The house is empty when I wake up. I can see the sun rising over the mountains, its warm rays falling onto my face and making me squint. I step outside into the crisp morning air, admiring the way the rising sun makes the whole world look calmer, kinder, softer. It's easier to love District Two at times like this. The morning birds sing, mockingjays that must have picked up a tune sung by a man or woman on their morning walk. I take a moment to listen to them. Mockingjays are a rarity in Two, normally scared away by the constant clatter of the mines, but the non-essential mines are shut down for the Reaping and the mockingjays are coaxed back by the promise of a silent District where their voices can reign supreme.

I take a minute to listen before making my way back inside. Grab something to eat (a fresh roll Orion dropped over last night), get dressed. I take more care than I usually would in getting ready this morning - it's almost a ritual, the morning of the Reaping. A cold shower. Two braids in my hair. My lacy white dress and leather black shoes. I look in the mirror. My face looks the same as ever; round cheeks and freckles, plain brown eyes and hair to match. I pinch my cheeks slightly to give them some colour, and then immediately judge myself. Off to a good start. I take one final look in the mirror before beginning the walk to the square. The day is colder than they have been and I find myself wishing I'd brought a jacket, a million goosebumps rising on my arms and legs. Orion offered for me to make the trip with him and his family, but I want to do this on my own. All over District Two, people are getting ready. Most with their parents, their families, and I had to refuse Orion's offer because I don't want to play pretend. I'm alone.

The square is crowded by the time I get there, by the time I weave my way in through the crowds to find my assigned place among all of the other 16s. I crane my neck to try and spot Orion, but the sea of faces make it nearly impossible and I resign myself to blankly staring at the empty platform in front of the Justice Building. I wonder if my parents have made it into the crowd of all of the adults who congregate around the Square. I hope so. The Reaping is mandatory for all to attend, so if my parents aren't in attendance, I suppose I can assume that they're not going to show up anywhere anytime soon. I taste metal and realise I'm biting my cheek so hard it's bleeding.

Deep breath, Clara.

The mayor opens the Reaping with his usual speech; talks about the Dark Days, the Uprising, the origin of the Hunger Games. I look around at the crowd. They stare attentively at the mayor, eagle-eyes on all our Victors who line the stage. No one can say that Two doesn't reap an impressive pool of Victors. The mayor continues and I try to concentrate, but my mind is elsewhere. My parents. Orion. Has he volunteered? In Two, the volunteering process is more complicated than in some of the lower Districts, where volunteers are rare. You must nominate yourself at least twelve hours before the Reaping, at which all of the volunteers' names will be drawn from a secondary glass bowl after the initial name is drawn out. He didn't mention anything about it last night, but that doesn't mean anything. Orion knows me too well and I know him too well, so it's sometimes like we're in a constant dance. I know that he's too stubborn for his own good and if he has his mind set on volunteering then he would have, and he knows that I'm rash and overprotective and would get mad at him the moment he mentioned it. I bite my lip, resist the urge to scan the crowd once more.

Finally - finally - the mayor is done, and there is rowdy applause. I clap along as our escort takes to the stage. Pippy Trove is tall, with a permanent smile on her face due to (I'm assuming) the body modification surgery that the Capitol offers so freely. She's alright, I guess, for an escort. Preening would be a good word to describe her; she fluffs around like a peacock, strutty and fussy and quite funny to watch on television from the safety of your own home. She clears her throat and makes her way over to the centre of the stage.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm." The crowd still doesn't quiet, all rowdy cheers and whistles. Pippy smiles patiently - if not a little forcibly - but glares at us like she's murdering us with her eyes. Of course, for her, this Reaping is all about her; her stage presence, her presentation, her glory. She can't have some lowly District citizens cheering over the stop of her all-too-important speech that I think the whole country knows by heart at this point.

"District Two," she squeaks, "welcome to the Reaping of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games!"

She pauses for applause, and the people provide. I've seen Reapings of other Districts where the applause is either scattered or non-existent, but not in Two. We provide for the Capitol, and the Capitol provides for us. I'm antsy, now, mind still on Orion, toes tapping on the inside of my shoes.

"And what a pleasure it is to be here, seeing all of your beautiful faces shining up at me!" Pippy likes to add her own special twist to the generic speeches the escorts must make. "I've always said, District Two is a place of very special people, and you all prove it every day! I'm so proud to be your escort!"

The crowd cheers even louder this time, and I can basically see it go to her head. She stands a little taller, fusses a little more.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour! As always, ladies first!"

Pippy crosses the stage almost agonisingly slowly, pausing every now and again to fluff her hair or smooth her dress. The Capitol runs on their own schedule, and I feel a glint of annoyance that she's wasting our time with her vanity. She giggles once she gets to the bowl, approaches it and grabs a slip of paper right from the top.

