A/N: Hi everyone!

I'd like to start by welcoming you to the first chapter of This is War. This story is a 24/24 collaboration which, for those of you who don't know, is something where 24 different authors take on the roles of 24 different tributes in the Hunger Games, so we get to see the story from a bunch of different people. Sadly, I, nor any of our authors, can take credit for this idea. 24/24 stories were created by the writers of Tears of Blood, which I suggest you guys check out as well, it's amazing!

We've already had a few authors who have regretfully left this story, but we're still going to try our hardest to bring it to you. The writers we have left are: Dinashadow, careerinfatuation, sMoShFiRe, BunburyHope, PrettyBandgirl XD, Enzonia, pixiestix365, CapitolEffie, katsparkle13, Sammy'sPeetaBread, Caprisky, Spaidel, Doc95, Ambs15, 13ASB, HAPPY KID 21, maggiemoo1113, and IAmTheMockingjay1. As you can see, we have a lot of people working on this! All of the authors will be able to be found under this account's "favorite authors" section of the profile.

Alright, so I've probably bored you enough. I now present you with District 1's reaping of the 34th annual Hunger Games!

~ Head Gamemaker Xavier

P.S. Don't forget to review!

Abilee Wilkin

By:Dinashadow

My alarm buzzes at exactly 7:15 a.m. like it has every day of my life. Usually I wake up feeling refreshed, but today I'm feeling a little faint.

Mama says it's safer here than it was in District 3, but nothing she says can quell the raging feeling I have in the pit of my stomach on the one day that happens approximately every 365.25 days. Reaping day.

I dress myself carefully, and for once I force a brush through my mangled dirty blond waves. My Nana always told me that I was the most beautiful girl in the world, but I never believed it. Maybe I could be pretty, I am tall, and have long hair, but it's always frizzed out. I don't usually notice myself, but nothing gets by my peers. My large eyes and long eyelashes should be attributes of an attractive face, but I do not hold it well. My mother once scolded me as a child for looking like "a deer caught in the headlights" or for not paying attention. My father would scold me for not listening to him. I don't remember those days, but my mother has told me that nobody ever expected me to follow in their steps.

My parents are two of the brightest minds in Panem, that's why we were relocated here in District 1, as it is the closest district to the beloved Capitol and they were needed to execute specific work there. I never really fit in with my peers at District 3, but at least there my quirkiness was tolerated. In District 1, there is no shortage of nasty girls, and boys who have a bit of a superiority complex, especially the ones who are Hunger Games volunteers and proud of it. Here in District 1 my peers are just dying, pun not intended, to be in the Games.

That's why today, reaping day, I should be feeling safer. Reaping day at home meant multiple panic attacks throughout the day, my mother having to calm me, and at least three knitted scarves that I made while trying to calm my fear.

I traipse out to our kitchen where breakfast sits on the table; oatmeal with raisins, and peanut butter toast. It's a treat from my mother to me on reaping day. Peanut butter is one of my favorite foods, and one of the harder products to find on the store shelves, and if you can it'll cost you most of your week's paycheck.

"Thank you, Mother," I say quietly and she smiles back at me. She knows that I am entirely grateful even if I have trouble expressing my feelings to others. I'm always appreciative of what my mother and father have done for me and all the support they've given me even if I am thought of as a "weird daughter" as some of their coworkers have put it.

Mama and Father chat idly over breakfast about their lab work for today. I am quiet, but that's nothing new. I mostly live in my head, and hardly ever speak a word, but right now I desperately need to ask my mother a question.

I meekly clear my throat and make eye contact with my mom. I scoot around restlessly and finally she notices and addresses me.

"What is it Abi dear?"

"I was wondering if I'd be allowed to stay home from school today."

My mother contemplates my question carefully.

"I'm going to say no, but only because you have nothing to worry about dear. If you're name happens to be drawn, you know there will be someone to take you place."

I lose my appetite right away, but finish off my toast anyways, as to not anger my mother. Then I excuse myself and run to my room where I can be safer. I hug my knees into my chest, and bury my head. If I were an animal, I would want to be a turtle just so I had someplace to hide when I was afraid.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I untangle myself from my fetal position and pick up the knitting that's sitting on my bedside table. I'm working on an afghan for my Nana. She is at one of the nicest hospitals in Panem on the outskirts of District 1. This was another reason why we moved. My parents are close to the Capitol, and my Nana is in good hands.

My Nana is my mother's mother, and the most important person in my life. Only in her company can I talk and talk without judgment from her. It's always been easier for me to speak. She watched me while I was a child and my parents were at the Capitol working on whatever technology was in the works at the time. My grandmother always believed in me, especially when my parents thought I was some kind of mental child that needed special care. Thanks to her my real potential emerged. Luckily the only child of two bright minds inherited their genes. My precision and knowledge of science is one that is unmatched, and I've put many devices together without a second thought. The Capitol has some plans for the Wilkin's daughter, they just don't quite know the baggage I'll be carrying with me in whatever work environment I land it. I surely shut all my critics' mouths though.

I enjoy helping out my parents. As I mentioned before they've done a lot for me, and have "spoiled" my unnatural behaviors, once again this is according to their coworkers.

I like the sound of the way the knitting needles click each time they intercept paths.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

It's a steady rhythm, one that is planned and controlled, with equal intervals between each click.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

"Abilee." My mother knocks softly on my door.

