Eighteen. The oldest you can be to be picked for the Games. Eighteen. Today is my last day being eighteen. Nineteen. How old I will be tomorrow. Today: the Reaping for the 60th Hunger Games. My name is in that glass bowl the minimum number of times it could possibly be. My mother tells me that a man with more money than us has been supporting our family since my brother died. A secret admirer of some sort, my mother has always told me. I don't know who he is, and I probably never will because this Reaping, my last one, could mean my death.
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Love in the Games: Hunger Games Fan Fiction
FanfictionSarabella Monroe is almost old enough to be exempt from the Reaping. ALMOST. When Sarabella and her best friend are both chosen as Tributes for the Hunger Games, they realize the Games won't be their only challenge. Between her mentor and the boy fr...
