on complete accuracy and measured down to the last millimeter. I had always been fourth or fifth, never the one to be able to volunteer.

But first that Trout really needed to hurry up. The anticipation was rising in the air of possible District Four tributes, and the scrawny boy was not helping. Finally, he hefted the spear at the target, failing horribly. It didn't even go half the way before dropping to the floor. A roar of laughter jerked through us, cold eyes flashing malevolently in Trout's direction.

A couple crew members came on to measure the spears' precision. At least twenty-five minutes went by before they retreated back to their former positions, handing little envelopes to the man in charge. I always forgot his name, because he wasn't exactly a big part of my life anyway, and I didn't want to get to close to anyone after my parents died.

Let me explain.

I was raised to be a kind person. Not all Careers are bad. Sure, most of them are, but not all. When I was nine, they died in a boating accident, and I had to care for my little sister Olga, who was now thirteen. She had been three then- in those years, we had lived in starvation, barely able to feed ourselves until I relented and joined the Academy. If I won, then it would all be worth it. If I lost... I couldn't think about how Olga would be alone, only an eleven-year-old, maybe sent to some poorly taken care of orphanage. The orphanage was worse than simply wandering the streets. They would get slapped and hurt, and I didn't want that to happen to Olga.

Since my parents died, I hadn't want to get close to anyone but Olga, so that I wouldn't feel the same pressuring sadness all over again. If I put up a barrier between myself and the world, nothing bad would happen with my interference. The only thing I had to do that was relatively important to the world was win the Hunger Games.

The person in charge walked heavily to the front of the room, eyes steely. So far, I had won first place in only two tasks out of the ten- Sword-Fighting and Track. But if I won this one...

I couldn't bear to get my hopes up, though it always happened. I watched him open the envelope, as did all the other trainees, and a voice penetrate the empty stillness around us. A cracking, gravelly voice: "Third place: Reed Hunter."

A muscular boy from the back, who had laughed at Trout, now stood in jittery nerves at the In-Charge's side. My breath quickened. I had to win this...or I wouldn't have a chance in the Games... Algar Black, Algar Black, I prayed.

"Second place," he grunted. The voice was like rocks grinding against each other, hoarse and hard to make out. I strained my ears for my name. "Platypus Miller."

The considerably skinny boy near the front's knees gave out. He surely hadn't expected to win, I thought as he scampered over to stand beside Reed, who huffed at his presence. Would the winner be another muscular friend of Reed's? Or would it be one of the outcasts, like me or Trout..

All of our eyes focused on In-Charge as he pulled open the last envelope, the rest laying discarded at his feet. The flimsy seal broke and a paper was unfolded; on it, two words would be written. The first and last name of the winner of this last round.

"And we have first place...," In-Charge sniffed, looking a bit surprised at the name on the slip. Please be me, please be me... "Algar Black."

Everyone turned to stare at me as I, feeling excitement and determination surging throughout me, made my way to the front. Nobody had expected me to win; in fact, some of them probably didn't even know me. All the smaller twelve-year-old boys craned to see me, eyes wide with awe.

I stood next to Reed and Platypus. The former punched me in the shoulder blade—a searing pain stole through me, but I was in too much exhilaration to care. Platypus tried to pretend indifference, but even he was happy that I had won and not one of the bullies Reed hung out with.

"Class dismissed!" In-Charge roared. "Listings will be posted at the front office."

The crowd surged out, each struggling to get to the office so that they could see the final results. I had won three...surely that was the most in the whole Academy for Four? I still had to consider all the other sections, but still, I was pretty determined I had gotten the role of Volunteer this year.

Platypus fell in line next to me as we headed for the office, me in no hurry to get there because I was pretty confident I had gotten it. "So," Platypus said in a friendly voice. "That was some trick you pulled back there."

I ignored him and instead quickened my pace, but Platypus easily caught up with my long strides, though he had to jog. "What was it?" the other boy asked. "How'd you do it?"

I avoided his annoying questions, reminding myself that I couldn't get close to enough despite the amount of friendliness in his voice, and veered right to the office, where everyone else was going. The people at the front were turning to stare at me, trying to pick me out throughout the crowd, and I grinned widely. I had gotten it, had I? I had snagged the role of Volunteer.

Sure enough, as my eyes laid on the sheet of paper taped to the wall, everyone stood back to let me see, almost in reverence. It said, in clear, printed words: Volunteer: Algar Black (17). Then there was a picture of me scowling right next to the black letters. I smiled. I had really done it. I was going to volunteer this year, and nobody could stop me.

Olga and I walked to the Reaping, Olga making plenty of snarky remarks that I had told her time and again to cool off with. She would never listen, of course. She was too excited for me, and that caused her rudeness level to the other trainees (especially Reed) to upgrade fifty percent.

"Stupid Reed," she scoffed. "Thinking he could get the role of volunteer. But you stopped him, Algar, you stopped him from ever being in the Games, and that's why he's so mad at you." She lowered her voice. "You know, the idiot's eighteen this year."