"Yes?"

"It's time for school."

I place my shoes on and exit my safe house. My mother places her palm on my back and leads me out the door. Her touch is comforting and I'm feeling okay about going to school.

At least I was.

As soon as I touch my feet to the hallway floor I hear the word Hunger Games over and over. It's like some kind of celebration, and between the constant noise, and the content of their yelling voices I feel like I'm going to have a breakdown. I bolt into my classroom immediately. I never understood why I had to come here. I am literate, and my IQ is way above average. However, the Capitol still forces me to attend school to learn about such topics as Panem History, and whatnot, where they cram propaganda in my head.

Unfortunately as soon as I enter the classroom, my peace is interrupted by this year's volunteers and their cheering squad. I try to squash myself as far back in my chair as I can in hopes that I may become part of the furniture and disappear from this nightmare.

Arion and Opal.

The boy is tall and built like the typical career. He's also arrogant, overly confident, and the topic of most of my female peers. Arion is in every single one of my classes and so throughout the day I must deal with his pride.

"Hey Abi," he nods to me in greeting, and I squish back into my seat.

He's never muttered a word to me, but decides to be friendly today. I don't understand. His friends must have bet him to greet the weird girl to add to today's happiness. Why are people so cruel?

When I don't answer he shrugs his shoulders and takes a seat next to his soon-to-be district partner. I know nothing about Opal, except that her family has money. She's quiet, like me, but it's more of an intimidating quiet that keeps others away.

Luckily the drone of my teachers keeps me from having a mental breakdown. I sit in the back and doodle in my notebook. The sound of the pen scribbling against paper gives me the impression that I do have control over my life. I can control this pen, and therefore I can control my destiny.

As soon as I get home I find a snack sitting on the table and once I finish eating I climb out of my clothes and into the bath. This is the reaping tradition of my house, which runs on routines. Routines keep our world moving in a perfect orbit, or that's what my father has said before and I'm not going to argue with that.

Mother has set out my usual reaping outfit. It's my favorite dress, light blue like the morning sky. It's strapless, so I pull a white cardigan over. I smooth over my clothes in an orderly fashion to remove any excess wrinkles that may be leftover even after ironing.

My mother does my hair, as she has always done. I think she is the only person who can tame the mess on my head, and she tops it off with a headband.

She pulls me into a hug, usually there are tears, but she knows I'm going to be safe. I just wish I knew that too.

I grip her hand as we walk over to the square. There are many girls wearing exquisite dresses and dotted with jewels and gemstones. My plainness makes me stick out like a sore thumb. The only thing adorning my wrist is my lucky bracelet. It's wide, and covers my whole wrist. It's made of almost one-hundred percent iron. Iron is the most useful element on Earth and it's hard to extract it in its purest form and so it's covered by a protective film to keep away corrosion. Most people laugh at my silly bracelet, but it's been good luck for me so far.

Mama kisses me on the cheek and sends me off towards the check-in stand. This is the worse part of the reaping. They use an electric device to prick your finger and take your blood just to be sure it's you that's signing in for yourself and not somebody else. Nobody gets out of the reaping and the Capitol makes sure of that.

"Next!" A Peacekeeper yells and I snap out of my thoughts and realize I'm next. I hurry to the table, and she sighs in frustration as she grasps my hand roughly.

"Name?" She asks bluntly.

"Abilee Wilkin," I practically whisper.

"What? Speak up!" She commands.

"Abilee," my voice cracks, "Wilkin."

She turns to the page where there's a spot reserved with my name. Then she moves the small device over my finger.

I sing to myself and squeeze my eyes shut. The Peacekeeper clicks a button and a sharp needle pierces through my skin. She rubs my hand roughly under my name and then scans it. My DNA matches the system as Abilee Wilkin and she shoos me away.

I look at my blood and cringe, wiping it on the underside of my dress. I can deal with blood, but seeing my own makes me feel faint.

I make my way towards the front where the older children stand. I am practically near the front. Nobody looks at me as I file my way in, and I take observation of my surroundings.

The atmosphere is different here than it was in District 3. Here everybody chats good-naturedly. The little children are not crying and instead running rampant around the aisles until a Peacekeeper yells and they go back to their designated areas. The girls next to me are talking about going shopping, and how cute Arion is.

Before I know it our escort is prancing towards the stage and bouncing up their stairs like a ball of happiness.

She leans into the microphone and flashes her brightest smile.

"Hello District 1, as you know my name is Sunshine Pana, and I am District 1's escort! I am so happy to be here again, and I know my fellow escorts are just as jealous," she laughs merrily into the microphone.

She is quite the peculiar character. Her hair is dyed a bright yellow, like the sun. Her outfit is a bright yellow metallic-like dress dotted with sequins. Looking at her makes my eyes hurt.

"So first I bring you all a video from our wonderful Capitol."

The video is the same here in District 1 as it was in 3.

War. Terrible war.

I can't pay attention and I make use of myself by straightening out the little wrinkles that have formed in my dress from the walk over here. I redo my sash into a perfect bow, although it is hard without Mother to help. I look around and see only a few eyes glued to the screen. Most are whispering to one another. I catch Arion not too far away. His arms are crossed over his chest and he stares up at the screen. If he is nervous to volunteer, he doesn't show it.

