"You're not actually going to volunteer, are you?" Castor's brother Pollux asked him frantically. "You're not that crazy!"

"I told you, Pollux, I need to do this!" Castor hissed. "This is the only way that we're ever going to be able to support ourselves. Father's only interest anymore is getting drunk and he's going to lose the business, and then there'll be nowhere for us to go! This is our only option!"

"No, it's not!" Castor's brother began to raise his voice. "You don't have to throw your life away! We'll find a way!"

Castor didn't have time to concentrate on Pollux. "Shhh, it's starting!"

"Castor—"

Castor began to move away from his brother, edging closer to the stage. As an 18-year old, he had a good position for volunteering. Still, he didn't want to take any chances.

"Maron Jace!" Silenus, the escort, called out.

"I volunteer!" Castor shouted, shoving a few other 18-year-olds out of the way and sprinting up to the stage. He beat the few other children who had the audacity of volunteering in the same year that he had, taking his rightful spot next to Silenus.

"Wonderful!" Silenus said. "And what would your name be?"

"Castor Bordeax," Castor said.

"Let's give it up for Castor Bordeax!"

Castor didn't pay attention to the clapping, instead choosing to find Pollux's face in the crowd. He smiled at him, but Pollux didn't respond.

"Now for the girls!" Silenus delicately plucked a slip of paper from the girl's ball, but before he could even read it, a voice shouted, "I volunteer!"

A girl pushed her way up to the stage, average height, bright red hair, freckles. Silenus seemed surprised. "Well then! We have another volunteer! What's your name?"

"Nancy Bobofit." The girl smirked out at the crowd. "And I'll be the Victor."

"Wonderful!" said Silenus. "Shake hands, please."

Nancy gripped Castor's hand tightly, smiling, showing off a snaggletooth. Castor squeezed back, hoping that Nancy realized he was not to be trifled with.

Silenus took center stage again. "And here are your tributes from District 1!"

XXXXX

"Octavian Hill!"

Octavian waited for the volunteer that would surely come, but inexpicably, the square remained silent. Octavian glared out around him. Come on, then, he thought. Is one of your cretins going to take my place as you bragged you would this morning? Or are you too scared?

When it became obvious that no one was going to come to the rescue, Octavian moved out of the clump of 16-year-olds and stalked up to the stage. He made sure to keep his face calm and unreadable. He was strong. He could do this.

Lars, the escort, seemed confused. Octavian could read the disappointment on his face. Poor Lars. He gets District 2, expects a strong volunteer, and then gets stuck with scrawny little me. Octavian hated the expression on the man's face. Once he had won the Games, he would make sure to rip it off, to utterly destroy the man before him.

Octavian kept his face impassive as he stared out at the crowd. Lars reached for another slip of paper. "Gwendolyn Taggert!"

And now there were shouts from all around, willing to help and to go to the Games. Did everyone in the district hate him that much? Were they all willing to give up their chances just to see him die?

The girl who won the race to the stage looked strong. She was muscular, but there was something else dangerous about her—perhaps the flintly look in her eye or the way that she looked at Octavian, proud, seemingly undefeatable. Octavian smiled at her, slowly.

"I am Reyna," the brunette said.

No last name? I think I may have discovered a sensitive spot…

Lars looked happy, at least, with this volunteer. "District 2, I present to you…your tributes!

XXXXX

Talos, the escort who thought it would be a great idea to dye his skin gold, had just picked out the girl that would be dying this year. Annie Beth, or something, with curly blonde hair. It wouldn't be long until the boy was picked, and then everyone could go home. Leo wanted to put in a few extra hours today, get some bonus money for bad times and to buy the machine shop with.

Leo made eye contact with his younger brother Harley, who looked terrified. It was nice that Harley was so worried for him. Harley wouldn't have to compete until next year, when he turned 12, but Leo was 14 and could easily be Reaped. After all, the two brothers needed a lot of tesserae to keep themselves alive, ever since their mother had died in a factory accident years ago.

Leo gave Harley a thumbs up and a smile. 'It'll be okay,' he mouthed. Could Harley even read his lips from here? They were kind of far away. But no, Harley was smart enough to understand what he meant.

Harley shook his head wildly, pointing up at the stage. His eyes looked kind of shiny, like the machines in the factories when they were polished. Was he crying? That was nice! Harley really cared about him.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Leo looked back at them. "What's up, man?" he asked. He vaguely recognized the boy from school, Shane or something.

"Leo…" Shane mumbled, "you've been Reaped."

