Chapter One

The Hunger Games happened every year and had done long before Thomas was born. Every year since he was twelve Thomas had stepped into that corral for the Reaping with all the other boys his age and he had crossed his fingers and held his breath as the man on the stage drew names from glass bowls.

Every year they started with the male names and since Thomas didn't have any female siblings he could breathe easy once they'd chosen the unlucky boy who would be sent up in the dreaded Box. Every year he flushed to his toes with relief, only to have the sensation chased away by the staggering guilt at feeling such a thing. It wasn't right to feel so positive and safe when two people were being sacrificed to the cruel spectacle that entertained the Capitol.

And the tributes from his Glader district never won. In fact they had never, to his knowledge, done very well at all. There was a belief in his district that had so far held true every year. No-one survived a night in the Arena. It had become almost like some twisted, running joke between the districts and the Capitol. Tributes from the most prosperous districts actively sought out the Gladers that first day to ensure the rule stayed unbroken.

Last year they'd taken Chuck, and it had cemented Thomas's decision that were he ever the one whose name that man called out he'd go down fighting. Too many tributes from the Glade gave up before it had even started, knowing what they faced from the other tributes. Knowing that they'd die before the night was out because they were Gladers and no Glader had ever survived a night in the Arena.

It had been Chuck's first Reaping, and Thomas had known him since he was just a baby. Their mothers had been close and when Thomas's mother died Chuck's mother had taken him in even though she could barely feed the child she had. She had done right by Thomas and he would never forgive the Capitol from taking from her the only thing she had. Thomas could barely remember that first day. Watching Chuck's death like it meant nothing, splashed across a screen for entertainment. A simple knife. He'd been there mere moments, not even long enough to get his bearings. And another tribute had simply flicked a knife at him like it was nothing.

Thomas had blacked out not long after, wracked with guilt that he hadn't volunteered for him, his throat bloody and raw from screaming and his blood dehydrated from his tears. The curly-haired boy had been like a brother to him and he hadn't been the same since his death. He somehow knew he never would be. With Chuck had died Thomas's childlike wonder, his innocence. He was determined that some day, somehow he was going to make them pay.

Besides Chuck the only other person Thomas had to worry about being chosen was Newt, and so far he'd done okay. Newt had one year left. He was two years older than Thomas, almost eighteen, and after today he would be free from the reach of the Game Makers. They wouldn't be able to take anyone else from Thomas after today. And even if Thomas was ever Reaped he would go into the Arena safe in the knowledge that his best friend would never be sent up in that shucking Box.

They were lining up in the corrals as always, each year moving up one as they grew older. As he stepped inside the rope barrier Thomas found himself glancing over to where the youngest boys would be, an immediate stab of grief when he remembered Chuck wouldn't be there. He blinked against the burn in his eyes. He breathed out. He could feel the familiar squeeze of anxiety as the gathered people began to hush. He glanced over at Newt. The older boy was looking at him nervously but he smiled softly when Thomas caught his eye. He nodded to him, and even when the man on the stage began to speak he didn't look away. The crowd went silent.

"Welcome to the Reaping, ladies and gentlemen! How good it is to see you all again, it hardly feels like a year has gone by at all."

His grin made Thomas feel sick, and he closed his eyes, wanting it just to be over. He had a feeling of dread clawing though him and he just wanted to go home.

"Now, as many of you will know, this year's Hunger Games are very special."

Thomas barely contained his snort. Special? What could be so special about sending two children off to die? Special. Disgusting was what it was.

"Our beloved President Snow announced a few months ago that he has been blessed with a beautiful baby Granddaughter. Isn't that wonderful?" he beamed at the crowd. Nobody smiled back but he seemed not to notice.

"So, i shall stop with all the suspense! This year, instead of our usual Reaping we're going to be doing something much more exciting in celebration. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will make history. For this year's Hunger Games you will have twice the change to represent your district! That's right! Today you have twice the odds of getting the chance to make your district proud. I will be drawing not two but four names for our wonderful tributes! How fantastic is that, i ask you?"

Thomas's eyes flew open, fear clutching his airways and stealing his breath. The man on stage was clapping, his gesturing arms demanding that everyone else do so too. As the crowd applauded as little as possible, Thomas fought the urge to retch. He'd thought this yearly horror couldn't get worse. And yet it just had.

"So! Let us begin!"

He walked over towards the two square tables with their two large glass bowls. He smiled winningly at the cameras.

"Such a special occasion we'll do ladies first, no?"

His long, bony fingers dipped into the bowl, skimming over the many little folded squares before striking deep in the middle. The action was so sudden it made Thomas shiver. It was like watching a snake strike. The hand drew out two pieces of paper, and the existing silence of the square they were gathered in seemed to deaden even further. He opened one out with a flourish, smiling as though announcing the winner of a magnificent prize.

"Teresa Agnes!"

As the forced applause rolled around the area a tall, lean girl walked towards the stage. She had a mane of thick dark hair and the most startlingly blue eyes Thomas had ever seen. Thomas could hear her mother wailing from the crowd. He knew her, vaguely. She was in some of his classes at the district school. He felt sorry for her as he watched reach the man on stage. She looked so young, but he knew she was his own age.

