This is the day I've been waiting for all year.

When I wake, I can barely contain my excitement. I throw my glossy bedcovers off to the side and jump out of my warm bed, scurrying over to my large vanity dresser. It's my favorite piece of furniture in the entire house. The outline of the huge mirror is studded with bright light bulbs that illuminate my dressing area, the light from it glinting off my gleeful golden eyes. I smile at myself at the mirror for a while, and I can't help but admire my teeth that are about as clean as the whites of my eyeballs. Unlike most of the Capitol people, mine are not synthetic, nor have they received any treatment more advanced than toothbrushing.

After a while of standing around, I finally resolve to take a shower. My bathroom is a sultry maroon inlaid with gold, and beauty jumps off of the glamorous walls. I step into the shower and punch a button that releases my favorite butterscotch aroma. I bask in the scent for a while, and then I press a button that dries me up and removes the excess moisture from my chocolate brown hair.

When I step out of the bath, I quickly change into a simple dark brown shirt that matches my hair, and then some jeans. I live in the Capitol, yes, but I don't think that means I should ride along with their hideous, inhuman trends. I think I may be the only one in my school that hasn't had any alterations. To some people, I'm not Capitol at all. I don't even have the accent, and nor does everyone else in my family. The only trace of Capitol I have on me is a golden tattoo on my right arm. The intricate pattern of a tattoo extends from right under my elbow and down to my wrist. The ink of the design is so translucent, so sheer that you can't notice it until you stand at least four feet away from me.

I'm just putting on a solid gold band around my head when I hear my father's voice buzzing through the built-in intercom. "Skye, It's time to get going," he says. "You wouldn't want to be late for your very first visit to the Hunger Games arenas!"

I rush over to the wall and hold the speaking button down as I talk into the microphone. "Coming," I say, and quickly flit off to put on my brown leather shoes. In no time at all, I'm downstairs and out the door, jumping into our sleek black car.

Inside, there is my older brother, Levi, in tawny trousers, a fitted black shirt, and black boots. Because everything he has on him—including his chocolate hair that is identical to mine—is dark, his exuberant, anxious gold eyes are brought out more strikingly.

I chuckle. "What are you wearing?"

He shrugs. "I thought since we were going into the arena for about a month for the fieldtrip slash vacation, I might as well look the part." Then he grins. "So what about it? Do I look viciously able to kill?"

"I'd say you look viciously desperate," I laugh out loud, and my father and mother seated at the front of the car glance at us and laugh, too.

We all know how much Levi adores the Games. He'd volunteer for a spot in it for sure, but it's too bad Capitol people can't join them. Watching the Games like a hawk, however, sates him to at least some extent. His eyes are practically glued onto the television screen whenever it's in season. A month ago, when the Games for the year started, he spent so much money sponsoring a brutal boy from District 4. The boy won, fortunately. It's the first time Levi has ever sponsored a tribute that won, because it's usually my sense of judgment that strikes gold. I've sponsored about four people—all victors of their Games—and that in itself is a reason enough for Levi to hate me. But, for some strange reason, he's a decent brother to me. He might even love me.

My father starts the car and then it thunders away at lightning speed. Within a few minutes, we're at the Training Center of the city, where my schoolmates and I will be gathering before we leave for the arena. Every year, the junior and senior students of our school head off to one of the old arenas, where we will stay there for one month, vacationing. I've only just started my junior year, which is why it's my first time. Levi, however, has already gone last year, but that doesn't stop him from being deliriously energized. You'd think he'd have some dignity, what with his being a senior.

"Have fun and take care!" Mother calls out to us when we've entered the Training Center. Levi and I wave back at her until the mechanical doors slide close and cut us off. When I turn around to take in the entire lobby, I see that a couple of kids from my grade and Levi's grade are huddled around with their groups, waiting for our attendants to arrive so we can finally kick off the trip.