I can even catch Opal, who is standing a few rows ahead of me. She looks up at the screen and then down to her feet while shuffling back and forth. It doesn't take a high IQ to see she is in fact nervous. She has to volunteer though. It has to be the rule or something, because I know District 1 trains hard to receive the volunteer spot, and to give it up would be a huge dishonor.

"Wasn't that just wonderful?" I am brought back into reality again by little Miss Sunshine. "It just reminds us what we've all gathered here for." She flashes another brilliant smile, and adjusts her hair, or wig, I'm not sure which it is.

"Now it's time to pick this year's tributes, although I expect it will be redundant. I've heard we have some courageous young people volunteering this year! That's not much of a surprise though." She winks to the crowd and then claps her hands together in excitement. "Ladies first!"

I swallow the lump that's forming in my throat and watch Sunshine meander to the female bowl, clicking her heels against the wooden stage with every step. I feel my palms begin to sweat and I ignore the urge to wipe them on my nicest dress.

It's not going to be me. I try to remind myself of this fact and stay calm and under control. Mother is the smartest woman I know and she said I wouldn't be picked.

She snatches a slip from the top and trots back to the microphone. She slowly opens the paper and holds the slip up to the sunlight. Then she folds it back up and leans into the microphone.

"Abilee Wilkin!"

No, no, no! This can't be right. I feel my body breaking under this new weight that has been laid upon my shoulders. But…no I won't be going to the Capitol, Opal will volunteer for me, it'll be okay. It'll be okay, I repeat it over and over in order to keep my feet steady on the ground.

However, I wait for Opal's words "I volunteer" and instead I am met with silence. A few of her friends look over at her and she just stares at her feet, pretending she doesn't exist.

"This is a surprise," Sunshine comments. "Where's our volunteer?"

I watch Opal turn and try to walk through the crowd. She passes right by me and looks me right in the eye. She bites her lip nervously and quickly looks away.

"Abilee?" Sunshine calls again.

Tears are streaming down my face and I have no way of stopping them. I make my way up to the stage, feeling as though I am having an out-of-body experience. When I blink back into reality I'm standing on the stage and Sunshine has her arm around me. I wipe the stray tears from my face and try to put on a façade. It's no use though because I'm shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane, being ripped apart piece by piece.

"Now for our boys!" Sunshine goes through the same routine. She walks slowly to the bowl, plucks the slip from the top and walks back to the microphone.

If I just focus on something else I won't have a panic attack.

She's opening each side of the slip. She's holding it up to the light to read it. She's lowering it down. She's leaning into the microphone.

"Our male tribute is Alexan…" she doesn't even finish the boy's first name when Arion is shouting that he volunteers and prances up the stairs to the stage.

"Now that's more like it!" Sunshine comments and pats him on the back.

"Now shake hands both of you."

I hate shaking the hand of a stranger. It's a practice I do not participate in and I'm not going to do it now. Arion holds his hand out and I stand still as stone waiting for him to get the hint. It's an awkward few seconds and I pull an Opal and stare at my feet.

"Okay then," he shrugs, and the crowd lets out an "Ooooh…"

They think I'm being "tough" or something, but I'm anything but that. I am not trying to be impolite towards Arion because I'm sure he could rip me apart easily. I can't change the way I am to fit everyone's standards, and I won't now just because I was reaped and am on live television.

Oh no! I am on live television.

I feel like I'm about to throw up, but I am saved by Sunshine who whisks us away into the Justice Building where I am separated from Arion and left in a room by myself. I take my first easy breath and then once I've composed myself I cry. I let tears stream down my face, and make little sobbing noises that I know sound pathetic. The problem is that I am going to die. I have little chance to begin with, approximately 4.17%, but if you factor in the strength and training of some of the other tributes that drops even lower.

My mother and father appear in the doorway just as I start to come down from my breakdown. I want to rush to them and have them make everything better, but I know that isn't going to be the case this time. Mama comes to me and grasps me in her arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby," she whispers softly in my ear.

My father, as always, stands stoic, but as soon as my mother releases me he grabs me into his arms in a gesture that my father has never given to me before.

He pulls away and goes to stand next to my mother, who is trying to hold back her tears. My mother and father were never emotional people. It seems to be a trait that was prominent in District 3. Seeing my mother unable to control her emotions makes me feel extremely weak.

I wish I could communicate properly with my own parents and let them know how much they've meant to me, and how I love them so. My mother and father were there for me when everybody turned their back on the strange little girl who mumbled and hid up in trees. When I went against all standards for the other children my age, my parents forced them to accept me as I was. Little did everyone else know that I was going to be one of smartest children in Panem, but not without the repercussions that followed.

I can barely manage in the real world, now I will be shown off to the nation as a tribute, and not just any tribute, but a tribute from District 1. District 1 is known for its Careers and magnificent tributes, but I am just Abilee, who can take things apart and put them together with my eyes closed and has crazy hair.

I think of my Nana who is lying in the hospital soon to die. What did she always say to me?

Accept who you are Abi, even if nobody else will.

I miss her more than anything, and wish she could be here right now. My Nana is the only person who can raise me back up when I am feeling so low. She would sit me in her rocking chair when I was only a few years old and read me fabulous stories from books she had collected over the years. It was my Nana who made me realize my true potential was on this planet.

"Time's up!" A Peacekeeper snaps.

It looks as though I'll never be able to see that potential through.

I run to my mother and father and hug them both. I cannot remember a time I have ever worked up courage to initiate human contact, but I cannot remember a time where I was going off to face my inevitable death.