"Brenda Jorge!"

Not that name Thomas definitely knew, and he watched the pixie-like form separate from the hugging arms of the girls surrounding her. She had short, dark hair and light brown eyes that were intense and alive in her tanned face. Brenda was popular. She was nice. She had always been nice to Thomas, smiled at him when she went past. He'd harboured a crush on her for the longest time. It was upsetting to see her without her beautiful smile in place. She looked so small and tiny that he wanted to hug her and make it better. The man was moving towards the other glass bowl. Thomas held his breath and closed his eyes.

"And now, our gentlemen! Which of you will be representing your district?"

He could hear the barely-there rustle as the man's hand swept through the papers, heard the faint clink of his leave buttons on the rim as he drew back. He heard the first paper unfold. He heard the man take the breath to call the name that stopped his heart.

"Newton Isaacson!"

No.

"No!"

The whole gathering were silent, looking at him. Thomas realised he'd left the corral, two Peacekeepers appearing beside him menacingly. He hadn't meant to scream out but apparently he had. He looked at Newt, saw the way those liquid brown eyes were watching him like he'd never see him again and he choked out the words he never thought he'd have to say.

"I volunteer as tribute."

A rash of whispering blazed through the gathered crowd. He watched Newt shaking his head and drawing in a harsh breath. Such a thing was not against the rules, but it never happened in the Glade. Gladers were on their own. As tight knit a community as they were, when it came to the Reaping it was all you. The man on the stage blinked at him, surprised. It took him a moment to register Thomas's words before he grinned as though something magical had happened. He gestured to the cameras.

"Well look at this, ladies and gentlemen! I told you we'd be making history! Come on up, my boy! What's your name?"

Thomas's feet moved without thought as he made his way to the stage.

"Thomas Green."

His own voice surprised him, dry and rasping. He swallowed to try and wet his throat. It didn't work.

"Well, Thomas. What you just did is practically unheard of in Glader history. Tell me son, i'm curious. He doesn't look much like a brother. Why did you do it?"

He held his microphone down to Thomas's face, his eyes practically glittering with excitement. Thomas thought of all the reasons. Many of them he couldn't say for fear of getting his district into trouble. His eyes settled on Newt, who was standing one step out of his own corral, his dark brown eyes staring right at him and his expression pained.

"He's my friend."

At that there was real applause, his district showing their support in a rising wave of noise. People shouted out incoherently. Several people whistled. It made Thomas want to throw up again. He felt fuzzy, almost as though he were dreaming, or swimming through fog. He could hear the man talking again, and then he was opening that other square and laughing in surprise.

"Well, Thomas. Looks like you may be unable to volunteer. See here? What are the chances of that, ladies and gentlemen? Astounding!"

He waved a small square of paper in front of Thomas's nose, upon which he could see the letters of his own name. His stomach dropped and he fell back to earth with a crash, his eyes flicking up to meet the secretive green ones of the man.

"Wait- No, can't you draw again?" his eyes darted to Newt and back, pleading. "Please?"

The man looked thoughtful, but then beamed and placed the papers down upon the table dramatically. Thomas felt relived already. He knew the man would shoot for showmanship, the drama of it.

"For you, Thomas, i just might."

His hand skimmed the papers again, toying with one and then the other, a showmanship that set Thomas's teeth on edge even as he allowed the feeling of relief to well up inside him. It didn't matter now, Newt was safe. Newt would never be corralled again, never have to fear the Reaping. He closed his eyes, relaxing.

The man opened the paper up, and lifted his microphone. Thomas was ready for it to be over. He'd accepted it. It couldn't be changed. He just wanted to get into the Arena and find a way to say fuck you to the Capitol in large letters.

"Jeffrey-"

"I volunteer!"

Thomas's heart dropped. No. He opened his eyes to glare at Newt, watching his only real friend in the world stride towards the stage without waiting for permission. He wanted to die. This wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't allowed to happen! He glared at Newt even as he felt his eyes burn with tears.

"NO! You can't do that, it's-"

"Well, well, well!" the grating voice cut him off as though he hadn't even spoken, "Ladies and gentlemen i am speechless! Two Volunteers in one day! I can't quite believe it!"

Thomas thought he really didn't need to look so pleased with himself. The man's cheshire cat grin was sickening.

"So we know why Thomas volunteered, but Newton tell me, why did you?"

Thomas could see it written all over the man's face. He was basking in the attention, knowing everyone would be watching him in his shitty district making history. Thomas scowled.

"Well, we do everythin' together."

Newt's accented voice was honey, and Thomas sighed as his stomach flipped. It wasn't fair. Even as he looked up at his friend's brown eyes and felt guilty at the tiny part that loved having him near, Thomas wanted to cry. He was going to have to find a way to keep Newt alive. It was his only option now. Having a Glader survive that first night would be the first part of his fuck you to the Capitol.