"Excited?" Levi asks me, his eyes travelling all around the area. I know he must be in awe, because this place is where all the tributes arrive every year. For a while, he walks around and nods or waves in acknowledgment to some of his friends. I trail about a foot behind him. Since my best friend, Lina Trouks, decided not to come for the fieldtrip, I'm left to my brother and his friends' company. A fact that doesn't really bother me, but I wouldn't mind having a girl pal to talk to, either. And I don't have that many girl pals. Actually, none at all, if you don't count Lina. It's just that I don't find most of the girls nice here.

I smile. "Yes, sort of. Are you? It's your second year on the fieldtrip. Must be a little dull for you, now, huh?" I wasn't attempting dry humor, but somehow the way it came out implied it.

He glances back at me momentarily, and I catch that his mouth has twitched up in a smirk. "Not exactly," he says, and there's that trace of humor in his voice. "See, when you're a junior, you don't have a say at the arena you'll be visiting. But when you're a senior like me, you get to have a vote. The attendants will give you a choice between four arenas, and the arena with the most votes is where we go for the fieldtrip."

Oh, well, I didn't know that. But that isn't surprising, because everyone knows the Capitol works at a need-to-know basis. In other words, if you don't need to know it, no one tells you. "Okay, so which arena are we visiting this year?"

"The one I voted for," says Levi proudly. "Arena number fifty."

"Which one is that?"

"The one from Haymitch Abernathy's Games."

My jaw instantly drops at that statement. I remember Haymitch Abernathy's Games clearly. His arena had to be the most beautiful there is and has been ever since. No arena has topped it yet. "That's awesome, I can't wait to get there," I say, and I'm not lying. The Fiftieth Hunger Games is one of my favorites.

Levi stops dead in his tracks and turns to face me, grinning. "Yes, and I know you're going to have a good time. Haymitch Abernathy is your favorite victor, correct?" I nod my assent. It's true. I've been a fan of Haymitch's since he went on television. I was up to my eyeballs with debt during his Games, because I kept borrowing money from everyone so I could sponsor him. He was just an exciting tribute that proved to be a pretty smart one, too, considering how he won. "Well, that's just exciting for you. Did I tell you the victor of the year of the arena we're visiting is going to be there?" asks Levi.

"What?" I gape at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. And that's why I voted for this arena," he says. "Because I knew you'd have a good time at it, and I knew you'd kill to meet Haymitch Abernathy."

The corners of my mouth tilt upward. "Thanks, Levi. That's really—" I cut myself off when I see our attendant, Kait Desser, walk out from the elevator and into the lobby. Levi glances backward, following my gaze, and sees her as well. She's calling everyone to the center, and Levi and I and the other students gather together in a loose circle around her.

"Good morning, everyone!" she greets us exuberantly. "It's a beautiful day, and I'm sure you can barely wait to head to the arena now." Everyone responds with howls and cheering. "But before we go," she continues. "I need to give everyone instruction. Listen closely and listen well. We will be travelling via hovercraft. Travelling time is thirty minutes. All twenty four students will be divided into two groups, and according to their groups, they will board the hovercrafts. When we get there, don't stray too far away yet, because we will give you your room assignments and then, after getting settled in, you will be allowed to roam around all you want. Does that sound good?" she urges us with a wink.

Hollering erupts, and it soon diminishes to excited, anxious chatter as we all board the elevators and shoot up past all the district floors. I'm a little stunned still, and I can't believe that we're actually riding the elevator that all the other tributes have ridden before. That Haymitch Abernathy himself has ridden.

The elevator is quick and it takes only a while for us to get to the roof. Then the doors slide apart and we stream out of the cubicles. The view from the rooftop is magnificent, and I find myself leaning against the railings as we wait for our hovercraft to arrive. From way up here, I can spot our large mall. I even see our school, and, if I squint hard enough, I can eye our mansion.