"I love you," I breathe and my mother runs her hand through my hair.

"Time!" The Peacekeeper yells louder.

"We love you dear," my mother says, "and we have faith that you'll come back to us."

Honestly though I have no chance against the other tributes. I cannot survive in a "kill or be killed" competition. If I am to find meaning on this planet it will have to be in the next few weeks. My first step though is to survive being shown off to the millions of citizens who watch me in the tribute parade. No, scratch that, I'll need to survive the train ride to the Capitol with Arion without throwing up before that happens.

I hope they can provide me with some string and knitting needles first.

Click. Click. Click. I am in control. I can control my destiny.

Arion Everex

By: careerinfatuation

"You want another cup?"

My head snaps up at lightning speed. "Huh?"

Halley, the manager of the training center snack booth, flicks her eyes to the coffee pot in her hand. "You keep falling asleep. Want another cup?" Remembering why I'm awake in the first place, I groan, letting my head fall back onto the countertop.

Reaping practice.

It's customary for the District 1 volunteers to pull an all-nighter, stuffing in whatever training they can the morning before they step forth. It's what our first victor did, and his successor after that, and his successor after that…Halley has agreed to stay up to keep me energized. You'd think I'd be somewhat happy—based on the "great honor" and whatnot—but honestly? As this year's volunteer, all I feel is tired. The impending rush of victory you're supposed to have has been replaced by a sudden urge to curl up in a ball.

"Sure," I mumble sleepily. My hand flies up to wipe the drool from my mouth. "What time is it, anyway?"

The cup scoots across the granite with a scrape. "3:15," Halley says. I groan again, taking a sip. It tastes rich, like she's added chocolate or something. I down it and wait for the buzz to kick in. "Man, I hate this."

"Think I like it any better?" She gripes, wiping her face with the back of her hand. My gaze falls on the dark circles under her eyes.

"Sorry," I say, looking sheepishly down at my feet. "I'll only be up for a while longer. You can go to bed if you want." Thinking she'd jump at the offer, I'm confused when she shakes her head. "Nah. Probably couldn't sleep much."

When I give her a quizzical look, she hesitantly clears her throat. "My sister's got her name in this year."

Oh. Well, that explains it: Halley's 19, and her sister turned twelve not even a week ago. I guess once you're safe, your worry shifts to the next loved one in line. I wouldn't know, being an only child and all.

Cautiously, I lean over the counter, placing my hand on her shoulder the way my mother used to do to comfort me. "Hey, you've got nothing to worry about. Volunteers, remember?"

Volunteering is so important in our district that we've yet to allow a reaped tribute to compete. Someone always edges in to take their place, regardless of age or ability. In other districts, I've heard volunteering protocol is rusty, but here, it's crystal clear: we have volunteering down to a T. 6 months before the reaping, the training center pulls the 5 most exceptional male and female students from each year to participate in a training class. They study things like stamina, accuracy, and improvement, pool all the future tributes together, and rank them in numerical order. The top 10 advance to the second stage, which consists of a vote among the students, trainer recommendations, and a private session with the overall head of the training center, who then chooses the male and female tribute worthy enough to volunteer.

To step up and volunteer without being chosen is suicide: no one wants to sponsor some insolent, glory-stealing punk. To refuse after making it that far…well, you'd have to be crazy.

I squeeze her shoulder, which seems to relax her a bit. "Opal and I have got this." As if on cue, Opal Asteria, my girlfriend and soon-to-be district partner, sidles out from the shadows of a training room. The spear in her hand—she's the only girl my age skilled with them—glints in the unnatural light.

"Hey, baby," I smirk in greeting, leaning back against the counter as she walks up. Opal's a typical career girl: strong arms, strong legs, and strong willed. She's also naturally pretty, a trait that draws sponsors to her like moths to a flame. If the Hunger Games were a beauty contest, they'd need to crown us both. One way or another, District 1 will emerge victorious this year…as if there was any doubt about that.

"Dang," I say as she reaches for a towel. "Sweaty sure looks good on you."

She wrinkles her nose, wiping her forehead angrily. "Shut up, Arion." She tries to scowl at me, but to no avail: one smile from me cracks her mask.

After two cups of coffee, three energy bars, and a 5-minute power nap later, we head back to the gym for the remainder of the night. We budget the next few hours carefully: one for swords, one for spears, one for knives…and, despite my objections, one for talking.

"Why are you volunteering?" she asks, plopping down on the mat next to me. It's an innocent enough question, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, like dry swallowing a pill.

"I think we should work on hand-to-hand," I say, unsteadily attempting to change the subject. My past is something I'd rather not talk about, especially with Opal. Our relationship is more shallow than anything—she sees what she wants to, listens to what she's told about me, and that's the end of that.

Thinking about it now, she's really more of a district partner than a girlfriend. Usually, we just end up talking strategy, no matter how much effort we put into flirting. Throw a kiss in there every once in a while and there you have it—Arion and Opal, perfectly described.

However superficial, that's the gist of it: two pretty faces thrown together based off of no real depth, trust, or knowledge of each other. Two pretty faces influenced by the majority vote. Two pretty faces, watching each other's backs as they prepare for the nightmare.

Regardless of this, she gives me an aggravated look, nagging me like one of my friends would. "Arion."