"And, District Two, your female tribute is..." She pauses for dramatic effect. I worry for a minute, and then almost laugh at myself. Even if I am chosen, someone will almost certainly volunteer. "Valda Butte!"

Giggles erupt at the unfortunate sounding name, and heads swivel to find its owner. It ends up being some small ginger from the 12s section of the crowd. I feel a glimmer of sympathy at her deer-in-the-headlights look that is now projected onto every screen in the Capitol, but Pippy is already crossing to the volunteer bowl.

"Now, we do have some volunteers! A cheer for Valda, though!"

Somewhat scattered applause. The crowd is filled with anticipation. I see some girls standing near me nudge each other, looking at the stage with hungry grins.

"Your female volunteers are as follows," Pippy takes her time in removing a folded up piece of paper from some hidden pockets in her pink tulle-nightmare of a dress, clearing her throat before beginning to read in her squeaky voice. "Oreta Macerher, Alexis Lawce, Savante Stoneway, and Clara Larek."

I freeze. I want to look around the crowd desperately, plead someone to admit that this is all a sick prank, some kind of a joke, but I just bite my lip. I've just been called as a volunteer for the 73rd Hunger Games. But I didn't volunteer. I feel my eyes widen, the heat of tears forming but I blink them away furiously. Have to stay calm, have to stay collected. I hate that my mind is already formulating an escape route, an excuse, a way to try and find my way out. Pippy is silent as she begins to reach into the volunteer bowl, and all I can hear is my heartbeat in my chest; too loud, too fast. I feel sick in my stomach, leftover breakfast and bile that threatens to spill over. I force my face to remain neutral.

"District Two," she builds on the excited anticipation of the crowd, but my anticipation is of a different kind. Absolute dread. "Your female tribute is..."
She pauses for effect, and I watch like a hawk as she glances off stage to a faceless Peacekeeper for the tiniest millisecond.

"Clara Larek!"

Heads turn to me. Some slightly irritated mutters - I'm not a Career and they all know that. No that I might not be able to hold my own, might bring only shame and embarrassment to our District. I'm frozen, my mind racing. I glance up slightly and see my face on the big screens that hang on the side of our Justice Building. I look seasick - pale and green all at once. I feel a million miles away, but I force myself to move. Walking like I'm in a dream, a haze, trudging my way through the crowd like water. Pippy is babbling about something or other, but my brain tunes it out and I force myself to think. Worry about the future later, I try to tell myself. The world comes back into focus like twisting the lens of a camera just right and I try to compose myself. Make my way to the stage, look into the crowd that stares back with a general sense of animosity. I'm not a career. I look above the crowd. Camera crews in windows, lone camera-men and women perched on roofs to get the best shot. All trained on me. This is a reality show. One of the things District Two teaches its children; the Games are all a show, so give them a good one.

My brain moves, ticks, tries to think of an angle I can go for to allow me the best possible chance of survival. Have I blown my shot already? A little part of me thinks so, but I stuff it down as far as I can. This is no time for feeling like a girl made of a house of paper cards. I look at one of the cameras, forcing a knowing smirk that I hope reads as a smirk that says I've got it all under control. Let my dimple pop out the tiniest bit, even give an almost flirtatious wink to one of the cameras trained on me.

Pippy must have already read the male tribute because she's onto the volunteers.

"Your male volunteers are as follows." She takes a big, almost comical inhale before beginning to list them all off. "Cornelius Mildtide, Magnus Aforge, Ajax Undersand, Darius Ashway, Aries Keepsay, and Orion Keepsay!"

Pippy looks like she might pass out with excitement, but my heart is heavily sinking. I mentally pull it back to its normal place in my chest, forcing the tide of negative emotions to stay away, just for the remainder of the Reaping. This can't be real.

"Siblings! Oooh, isn't this an exciting day!" She crosses to the second smaller bowl where the names of the volunteers are kept.

 I watch, half on the screens and half looking across to her in person. Six paper slips sit in the bowl, crisp and white. One belongs to Orion. One to his brother, Aries. I could never kill Orion, I know that with certainty, but Orion would surely never forgive me if I came home and his brother didn't. Family allegiance and pride runs deep in Two, and for all of their arguing, Orion and Aries are still brothers. I hold my breath and flick a glance to one of the many cameras that is trained on me and try to make my eyes sparkle with mischief and excitement. She draws a name. Takes her time reading it. Walks to centre stage. Clears her throat.

"District Two," She takes a minute to smile a knowing smile, "your male tribute who will be joining Clara Larek in the 73rd Annual Hunger Games is..."

She pauses for dramatic effect.

"Aries Keepsay!"

The odds are, undoubtedly, not in my favour today.