For some strange reason, I think about the tributes. Not the ones still alive. The dead ones. The ones who've died to entertain us. Okay, this kind of thinking is not the norm for us that live in the Capitol. And, even though it's terrible to admit it, I don't feel a pang of guilt when I watch the Games. To me, these people are just pieces. Almost like the chess pieces on a chess board. When they're gone, they're gone. But I start thinking, just for a moment, about what life must be—or what it must have been—for them. Starved to near death, and then forced to kill or be killed for our pleasure. Our lives must be dull compared to theirs.

Just then, a hovercraft surfaces out of nowhere. I'm not new to these hovercrafts; I've seen millions, because my father works at a company that specializes on receiving exports from District 3, the engineering district. Whenever I visit his office or tag along with him when he works, I get to see the latest of all gadgets and gizmos. The receiving company is never short of hovercrafts. But even though I've seen a lot of them, I've only ridden them four times. This ride today will make five.

Kait Desser calls out the people in the first group, who will be riding this hovercraft. My name is the first to be bade. She continues, reading the names of relatively nice kids from my grade and Levi's grade. Said relatively nice kids are considered losers at school, myself included, but who cares. They're the closest things to friends I'll get. And I'm thinking that it's good none of the snobby and stuck-up girls are in my group, until Tania Sinclair's name emerges.

Tania Sinclair is the epitome of stuck-up girls. Her dead straight hair stops at her shoulders with inhumanly equal length, her skin is pale as a sheet, dyed white. Even her lips are pale. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought her a corpse at first sight. Diamonds are encrusted in the place of her eyebrows, and her irises have been surgically altered to match the electric blue color of her hair. Right now, she's sporting a full, shiny black body suit, the soles of which have built in six-inch heels. She wears matching black gloves that have holes at the ends for where her manicured, also electric blue nails pop out.

Tania glares at Kait, her eyes occasionally darting toward me and the rest of the group. "You mean I have to ride with them?" she asks in her full-on accent, her voice rising an octave. She waves a hand over to her group of perpetual followers, who are also dressed in different colors of full-body leotards. "Can't you group me with the others?"

Kait looks irritated, but she keeps composure. "I'm sorry, Ms. Sinclair, but unless anyone from group two is interested in exchanging with—"

I'm just thinking about how it's impossible anyone from the second group will exchange with her, because the ones in Group Two seem to be the unspoken "cool crowd," my brother included, since he's a senior. But then I'm proved wrong when Abel Harter, an exceptionally noted boy from my grade, interrupts Kait with a raised hand. "I'd like to exchange with her, Ms. Desser."

Abel Harter. I can't say I've never noticed him before, because truth be told, he's pretty hard to ignore. Like myself, he has no alterations. But unlike myself, he's immensely good-looking. Blessed with more-than-amazing ocean blue eyes and glorious hazel hair, you don't have to think very hard of reasons why he's so popular. You do, however, have to think beyond your wits to find reasons why he would be willing ride in S.S. Loser Craft with the rest of us. As he comes to stand beside me and the group, I feel somewhat inferior. Not only is he about a foot taller than me, but he's got prettier hair, too. Last year, when the renowned Finnick Odair won the Games, no one in my school was drooling over him. They were too busy salivating over Abel Harter.

Kait looks surprised, but nonetheless nods, and Tania squeals as she plunges back into her cluster. Though a couple of girls in the group looked a little bitter as they realized they wouldn't have a chance at flirting with Abel today. "Okay, Mr. Harter, if that's what you want," Kait says, and then tells us to board the hovercraft.

Twelve ladders cascade down from the craft, one for each of us, and as I reach for one particular ladder, Abel's hand collides with mine. I duck in embarrassment when I realize that he wanted that one, and I make my way to the next ladder, but Abel stops me. "You can take this one, Skye," he reassures me, and I think it's the first time he's ever addressed me. It didn't cross my mind that he knew my name. Maybe he's spoken to my brother before, who belongs in the same crowd as him.

I mumble my thanks and grab onto the ladder, and immediately, it's as if I'm a statue. Some sort of current freezes me on the spot as the ladder retracts and pulls me up, up, and away.