I stand, cracking my knuckles as I turn away. "Really, my chokeholds have been off lately. Let's spar." Opal jumps from the mat, seizing my wrist with an iron grip. "Arion…"

My parents were both victors, did you know that?

Opal's eyes are wide, filled with a curious understanding. It's unsettling, to be honest. It makes me want to unhinge my jaw and just start babbling, a feeling foreign to me. As far as I know, Opal's not one to judge, but looking weak isn't on my to-do list. I play out the conversation in my head instead.

Two of the favorites in the Capitol, President Snow asked them to return as mentors for the first Quarter Quell. Although the games were a success, the train derailed on the trip home, killing them both instantly.

Despite my best efforts, my words have risen to the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill over. I try vainly to swallow them back down, attempting to keep my face blank as she looks on impatiently.

I'm here for them. They've trained me since I could walk, taught me everything I know, supported me through everything…I'm here for them.

Finally, I clear my throat. "Just bringin' honor to my district, that's all."

Opal's face falls a bit. "Hm," she says, looking expectantly at me. "I can tell there's more," she starts, "but that's alright. I'll figure you out eventually." She winks, and I take the cue to reach out and intertwine our fingers.

Someday, I'll tell her, when we're closer than where we are now. Too bad we don't have much longer…

"Sorry, Op," I say, squeezing her hand. "It's kinda complicated. Maybe in the arena?"

The effect is immediate: all the blood drains from her face, leaving her skin a thin, papery white. She tries quickly to reclaim herself, but not before I notice: whatwasthat?

"You okay?" I ask, warily raising an eyebrow. She nods shakily, giving me a reassuring smile. It looks more like a grimace. "Just fine. C-can't wait." Before I can open my mouth, she starts stretching in an attempt to distract me. "So, were we gonna spar or what?"

"Are they asleep?"

I look up, wiping lazily at my face. "Huh?"

With fuzzy eyes, I take inventory of my surroundings: the majority of the students are training, Opal's asleep on a gymnastics mat next to me, and a group of 12 year olds stands at my feet, eagerly holding their weapons.

I slam my eyes shut, hoping if I lay still enough they'll go away. "Can we watch you train?" One asks, cutting through the silence. "I'm napping," I grumble, turning over on my side. "Leavemealone." The sound of their little footsteps tells me I've won.

I'd almost fallen asleep again when from somewhere above us, a speaker crackles to life.

"Good morning, future tributes!"

I open my eyes, stretching idly. Opal pushes herself to a sitting position next to me, both of us still lingering in a post-sleep haze.

"On behalf of District 1, The Panem Academy of Combat Education, and the PACE Tribute Training Center, we'd like to congratulate this year's volunteers, Arion Everex and Opal Asteria!"

A rapid rush of applause floods the gym, filling my veins with adrenaline. I stand, smile, and wave at everyone looking in my direction, wondering if this is how it feels to be a victor. I beat my chest, pump my fists, blow kisses—really, this is great! I turn to Opal and find she's returned to her bloodless, pale self.

"We would like to inform you that the current time is 7:30, which means the reaping begins in exactly two and a half hours. This morning, attendance at The Panem Academy of District 1 is mandatory. Please get ready accordingly and prepare to meet your peers in the square at the close of the school day. Good luck to our volunteers, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" The voice dies down, and every student in the gym drops whatever they're doing to run like madmen for the elevator.

I choose the stairs to avoid the line, taking them three at a time. I arrive on my floor and make my way down the hall, where I've lived for the past 8 years. It's strange to think I'll be leaving today.

After a quick hand scan, I enter my room, 421. The Tribute Training Center dorms are nothing special, but they're home. Each apartment has a living room, bedroom, half bath and a kitchenette, equipped with the same standard government-issue furniture. I've lived with the same roommates since arriving here, Logan Spinel and Zirconia Ryder, who we just call Arco. We're treated really well here, like it's a hotel instead of a house: meals are free, education is free, rent is free. The only downside is whatever mess we make, we clean ourselves—my roommates have left the chore to me today.

As I walk in, I take inventory: neither of them are here, all of the beds are torn apart, and an ocean of leftovers floods the countertop. How considerate. I snack quietly on an apple as I clean, enjoying the silence.

In the bathroom, I take a five-minute shower in boiling water. I'm short on time, so I decide to let my hair air dry. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and shoot myself a winning smile in the mirror, practicing the way I'll look as I take the stage. Arrogant? Nah. Confident? Definitely.

I pull on my school clothes, a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt. I throw my bag over my shoulder and start for the elevator—Opal's floor is the one below mine, and I want to spend as much time as I can with her before the reaping.

She answers when I knock, stepping timidly out into the hallway. We link hands without any thought. "You look pretty," I say sweetly, but to no avail. My attempt to fill the silence is useless: she manages a smile, but doesn't say anything further. Guess she's just not talkative today.

When we get outside, the weather surprises me. The sky is barely a whisper of blue, the sun shining at just room temperature. It's warm, but cool at the same time, a different rush of sensations—perfect weather for the last day in my district.

No one says anything until we get about three blocks from school, when Opal finally opens her mouth.

"So," she breathes, kicking a rock with her toe. "Today's the day." I turn to look at her, trying to guess where's she's coming from. "Yeah, Op. Sure is."

A wave of shivers runs over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. As intimidating as she may be, right now, she looks anything but."You sure you're ready?" I ask, though I already know the answer: the skepticism in my voice is plain as the nose on my face.

