The hot District 11 sun beats down on my face. I'm standing with all the other boys my age, waiting for the names of the tributes to be called. Every year it's the same: we line up, hoping we don't hear our own name called.

I spare a glance over at my younger sister, who's standing with the other girls. She's trying to look brave, but I can tell she's terrified. I can't blame her, really. When I was her age I was terrified of being reaped too. Now I don't care. People don't live long in District 11; I'm dead either way.

A Capitol woman - Vivian I believe is her name - steps up to a microphone. I tune out as she drones on about why it's a great honor to be reaped for the Hunger Games and then shows a video about it. Finally she announces that she will pick the tributes. She walks over to a large bowl filled with names. She waves her slender, manicured hand over the bowl, and then plunges it in.

My sister closes her eyes and starts breathing heavily. Vivian clears her throat before reading out the name. It's not my sister. I relax a little, relieved. Then I notice the girl who's been called mount the stage, and my breath catches in my throat. The girl is no older than twelve. She's so small. Her deep brown eyes survey the crowd, obviously stunned. She looks so lost, so vulnerable. I look around to see if anyone will volunteer to take her place, but no one does. No one ever volunteers in District 11.

Suddenly, I realize how quiet it's become, and that everyone's eyes are on me.

"Thresh? Where are you?" Vivian calls.

It was my name, she called my name . . . I'm going to the Hunger Games.

I step forward stiffly, and mount the stage. I look out at the crowd. Some of them are whispering, they think I can win . . . Then I notice my sister. Her eyes are filled with tears, and when she catches my eye she quickly looks away. I look past her, trying to find my grandmother where she's standing with the other adults. We lock eyes for a moment, and she gives me a firm nod.

I turn and face the small girl - Rue I think her name is. We shake hands. She's trembling with fight, so I try to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"There you have it!" Vivian trills. "Our two tributes from District 11!"

The crowd claps, not because they want to, but because it's protocol. A group of Peacekeepers come and beckon us away from the stage. I'm brought to a room and the doors are closed behind me.

I sit in silence for a bit, Rue's face seeming to burn into my mind. It's not fair that she was reaped. She's so young; she'll never make it. I wonder if she has a family . . . I've seen her working in the fields before, but I never really paid her much attention until today.

Suddenly the door opens, and my sister and grandmother step in. My sister flings her arms around me and starts crying. I stroke her hair softly.

"Don't die, Thresh, please don't die!" She sobs into my shoulder. "You have to come back!"

"I will, I promise," I reply. I shouldn't make a promise I can't keep, but it reassures her, and she stops crying.

My grandmother steps forward and places a firm hand on my shoulder. She may be old, but she's still strong.

"Look, Thresh," my grandmother says, "you can win this, you can! You're strong and you're smart. It's a good combination. The Careers will be tough, but they'll be caught off guard because they won't expect a tough tribute to come from District 11. Just get some supplies, and if you can get a weapon, but don't stick around the Cornucopia! Find somewhere where you'll have the upper hand."

I nod solemnly, not sure how to answer.

"Oh, and here." My grandmother pulls something off from around her neck and presses it into my hand. "Take this for your token."

I look at the object in my hand, it's a chain with a small metal plate on it, like a dog tag, and my father's name is engraved on it.

"Was- Was this his?" I ask softly.

"Yes," My grandmother replies, tears in her eyes. It's the first time I've seen her cry since my parents died.

Just then the peacekeepers come in and start dragging my sister and grandmother out of the room.

"I love you, Thresh!" My grandmother cries. "And please, protect that little girl-"

The door slams shut, and I'm left alone in silence again.

I wonder if Grandmother's right . . . Maybe I really can win this.