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't known that. "Eighteen? Well that's... coincidental." I had to admit I was a bit glad I had thwarted Reed's dream of being victor of the 36th Hunger Games, so I eased a little on the ignoring Olga today. She beamed when I answered gruffly, because I didn't really do so on normal days.

"It is," she chattered on. "You know, you're going to win. It's inevitable." She rolled her eyes. "It's written in the stars, you could call it."

"Written in the stars," I mused. "Huh. I never thought you were into that spiritual belief and all that."

She sighed heavily. "Algar!" she hissed. "I'm not! I said it to be sarcastic, but of course, you probably didn't catch that." A look of pride came into her eyes. "Did you?"

"I did. I was just being sarcastic as well," I fibbed, hoping she wouldn't notice my thoughts being occupied and my lack of comprehension in her words. Sarcastic, snarky Olga. Of course she'd be this way since I'd been chosen as volunteer. She'd probably brag to all her "friends" about it.

"Right." Olga's eyes narrowed in that way she had when she knew I was lying.

I changed the subject right then and there. "So, how's home? You...living there okay?" I should expect something of a no, home stinks, I thought.

Olga groaned, fire blazing in her eyes. "The 'home' you're talking about is a seventy-year-old dump that's probably been rotting there for at least a decade and smells horrendous. I think a troll pooped down there or something, the way it smells. And," she added, "it's so hot I could get burned alive."

"Are you sure you'll be okay while I'm at the Reaping?" I asked, a little bit of fretting in there, but I didn't really care. I had to make sure she was all right.

"Don't worry," Olga said, brushing it away. "I will be fine."

We walked the rest of the way in silence, Olga starting to make something known and me shushing her. I didn't want to attract attention to ourselves; that would be a nightmare. People staring at us, pointing fingers and wondering why were so poor for such a wealthy District.

I finally spoke when we were among the people, where all the chattering was sure to cover us up. "Olga," I said, "do you think the escort is just really clueless or actually maliciously cruel?"

Olga expressed contempt when she hissed, "That stupid, air-headed thing? Covered up all in makeup and adorning us with sweet words? Oh, no. She is beyond clueless. Not even clueless. More like—"

I cut her off before she could yell a bunch of swear words.

The Reaping began at a bumpy start. Tenseness rattled the crowd, a lot of the boys at the Academy glaring at me, surely expecting themselves to have been the volunteer. Our escort drew out two pieces of paper, one for the girl and the other for the boy.

And then she said, in a silky, purring voice (a bit like a cat's, she even had cat ears), "Misty Shrimp!"

A tall girl walked confidently to the front, knowing that there would always be a volunteer to save her and not caring in the slightest if she was chosen. She would never be in the actual Games, so what did it matter?

Almost at once, another girl shoved her way to the front; she must have come from the back because she looked like she had ran a marathon to get there. "I, Azurine Bahari, volunteer as tribute and victor of the 36th Annual Hunger Games!"

Her gruff spirit was showered immediately by flattering applause, and she just remained emotionless, sweeping a glare across the crowd. She was actually rather small for her height, but with her fiery attitude and harsh gaze, it didn't look like it. She was olive-skinned, her hair dark and thick, pale blue eyes glimmering like two miniature ice cubes. Her strong jawline was clenched, teeth gritting together for some reason I didn't understand.

I prepared myself to volunteer; I could see Olga's beaming face as she waited too. She probably couldn't wait to watch me on national television and win the Games. I closed my fist, an icy chill slipping down my spine. In reality, you could say I was afraid to volunteer. What if...what if I died? This possibility was far from Olga's range of thought.

"Scale Fisher," a soft voice crept into my ears. A tiny twelve-year-old ascended the stage. It was clear that he was trembling, however much he knew there would always be a volunteer.

"I, Algar Black, volunteer as tribute!" I exclaimed as loud as I could, throwing my voice out into the crowd. An approving audience let out a volley of cheers, claps echoing off one another. I had to win this for Olga. I searched out her flushed, horizon-red face in the crowd and at all the determination flaring among the people.

And I let myself believe, just for a second, that I could win.

Azurine Bahari (D4 Female)

All my life, these had been my smiling, encouraging parents. I would say something like, "I'm gonna win the Hunger Games. I'm gonna bring back riches like my victorious brother." And then my parents would be like, "You? You little tiny thing? For heaven's sake, you are a girl."

Yes, they were very sexist indeed.

But this year, I had reached the top position in the Academy. That position meant I had to volunteer...which was exactly what I wanted- to prove my parents wrong.

The moment the escort announced, "Misty Shrimp!" I began pushing my way through the crowd, shunting people to the side and then standing at the front, blood boiling. I would show everyone when I volunteered—and won.

I yelled, "I, Azurine Bahari, volunteer as tribute!"

End of story? No. There was still a long, long way to go, and this was just the beginning.

A/N: Sorry for the terribly short POV of Azurine! I didn't feel like writing anymore. :P I promise she'll have a better POV in the Train Rides!

8/7/17