Noticing me staring, Opal tries to compose herself. "Yeah," she says, sucking in a measured breath. "Yeah. I'm…I'm ready." She can say it all she wants, but I won't believe it. I've seen the crack in her mask.

"We'll be okay, you know." She looks worriedly up at me, probably wondering if I can read her mind. "You and me, we make a good team." She nods silently, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug. "I love you, Arion," she whispers, resting her head on my chest.

In answer, I kiss the top of her head, taking her hand and leading her up to the school. The mob starts as soon as we set foot onto the grounds.

"Arion! Opal! Over here!"

Swarms of people, from all classes and all ages, drop whatever it is they're doing to meet Opal and I at the door. A few brave girls reach out to feel my muscles, and several guys pat me on the back, shouting nonsense like "you've got this" and "I'm rooting for you." It's all a bit crazy, the effect we have on our classmates. Like volunteering makes you a celebrity. It's frivolous, outrageous, and unnecessary.

Just the way I like it.

I shoot the crowd a grin and am met with giggling in return. "Let's go in," I say, turning to look at Opal. I hold my hand out and she takes it, albeit reluctantly. Someone holds the door for us.

"How'd you get so strong?" "Can I hold your bag?" "What's your strategy, Arion?" "Would you take me on a date when you get back?" The mindless chatter accompanies me all the way to my first class, Panem History. Upon entering, I scan the room for girls out of habit—old routines are hard to break. None really catch my eye except for one: Abi Wilkin, the genius' daughter.

I stare somewhat critically at her, hoping neither her nor Opal's noticed. She could be pretty…you know, if she owned a hairbrush. She's blonde-haired, brown-eyed, and fair-skinned, all attributes of an attractive girl, but there's something about her that makes you steer clear. Something…off. She's in all of my classes, though, so I make an effort to keep on good terms with her.

"Hey Abi," I say as I walk up. The effect is instantaneous—she shrinks back in her seat, too nervous to talk. She totally wants me.

When I receive nothing in response, I shrug it off and take a seat. Yeah, she's a doll, but no sweat off my back. Opal seats herself next to me as the lecture starts.

I find myself passing notes with the flirtier of my admirers all period instead of listening: if I'm going to be volunteering for the Hunger Games, might as well spend my last day doing what I do best.

After the bell, I walk Opal home before going to get ready myself. I don't need to prep the way she does, so I spar with a trainer until the clock reads 15 minutes to 10. Even then, I don't have much to do—just change my clothes, wash my face, and run my fingers through my hair. Dressed in a black suit with a gleaming silver tie, I decide I'm about as ready as I'll ever be and head down to Opal's room.

When she answers the door, I'm actually speechless. Having never seen her outside of her training clothes, I can't help but stare; she's got on some strapless dress, the top half studded with gemstones and the bottom like a layer of cotton candy.

"Wow." I say, and she shoves my shoulder playfully. "Wow yourself," she grins approvingly, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway and out the front door.

We start the 10 minute walk down to the square, thanking everyone who congratulates us along the way. As soon as we arrive, Opal breaks away and clears her throat. "Hey, I'm gonna go…say goodbye to my parents. I'll meet you onstage, okay?" Before I have time to object, she kisses my cheek and runs off towards the sidelines.

Not wanting to stand there alone, I say hi to a couple people before making my way to the check-in station. A group of Peacekeepers waits at the head of a long line of teenagers, wearing rigid expressions as the line slowly trudges along. When I arrive at the front, the woman seated at the table looks more than happy to see me. Typical.

"Hello, handsome! Can I get your name?"

I straighten up, tilting my head cockily. "Arion Everex."

She reaches out to grab my hand, her touch cold, scaly and alien. "This'll only hurt a little," she says in a mild voice. I've heard it every year—it must be protocol—but to be honest, it hurts a lot. I watch as the needle pricks the tip of my finger, dying the tip crimson. Her hands flip nimbly through a book of names until she finds mine halfway down the page. Shifting her grip, she moves the blood under a scanner until it beeps with the knowledge that I am indeed Arion Everex.

She releases her hold on me and gives what's meant to be a flirtatious smile. "Congratulations! Good luck!" I nod to her and make my way over to the section of seventeens, where my roommates, friends, and admirers alike will be waiting for me. I suck idly on my finger until it stops bleeding.

I stare around the square, taking it all in for the last time. There's a giant group of girls just to my left—my name pops up at least three times in five minutes. Children run around my feet, my friends hoot and shout next to me, the parents of my classmates eye their sons and daughters from the sidelines. My attention goes subconsciously to the stage. If my parents were here, they'd be up there now in the folding chairs reserved for mentors.

As this year's mentor—some guy named Marcus I can't place—takes his seat, I wonder if my parents would be proud of me. Sometimes, the Capitol reaps the children of victors just to stir things up, but one's never volunteered. This is unchartered territory, a thought that almostmakes me nervous.

The district escort, one I've seen a couple times before, starts the trot up to the stage. As far as Capitol citizens go, she's one of the weirder ones: her blinding smile is rivaled only by the blinding yellow of her hair. "Hello, District 1! As you know, my name is Sunshine Pana, and I am District 1's escort! I am so happy to be here again, and I know my fellow escorts are just as jealous." Her laugh echoes through the microphone, reaching such a high pitch that I actually have to cover my ears.

