May The Odds

Chapter 1

I am eighteen years old, which means that this is the last year I can and will be entered in The Reaping. The last year another influential fashionista from the Capitol will tell me "And may be the odds be ever in your favour."

I have reached the point where I want to tell them just what they can do with their odds. The fact is that there will be 42 leaflets in the hat with Gale Hawthorne written on them.

And we are all terrified at the thought of being picked as one of the two tributes from our district, despite the so-called honour. Eighteen or twelve, male or female, no sane person wants to kill or be killed. That's the object of the Hunger Games, what you need to succeed. Nine out of ten times the victors are ruthless, murdering  over half of the other tributes. And what about the tenth tribute? They stay away from the rest, a silent, lone hunter. Those are the ones that win through elimination. Passive aggressive or pretending to be passive aggressive.

You need to be aggressive in some form if you expect to survive the brutal Arena.

I have thought about this for years, debating over which approach I would take if chosen. But although I am apprehensive because the odds, for me, are not at all favourable, what scares me most is Katniss. Of course I don't mean that Katniss scares me, though that is also true at times, but that I'm afraid of her being chosen.I can't remember the amount of times she will be entered in the draw, but it isn't once. And even once is too much.

To be honest, I love her. I've known Katniss since we began hunting together years ago. I've known I was in love with her for less than a year now, but it's true.

At this moment I see her across the crowd, taking a sharp breath as she clenches her younger sister Prim's hand. I smile. At least there is next to no chance of Prim being our female tribute, with her name entered just once. I flash Katniss what I hope is a reassuring grin, and she tucks a stray stand of chestnut-brown hair behind her left ear, giving me a weak smile."And the female tribute for District 12 is..." At last Effie Trinket, standing on the stage, stops fishing about in the hat.She draws a piece of paper, unfolding it.

"Primrose Everdeen!" Almost triumphant, like this is some incredible feat.That's a nice name, I think. The name of a flower, and then a surname sounding like evergreen. Just like Katniss's. And then I realize whose name this is.

It's Prim. But how on earth is that possible? Her name was entered just once. Once is enough. Just once.

"Prim!" I hear Katniss scream. "Prim!" She pushes her sister behind her in one smooth movement.

"I volunteer!" She gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!" Saying it again, almost to make sure that this is possible. That she can volunteer. And she can, I know she can. However, whilst in other districts this is a common occurrence, I don't think we've had a volunteer in decades. They've died out, since we all know that going into the Games from District 12 equals suicide. Effie Trinket says something to the mayor, but I can't hear it through the whispers and mutterings echoing through the crowd. I'm focused on Katniss, who's just... who's just... volunteered for Prim.

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" She shrieks.

"Prim, let go!" Katniss screams at her sister, and I step forward and pick Prim up. She thrashes, doing her best to break free, but I'm still stronger. I look over her blond head at Katniss, who is now climbing the steps to the stage."Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" She gushes.

"Katniss Everdeen." Her voice is huskier than usual.

"I bet that was your sister. Don't want her to steal the spotlight, do we?" I decide that I hate Effie Trinket. Then I notice something. Not one single person is clapping.  And it's not that they don't admire Katniss's courage and sacrifice. Each person in the crowd raises three fingers to their lips in a salute.

May God be with you.

At last Effie notices that she is the one person grinning, and, to her credit, stops. She continues. I don't even catch the name of the male tribute. He resembles the baker's son, Peeta, but I don't know if it's the same guy.  All I know is that it's not me. I almost wish it were. That I could be with Katniss in the Arena, and fight all the other tributes, then commit suicide and let her win. It's impossible, since Katniss would never allow that. And for old time's sake, the odds have insisted on being favourable to me once again. I made it through all seven reapings. What were the chances of that? Maybe even less than the chances of Prim being picked today. You can tell Prim is desperate for Katniss to step down from the stage, but it's a hopeless case. I've known her sister for almost as long as she has. Katniss is nothing if not stubborn. She won't let Prim compete, and she wouldn't even if volunteers were illegal. I don't doubt she'd find a way to shrink five inches, and dye her hair blond, and take Prim's place, letting her sister stay behind.