Chapter 1
Clove:
I look down to examine my toes, muddy and caked with dirt, peeping out of my sandals. Tears threaten me again and I look up to the ugly, gray sky to clear my eyes. I don't want to do this.
But all this work for nothing?, the part of me my father has trained questions, malice clear in my thoughts. I answer myself with a yes, because it will all go to waste if I die.
Since I was seven, my father has been training me to kill. Knives, wrestling, spears, you name it. We've been poor ever since my mother died, just getting by with the meager amount of money my brother makes at the blacksmith's. My father has been training me to compete (and win) in the Hunger Games. If I do win, endless fame and fortune is bestowed upon my family. If I lose, all my family loses is their hope for a better life.
My father is a cold, heartless man. All he wants is money, but when you're poor, your need for money is so great it doesn't become a want anymore. You only pray for enough to get you through the day. But not my father. He prays for riches beyond belief, something only a Hunger Games victor could have.
My eyes dart over to my father, who mouths the word volunteer. I manage a meager smile before I turn away again. My brother is nowhere to be seen.
Usually during the reaping, my plan is to let another Career hopeful yell out "I volunteer" before I can, and face the wrath of my father later. But after four years of using that technique, a flaw has formed.
There are no female Career hopefuls who will volunteer this year.
I mean, of course, in District Two you're naturally going to find some Careers, but this year, they're all too young. There's an unspoken rule in District Two that no Career hopeful under the age of fourteen (sometimes fifteen) volunteers. Oh, people don't wait because they want to keep their child at home for as long as possible- no, people here aren't that nice. They do it so they have more training under their belt when they go into the arena. My father, of course, disobeyed this rule entirely and urged me to volunteer at my first reaping. But this year the oldest Careers (besides me) are thirteen.
I gulp. I hope with all my might that one of the younger Careers will volunteer, or an older girl will reveal her Career status last-minute. Otherwise I have no choice.
I barely notice the reaping begin. Mayor Elkins begins the same old speech, and my eyes can't help but shift to Cato.
Cato Venir is in the same boat as I am. Both of our families forced us to become Careers against our will, and both of us barely avoid volunteering each year. Neither of us want this life, but it is the life our parents chose for us. And my best friend Cato Venir is determined to make it out alive.
Our eyes meet, and we share a look. He doesn't know how many female Careers are in the reaping balls this year. He doesn't know what I have to do. Luckily this year there are at least ten Careers willing to volunteer as male tribute. Cato won't have any trouble "forgetting" to volunteer. As for me...
I sigh, and Cato mouths you'll be fine from across the square. I mouth back an I know, even thought the truth is I won't. We break eye contact as Elanor Quince, our district's escort, takes center stage and begins the actual reaping with a cheery "ladies first!"
My stomach clenches and unclenches with every step Elanor takes in those God-awful red Capitol heels towards the girls' reaping ball. I feel Cato's eyes on me, but I don't look at him. Now he knows something's up, and he looks away. I can practically see the confusion on his face. Elanor's hand grazes past almost every name in the ball before she finally picks a slip of paper. I close my eyes and the words "I volunteer" are already on my lips. But nothing prepares me for the name Elanor Quince calls, the name that tells me there's absolutely no backing out now.
"Clove Mapleton!"

Cato:
My mouth hangs open in shock. What were the odds that Clove would have gotten picked? I struggle to gather my thoughts, but something else breaks them down again.
No one is volunteering.
So that's what was wrong. Clove knew she would have to volunteer because no one else would. I can barely catch my breath as she steps onto the stage. Before I know it Elanor Quince is holding a slip of paper from the boys' reaping ball, and I make the stupid, arbitrary desicion that shocks even me. Before she can get out the first syllable of the boy's name, I yell as loud as I can muster, "I volunteer as tribute!"
Clove whirls around onstage, a mixture of emotions apparent on her face. But before I can register them all, I'm being ushered up onto the stage. The other Careers whoop and holler for me, and in the moment, I embrace my newfound fame and smile at the crowd, my inner Career tribute coming out. I see Clove do the same thing beside me, and for a moment our eyes meet again. She still smiles, but behind her smile I see sorrow and rage and fear and I fully, truly realize the desicion I have just made. But my smile falters only for the quickest moment, and I let the Career in me shine until until they lead us into the Justice Building for us to say our farewells.

I slump down in my chair when I enter the Justice Building, waiting for no one, because no one will come. It's customary for the families of Career tributes to not say goodbye to their children, because they are so sure they will return. Sure enough, no one comes. Yet the Peacekeepers still make me wait the entire hour until I can board the train. I try to block out my thoughts, but eventually they creep up on me and I have no choice but to reflect on my decision.

How could you be so stupid? is the question of the hour. But the best answer I can muster is Clove. She's everything to me. Our families mean nothing to us because all they want us to do is kill. I couldn't let her be whisked off to the Capitol to fight to the death. So I made the decision to come with her. Without thinking, of course. But I couldn't let her die!

Eventually I come to a crossroads. There are three options here. One: Clove dies, and I suffer. I shiver at the thought of Clove dying, but I guess it's a thought I'm going to have to get used to; it could very well happen. Two: I die... and Clove suffers. We're all each other has, but frankly I see more possibility in the second option. And option three: we both die.

I don't want to think anymore. The only thing I want to do is see Clove. To talk to her. To apologize. So I just close my eyes and wait for the Peacekeepers to come for me.

Clove:

They usher us into the Justice Building and into seperate rooms for us to say our goodbyes. Yet I have no one to say goodbye to, and my dad will never come. I only want to see Cato. Because he is the only one who can comfort me. Yet to my surprise, a Peacekeeper appears in the doorway, signaling a visitor to see me off. I sit up in my velvet lined armchair, curious. Was it possible that the other tributes could see each other during this hour?

But it isn't Cato. It is my brother March. My heart sinks at the sight of him. His eyes are red and wet. I stand up, my arms open, ready to embrace him. He runs into them like a scared child into their mother's arms. Despite being my older brother. I comfort him as he sobs into my shoulder.

"I don't want to lose you," He looks into my eyes, and I know I am all he has. If I die, he was to live with my father until he works up the money to move away, which could take years. Sure, he has friends, and he'll get by. But he doesn't see that. And maybe he never will.

"Don't be silly, March. I'm a Career Tribute, after all. At least I have my training."

He smiles through his tears. "I know. I know you never wanted to do this, to compete in the Games. Yet here you are, against your will. But know that at least I'm here to cheer you on." We pull away and for a moment our eyes are locked on each other. The look that passes between us speaks volumes words never could, and we both know that whatever happens, we'll be fine. In one way or another, time heals everything. No matter how long it may take.

The Peacekeeper at the door clears his throat, which means it's time for March to leave. We hug each other tightly, one last time, he plants a kiss on my forehead, salty tears hitting my hairline, and then he's gone, out like a light.

I stand there for a moment, my mind as blank as a slate. The Peacekeeper pushes on the small of my back, pushing me to go forward. Every bone in my body screams for me to resist, but I go forward, almost in defeat.