"So first, before we get the ball rolling, I've brought you all a video from our wonderful Capitol."

I've seen it so many times, I can quote it in my sleep. War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child…I cross my arms and stare at the screen while my mind wanders elsewhere.

This year is the 34th annual Hunger Games. Twenty-four children are reaped each year, which means in total, 782 kids have died since the rebellion. The number rolls around in my head, sending a series of shivers up my spines. 782…782 finished futures, 782 broken dreams, 782 priceless losses. I won't be one of them,I think, looking up at the skulls on the monitor. I won't be one of them.

"Wasn't that just wonderful?" The shrill suddenness of Sunshine's voice makes me jump, bringing me back to reality. She clears her throat and continues, staring out at the masses with an eerie excitement. "It just reminds us what we've all gathered here for." Her hands fly up to touch her hair, fixing it for the cameras. I've never understood why Capitol people care so much for appearance.

"Now it's time to pick this year's tributes, although I expect it will be redundant—I've heard we have some courageous young people volunteering this year!" She starts clapping and is joined by a few lone members of the crowd. I swear, in that second, all eyes in the square turn to me.

"Ladies first!" She announces, bouncing perkily to the female reaping ball. Her hand dives in, as elegant as a swan, and before I know it she's pulled a slip and is smoothing it out.

My gaze falls eagerly on Opal, who's standing near the front. Expecting to see her on her toes, ready to run, I'm surprised to see her clenching her fists and closing her eyes. She doesn't look up—not when the escort's shoes click towards the microphone, not when she clears her throat, not when she reads out "Abilee Wilkin."

The silence is deafening. Her friends nudge her, giving her quizzical looks. A woman who can only be Abilee's mother lets out a strangled cry from somewhere behind me. Still, Opal doesn't move.

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, layered overtop a deep, blistering core of anger. I want to step out of line—want to call her name or provoke her or push her up the steps myself—but Opal has frozen into place.

Sunshine squints her eyes, shifting her gaze from the paper to the audience and back again. "This is a surprise," she says, her voice dripping with unease. "Where's our volunteer?" I grit my teeth, trying to keep calm. I'm not sure myself.

I crane my head, trying to get a good look at her. Opal turns around, head down, before forcing her way out of her section into the aisle. I watch as she looks Abilee right in the eye before training her gaze on me. The girl I love, a girl once driven by victory, is gone, replaced by a fearful child. She blinks back tears, mouthing "I'm sorry" before turning on her heel and leaving the square.

I can feel the heat that comes with an outburst prickling through my veins. We'd talked about this a million times. I'd asked her, month after month, day after day, if she was sure. We'd strategized, planned out our exact moves, mapped out a foolproof plan to glory. My head spins as I try to form a clear thought. I don't understand…

"Abilee?" Sunshine's voice is more urgent, now that it's clear there will be no volunteers.

I see her a couple rows ahead of me. She looks nothing like the District 1 girls, dressed in cotton instead of diamonds, with no jewelry other than a strange hunk of metal on her wrist. The people in the Capitol are probably already weighing her chances, and to be honest, they don't seem too high. After she sees her stylist, I'm sure she'll get a sponsor or two, but even that's asking a lot—whereas most District 1 girls are glad to be reaped, Abilee's crying like there's no tomorrow.

As she walks up, I can't help but resent her a little. If there's some wire, or something else tech-oriented, we might stand a chance…but she's no Opal.

When Abilee finally gets up to the stage, she wipes her eyes and sniffles as Sunshine makes her way to the male reaping ball. "Now for our boys!" I turn my feet towards the stage, clenching my fists in anticipation. She wastes no time in choosing a name, flittering back to the microphone like a butterfly.

"Our male tribute is Alexan…"

Now or never. Don't crack.

"I volunteer!" I shout, my voice filled with a strong, sure steadiness. I let out the breath I'd been holding—it was over. There was no going back. I break into a slow jog for the stage, pound up the steps, and meet my district partner at the microphone. No going back.

Sunshine's face breaks into a grin as she pats me on the back. Her fingers feel like claws against my skin.

"Now that's more like it!" Getting right on with the show, Sunshine puts her free hand on Abilee's shoulder, pushing us together in earnest. "Shake hands, both of you."

I hold mine out without question, but for some reason, Abi refuses. The clock in the center ticks awkwardly while we stand, as still as statues. As Abi looks down, unmoving, I can't help but wonder what she has against me. First this morning, and now this… "Okay then," I say dismissively, dropping my hand as the crowd lets out a collective "ooh."

Sunshine rambles on for a bit more, talking about honor and wishing us luck, and before I know it I'm inside the Justice Building. A peacekeeper leads me up a dark staircase, throws me inside a room, and slams the door unceremoniously behind him. I spin around, examining my surroundings until my first visitor gets here.

The room is glorious, with gold vaulted ceilings and mahogany panels. A long polished table littered with bread, fruit, and cheese and several small, red velvet chairs are the only furnishings, aside from the roaring fireplace. Cozy enough for goodbyes, welcoming enough to make you forget why you're saying goodbye in the first place…the Capitol decorators sure know how to set a mood.

Behind me, the door crashes open.

"Congrats, dude!" My roommates rush up and greet me with hugs, which is unusual for them. Reaping day brings out different sides of everyone, I guess—Opal just proved that. "Thanks, guys." We laugh and joke and jostle around on the floor for a few minutes until a Peacekeeper summons them to go. Next come my personal trainers, Athena and Pandora, who each kiss me on the cheek before leaving. My heart pangs knowing this might be the last time I see them, but I try my best to brush it off.

