Renly Baratheon (age 18), District 2

I sit down down on the train next to little Jeyne Poole. She's trembling, so I smile at her. "Hey it's okay. Don't be scared, okay?"

"Are you going to kill me?" she whispers.

My eyes widen. "What? No! Of course not."

"But...you're a career." she frowns. "We're going into the Hunger Games."

"So?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm a nice guy. I don't plan to kill you. Do you want me to kill you, Jeyne?"

She smiles slightly, hesitantly. "Um, no."

"Good." I grin. "I was starting to get worried for a sec there."

She chuckles gently. "You're right: you are nice. I'm sorry we're going in..."

My smile drops sadly. "Me too." She sighs and leans into me slightly, seeing as we're on a couch.

"Well, with that attitude you two are going to be dead before the first day is over." A cool voice says snidely. I glare up at our mentor Petyr as Jeyne flinches slightly.

"Fuck off and give us real advice instead of being a dick." I snap.

He leans down close to my face. "They mayor's boy?" I don't answer; everyone in Two knows who my dad is. He slowly starts to smile. "Daddy's precious little boy. Bet I know things that could destroy his image of his perfect martyr boy..."

My jaw drops. He couldn't know. That's impossible! R-right...?

"Leave him alone." Jeyne says bravely. "Why are you being mean? What's he done to you?"

"Oh, nothing. Except for being a little suckup and a faggot." Petyr says offhandedly.

It's all silent except for blood roaring in my ears. All I can think is he knows he knows i don't know how but he knows oh god--

"Damn." Jeyne breaks the silence and laughs weakly. "I was kind of starting to get a crush on you. Oops." I don't say anything, just clench my jaw. "Renly?" she asks gently after a moment. "Is it...um, is what he said...true...?"

"Yes." I say through clenched teeth. I want to sound angry but instead I sort of just sound desperate. I don't look at him, instead looking at her. "Please, don't tell anyone."

"Oh. Um. Okay." she says softly. "I don't really have anyone to tell..."

I stand up abruptly. "Excuse me. I-I'm going to go...take a shower. Yeah."

I push past Petyr before either of them can say anything, and go into my room. It's beautiful, but I can't enjoy it. Not now. I collapse on my bed, groaning into a pillow.

How the fuckity fuck did he fucking find out?! I never told anyone! Except for...well, my old boyfriend. But I was only with him for about a month, bcecause I didn't want anyone to find out. And I broke up with him seven months ago! ...so that's impossible. Right? I groan again. Stop thinking about that asshole right now.

There's a tv by my bed. I grab a remote--my family had a tv because we were rich, so this isn't some sort of weird foreign object to me. I click the tv on, fiddle with the remote a little. Of course everything is just Games stuff. And I'm already sick of the Games...

I settle on something odd. Looks fairly interesting, so I leave it. Why someone filmed this, I have no idea. But it must've been an accident.

The guy who has to be the male tribute for District 3 pushes a girl behind him and punches a Peace-keeper. Gods, he has guts! I wonder what the guard did to make him angry. The announcer is talking, but I barely listen.

"...look at that, folks! Looks like at least half of District 3 has a chance this year!"

The guy shoves the Peace-keeper before turning to the girl and kissing her forehead. She hugs him one last time, and rushes out of the room. He turns, and I catch a glimpse of his face.

Damn, boy. He's cute. Honey blonde curls and intelligent, gentle green eyes... And he's pretty muscular--must be, if he knocked a grown man down like he just did--even though I guess he's a little younger.

"Your first look at Loras Tyrell, District 3, folks! Call this number to be hooked up with a mentor who will help you sponsor a tribute just like--"

I shut the tv off. People are stupid. People being me.

I'm going to die. He's going to die. He's straight! He kissed that girl just then. She could've been his sister though... No! It doesn't matter. I can't think like that, not for the Hunger Games...

I pull the pillow over my face. Too late.