The one day of the year that Mira really ever missed her mother was the day of the reaping. With only three older brothers to help tidy her up, she never got pretty hand-me-down dresses or had anyone to fix her hair. Which meant, as usual, she'd have to fend for herself. Although she was used to that, yeah, she really did miss mom today.
Mira chose a simple tle="" href="http://origin.kaboodle.com/hi/img/b/0/0/143/1/AAAACx-DGowAAAAAAUMapw.jpg?v=1301974740000" target="">dress, mostly bescause it was one she already had and because she wouldn't stand out much. She styled her hair in the only way she really knew how- an easy fishtail braid that settled at the nape of her neck and took really long to perfect since her hair was so curly. Her brothers swarmed around her, telling her that she was beautiful and her hair looked nice and a whole bunch of other statements Mira was sure were lies. The four sibling walked out and down to the place of the reaping, right in the center of their District. She hated this. She hated everything about this; how now Matt, Mike and Max would have to wait over with the adults and how she'd be forced into a crowd of god-knows-how-many girls her age she never even spoke to... and yet how could anyone speak now? It was a horrible moment. And it was the same every single year. She could recite the Capitol's stupid little video by heart now. She could fake a Capitol's accent to perfection.
"Welcome, Welcome, District Five!" Came the cry from the stage. "My name is Fiona Marsh, and I will be announcing the two brave young tributes for the 68th annual... Hunger Games!"
Fiona Marsh had been announcing the tributes since before Mira was even born. She was a short, middle-aged woman that always kept her skin a sort of pale purple, the color of lilacs. She dressed gaudy and flashy, although, who in the Capitol didn't? Her dress resembled a cupcake, the way it shaped her, and she was wearing a giant peacock feather on the top of her white-dyed hair.
One of the most dominant features about Fiona Marsh was her lips. Every year she painted them in a different way. It had become almost a game between the kids of District 5: What would Fiona Marsh's lips look like this year? Last year they were painted to look like a butterfly; the year before, a rainbow. One year, she had even stuck spikes to them and drew fire around her mouth, giving the resemblance of a dragon. And this year, Fiona has clearly outdone herself. Her lips literally glowed bright green. Glowed. And not just in the dark. In fact, they shone so brightly that if you looked directly at them you'd have to squint. It was clear what her motive was. She was sticking to her District pride, and resembling radiation. For the Power district. Ha ha ha.
She started talking about the history of the Hunger Games in a way-too-cheery voice that made Mira scowl. It was the same spiel every year, a bunch of crap that was supposed to make you feel sorry for the Capitol or something.
As if they were the victims in this situation.
It couldn't have ended soon enough. Finally, with her annoying Capitol trill, Fiona proclaimed "As always, we shall start with the ladies first!"
Mira never really worried about whether or not she'd get picked. It always seemed so unreal to her somehow, like the two kids that got picked weren't actual people... even if she knew them, even last year when it was her neighbors' daughter, it just seemed like those scenarios where she thought Oh, that's so sad, I'm glad it'll never happen to me.
At least, she thought that way until Fiona Marsh called the girl's name and it was Mira Soren.
World stopped. A few gasps around her, a few pointed fingers, and a cry of "No!" That she recognized as Matthew. But they were all over eighteen. No one would volunteer. No one could volunteer.
She couldn't cry. No, if she cried, then her brothers would get worse. Her dark eyes watered, and one tear slipped, but she wiped it off before it could go anywhere. Fiona held up her hand and repeated Mira's name, yelled it like she was a fabulous, successful victor. Not yet, she thought. And probably not ever.

~~

Jake did not like this. He did not like rolling up the legs on his dad's old dress pants or wearing suspenders with one of those dress shirts that he was sure were made for chicks and not dudes. He did not like slicking back his hair or letting his mom tie his tie for him. And he especially did not like the fact that he could probably be dead in a month or so. What would the ladies do without him, right? He chuckled to himself as he smoothed back his hair one more time, attempting to tame it. It was the one day of the year his hair wasn't messy. Might as well make it count.
Jake's mom insisted on holding his hand and his father draped an arm around her shoulders. She always was nervous on reaping day, although Jake never understood why. She would do everything she could to make sure her son wasn't picked, so why should mom be worried?
Maybe it was a sign. Maybe, this year, she was worrying for a reason.
No, no, it couldn't be. Jake ought to stop thinking like that. He'd get himself all worked up over nothing, because he'd never get picked. Look it, he was seventeen, almost out of the choice now. He only had two years to go. He would make it.
Wouldn't he?
After saying goodbyes (which were hopefully temporary) to his parents, and kissing his mother's cheek, Jake stood with a group of guys he kinda knew. Mindless chatter increased in volume when Jake walked over, and he high-fived and knuckle-pounded a few guys. They'd place bets on who would get picked, meaningless ones for now but the prizes would increase once the Games really got going. Jake, however, never took part in the betting, because if it was ever him (not that it would ever be, right?) then that would be super embarassing.
He always liked watching the Mentor from their district. He was always mocking Fiona Marsh, the announcer, in the background, or rolling his eyes at the history of the Games. His name was Delcan Tonkin. Delcan was a younger man, who had won the 62nd Hunger Games when he was eighteen. He was tall, and fairly clean-cut. His hair was shaggy but tidy, a honey blonde color with a faint five o'clock shadow to match. Delcan was also one of Jake's role models, in a way. He always looked up to the guy. If he was ever chosen as a tribute, at least he'd get to meet Delcan Tonkin.
Jake even laughed a bit when Delcan turned to Mayor Thane and pursed his lips in a way Fiona Marsh always did.
The girl who was picked was really, really little. Jake cursed under his breath. He wasn't exactly a sensitive dude, but whenever a younger or weaker kid was picked, it always put him down. It wasn't fair, but then again, what about the Capitol ever was?
 They repeated the girl's name, which was convienent to Jake because he had missed it the first time. "Mira Soren!" Fiona Marsh announced in that dumb accent. Mira. Hey, he knew the Soren brothers. Max was only a grade or two older than he was. They played basketball together a lot when Max was in school still. Holy crap. That was his baby sister.
Crazy. Absolutely crazy. What were the odds?
His hands started to sweat and he wrung them as Fiona exclaimed, "Now, gentlemen!" Please, take Steven, the guy next to him who had a criminal record and was known for being a tremendous jerk. Or Dylan, who had cheated on all of his past girlfriends. Don't take the twelve year old in the front who was already crying and even worse, do not take him. Mom would never be able to deal with it if he was chosen.
"Jacob Miller!"
Guess she'd have to find a way.
"Dude, no!" A few guys said. Another one patted his back and looked at him sympathetically, knowingly. But no. This wasn't actually happening, right? None of this was happening. They had heard the wrong name or something.
The only thing that broke him out of his thinking was the blood-curdling scream from his mother. "JAKE!" He heard, and whipped his head in his mother's direction. "NO!" She screamed again as the security guards came to guide Jake to the stage. "Mom... MOM!" Jake yelled, eyes on her as he was ushered to the stage. "Ma, it's okay!"
He wished that he wasn't lying. He really, really did.