I seat myself comfortably on one of the velvet chairs, relaxing while I wait. There's a subtle knock at the door.

"Come in," I call out as if I own the room. A thirteen year old I've never seen before walks in, his dress shoes making funny noises as they shuffle against the rug. "Hi?" I start off, and he takes the cue to introduce himself.

"I'm Alexander." I raise an eyebrow, waiting for recognition to strike. Do Iknow an Alexander?

"You volunteered for me," he says, tripping over his words. Ah. "I…I just wanted to say t-thank you." I smile, trying to seem amiable. "No problem, kid." When he leaves, I collapse on the couch, throwing my head into my hands. Who knew this would be so emotionally draining?

Suddenly, there's a change in the temperature, and before I know it, I can hear them: their voices cut through the silence like a knife, curling like smoke through the room until they find my ears. "Where's our little victor?"

My head snaps up to face none other than my parents. They look just as I remember them—soft brown hair, protective smiles, eyes glowing with pride. "Hi mom," I say weakly, trying to smile up at them. "Hi dad."

They seat themselves on the loveseat across from me, her hand curled delicately in his. I didn't think they'd come… "You're going to do great, sweetheart," my mom coos, and my dad nods his affirmation. "Give 'em hell, Arion."

My heart swells inside my chest, filing me with a wholeness I thought I'd lost. "I will," I say as I study them, trying to seal in the details of this moment. We sit in silence, ignoring the veil between us. "I love you guys," I get out, and they leave their spot on the couch to join me in a hug.

"Who are you talking to?"

I jump, turning to the door. A Peacekeeper gives me a strange look from the foyer, brow furrowed in confusion. I shoot a glance at my parents only to find they're no longer there.

Quickly, I swallow the lump in my throat—maybe they're better as a memory, after all. They'd never have to experience the loss of a child, like the hundreds who'd sat here before me.

"N-no one," I stammer. "Is it time to go?" I sit up only to have him shake his head. "No, you've got one more visitor. Just letting you know." I grit my teeth and nod: I know exactly who it is. To my dismay, he closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with the one person I don't want to see.

"Arion?" Her tone is soft, one you'd use with a child or a wounded animal. I position my back to the door, staring into the coals instead of acknowledging her. You betrayed me, I think. You betrayed me.

"Why'd you even bother coming?" I spit, the words flying like acid from my mouth and onto the carpet. She lets out a distraught sniffle, and finally, I relent, giving her a look. Her eyes are rimmed red with tears, her makeup falling in streaky lines down her cheekbones.

She drags her sleeve across her nose with a sob. "B-because I lov—" I chuckle harshly in interruption. "You what? You love me?" I shake my head as she nods. "No, Opal. You just proved you don't."

She staggers back like she's been shot, her mouth hanging open in an 'o'. "H-how can you even say that?" She dabs at her eyes with a tissue, her voice quivering with unease. "Arion, w-what's this about?"

You betrayed me.

"It's about trust!" I shout, knocking the chair I'm sitting on over. She jumps and takes a few steps back, skittering towards the door like a crab. "It's about how you're a liar! You messed up my chances, you know that, right? Going in with you, I actually had a shot! If I don't come home it's your fault! It's on you, Opal!"

She's bawling now, her face resting in the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise. I know I'm overreacting, but it's hard not to.

"Why'd you lie to me?" I demand, trying to make sense of the day's events. "Why?"

Opal coughs a little, trying to calm down enough to talk. "You knew I wanted to b-be the volunteer. You knew, but you went for it anyways! You could have given up your spot, but apparently n-nothing gets in the way of victory for you."

She stands still, waiting for me to comment, but I have nothing to say. It's true that I could have backed out, but she couldn't ask that of me…could she? I've trained my whole life for this…when I don't respond, she coughs again and continues.

"What if it came down to us t-two? What if you had to kill me?" She trembles, trying uselessly to staunch the flow of tears. "How could you ever handle that?"

I put my head in my hands, not daring to speak. The truth is, I couldn't, but I'm too mad to say it.

"I…I just thought…" I shake my head, pressing my palms against my browbone. "I thought we were going to do this together."

Opal looks up, interpreting my words as a moment of weakness. She moves closer, not stopping until she's directly in front of me. Her fingers reach up to wipe my face, touching it with a foreign element of mildness: funny, I didn't realize I was crying.

"I'm sorry."

You betrayed me.

"Arion, please, I'm sorry…"

I clear my throat, cutting her off. "You know what? I never needed you." Her eyes widen to the size of saucers, filling up with tears again . "You don't mean it…" She whimpers as she shakes her head. "You don't…"

You betrayed me.

I clench my jaw, nodding tensely. I know I'll regret it, but I can't stop myself from saying what I do next. "I can do this without you, just you watch. Don't expect a cut of my winnings."

The look on her face tells me there's no use taking it back. I've broken something beyond repair—no matter how many times I try to apologize, it will be in vain. No amount of words, no amount of tears could make this up to her. No use in begging, no use in pleading…no use.

Opal stumbles towards the door, curling her hand gently around the handle. No use.

"Maybe it's best if I go," she says softly. "Yeah," I agree, my voice flat. "Maybe it's best if I go, too."