XXXXX

It was oppressively hot in District 4 today, and there was no comforting ocean to jump into, not here in the town square. Percy Jackson sweated, feeling like he was going for a swim in his own clothes. Why couldn't this happen later in the day?

Triton finally took hold of a piece of paper. "Mark Sherman!"

"I volunteer," Percy called out. He strode up to the stage. It would have been nice if someone else had tried to beat him and ended up going into the Games instead, but the people of District 2 knew their tribute when they saw him. He had been handpicked by the trainers, including his own father, two days ago. This was his time.

"Percy Jackson," Percy introduced himself.

Triton smiled at him. "It's nice to meet you, Percy! How do you feel today?"

"I don't know about you, Triton, but I'm feeling a bit cold."

The crowd chuckled.

"Wow, we've got a real funny guy as our tribute this year! Give it up for Percy Jackson!"

Triton went over to the next Reaping Ball and yanked out a slip, but before he could read it, a girl broke free of the crowd and sprinted up to the stage. "Clarisse La Rue!" she said. "There's no point in reading that slip. I'll be your tribute this year!"

Triton, to his credit, took this in stride. "Of course you are! Unless, of course, anyone has any objections?" When no one spoke up, he raised Percy and Clarisse's hands into the air. "Your tributes!"

XXXXX

Everyone had their nervous habits, from the rich men that owned the factories to the laborers that worked in them. Jason's was to obsessively polish his glasses when he was nervous. A lot of the time, it was counterproductive. But today, Jason's shirt was actually clean.

Jason's heart beat faster in anticipation for the Reaping. What if he had to go into the Hunger Games? Jason's family was relatively well-off, so he didn't need any tesserae, but still. Everyone had a chance of being called, and Jason had a few different slips of paper in there.

"Jason Grace!"

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. All of the noise vanished. All that Jason could hear was the pounding of his own heart. But slowly, other things started to come in. The boy next to him sighing in relief. Someone screaming (was it him?). The strong feeling that he might throw up. Shakily, Jason took a breath. He had to go to the stage. That wouldn't be so hard. He just had to take a few steps and keep himself from crying.

Miraculously, Jason made his way to the stage. There was someone sobbing behind him. Thalia, probably. Jason couldn't imagine how she must feel right now, now that her baby brother was heading into the Games and she couldn't volunteer to go in with him. (It was easier to focus on Thalia than it was to think about how his life might be through-and-through over in a week.)

The escort, Notus, didn't spare him a second glance. He read off another name. "Ella Harrison!"

A tiny girl stumbled out of the 13-year-old section. She looked like she was made out of sticks, really just skin and bones. She wasn't as lucky as Jason and started crying on her way up to the stage.

"There there," Notus said blandly to her. "It'll be alright."

That didn't seem to comfort her in the least.

XXXXX

12 times 12 is 144. 13 times 12 is 156. 14 times 12 is 168…

Clovis continued carrying out the times tables in his head, carefully adding up and carrying numbers, looking at the answers scrawled on his hand to make sure that what he got was correct. He needed to stay awake to make sure he knew if he got Reaped. To stay awake, he had to keep thinking. But did that mean that to get Reaped, he had to be thinking? Would he avoid getting Reaped if he stopped thinking?

Clovis kicked himself in the ankle. He had to focus. Just a bit, and he would be able to go back to his sleepy self. Just a bit. Just a little bit, and the Reaping would be over.

15 times 12 is 180. Yes, that was right.

"Rachel Elizabeth Dare!" Ora shouted.

A few murmurs passed through the crowd. Rachel Dare was the daughter of the richest man in District 6. It was insane that she was Reaped, rather than someone who needed 100 extra slips for tesserae. Still, Clovis didn't hear any screams or sobs. Rachel's parents weren't crying for her.

"Clovis Sonan!"

Vaguely, Clovis wondered if he was asleep and dreaming. Was his name just called? He looked around. His fellow 15-year-olds had located him, and seemed to be slowly edging away as if he carried a contagious disease, but maybe it was a dream and the ground was slowly moving, convulsing, like the earthquake that had hit them a few years ago…

16 times 12! 16 times 12! Clovis had to stay awake. Shakily, he made his way up to the stage. 2 times 6 was 12, put down 2, carry 1. Careful, careful, don't trip. Stairs are dangerous. 16 times 12 was 192, and look! He was already at the stage.

Rachel extended her hand. Clovis took it, and they shook. Rachel forced a smile at him. There were tears in her eyes.

Clovis felt too tired to cry. All of his energy was going towards staying awake.