I awake in a cold sweat, shooting straight up and nearly knocking my younger sister, Leta, out of our shared bed in the process.

"Mae," she groans, stretching the syllable out far longer than it's meant.

"Sorry," I whisper. "Nightmare. Go back to sleep."

I slip out of bed and pull the sheets back into place at the twelve-year old's chin. Leta casts me a drowsy glare and grabs my pillow with the intention of wacking me with it, but I know her too well and duck out of the way before she can. Too sleepy to make any more effort in fighting, Leta simply wriggles deeper into the cocoon of blankets and closes her eyes again.

With an eye roll, I traverse the narrow aisle between the queen bed Leta and I share and the cot my other sister, Farrah Lyn, is curled up in. Seeing as we only have two bedrooms in our apartment, all the girls share one while the boys share the other. I stub my toe on the overstuffed dresser as I stumble blindly to the door, guided only by the sliver of light peeking through the crack underneath the door.

My hand meets the icy bite of the doorknob at long last and I sneak out of my bedroom into the hall. Immediately across from me, the boys' door is ajar, signifying that Penn is already up and on the water. Why he'd ever willingly get up at such an hour is beyond me, but that's Penn for you. My twin is rather keen on making his life more miserable than it already is. He is good at what he does, though, especially considering his competitors in the field have much more experience. My mouth waters at the thought of fresh salmon. If he's right about being the first one on the water, Penn should return with the best catch of the day, but our luck has run dry recently and forced us to resort to applying for tesserae.

I blow out a breath and try to fill my mind with thoughts of anything except the Reaping, but no matter what I try to distract myself with, it always loops back around to the forefront of my mind. Though we tried to balance the amount of tesserae we applied for, between the two of us, at fifteen, Penn and I each must have at least ten, maybe eleven entries by now which is much more than anyone else in our district. Everyone else in District Four doesn't need the Capitol's help to survive. Though none of us are as well off as those in the Capitol, my District is among the wealthiest. My family, however, is not. With so many mouths to feed, a year's worth supply of food for one person lasts roughly two months for us and the tesserae disappear in no time.

Shuddering, I push myself off the wall where I'd slumped and make a pit stop at the bathroom before setting up the ironing board in the living room. One by one, I iron the creases out of Penn's Reaping shirt and then do the same to my skirt. I grimace as I pull my old Reaping dress, now Leta's, off its hanger. This year is the first that she's been old enough to participate in the Games, but even the thought of her wearing the sage green dress makes me nauseous.

My nightmare slips through the unguarded cracks in my mind; Penn being Reaped while the little flock watches in horror, Leta's wide eyes as she enters the arena, my younger siblings starving with no one to feed them, and me... taking the life of another tribute.

"You're burning a hole straight through that."

With how much I jumped, I just about burned a hole straight through my hand as well as the dress I'm meant to be ironing. I hiss in pain, shaking my hand out as though it will get rid of the sting of the burn. "Penn! I didn't hear you come in."

"Really?" My twin says, sarcasm lacing his words. "Could've fooled me."

He shuts the door and empties the contents of the cooler he holds into the icebox. Then, Penn hangs his net on the broken fishing hook we stabbed through the drywall. Running a hand through his golden blond hair, he tugs off his t-shirt and uses it to wipe sweat from his face.

"Ew, seriously, Penn? In the kitchen? Do you mind?"

"Would you prefer the living room?" He asks, sauntering over to my side. "There you go."

I roll my eyes and throw his freshly ironed shirt at him. "Just put some clothes on!"

He casts me an expression of mock annoyance and then slips the shirt on, doing up the buttons as he makes his way to his bedroom. Penn flicks on the lights, much to the younger boys' protest.

"Let's get ready to go! It's Reaping Day," I call to my siblings. A lump forms in my throat.

---

"And may the odds ever be in your favor."

As the annual video message from President Snow comes to a close, nerves tingle up my spine. It's time for the Reaping.  Unlike most of my district, I don't see unnecessarily risking my life in an arena as a gift. I'd be perfectly content spending the rest of my days on a boat with my twin brother as we tried to gather enough fish to satisfy the hunger of our siblings. Anything would be better than becoming one of the Capitol's dolled up assassins.

Farrah Lyn catches my eye from where she watches on the sidelines, her short blond hair twirling anxiously around her finger. I give her an encouraging smile, trying to convey through my eyes that she needs to be brave for little Rye. The message goes through because she clutches the toddler tighter around her legs. Cyrik wraps his arms around the pair of little ones, too cool at nine years old to look nervous. I know better and see his anxiety in the blue pools of his eyes.

After our mother died giving birth to our baby brother, Father got progressively more drunk and eventually disappeared, leaving me and Penn, the oldest, in charge of looking after and providing for our little flock. Little Leta stands three rows in front of me, face stoic and void of emotion, just like Penn taught.

We've just got to get through the reaping. Just a little longer and we'll be safe until next year. My mind whirls as the Capitol representative blabbers on about what an honor it is to be chosen as tribute. Just get on with it, I think.

"Now," the representative claps her hands together and giggles excitedly, "Let's start with the girls shall we?"

Finally. My fingers cross behind my faded green dress. Just don't be Leta. Please don't be Leta.

The woman slips her delicately manicured hand into the fishbowl of names and extracts a paper. "Let's see here. Maeve Driscoll?"

My blood runs cold and my face blanches of all color.

"No!" Leta screams and I hear soft sobs that must be Farrah Lyn.

"I volunteer!" Penn exclaims, breaking out of the line of boys. "I volunteer as tribute!"

A Peacekeeper blocks him from running to me and presses him back into line.

The Capitol woman smiles gently as though she's not sentencing innocent children to certain death. "I'm sorry dear, only the girls can volunteer for another girl. You'll just have to wait your turn." She grins as if sharing a secret with my brother and then beckons me forward. "Come along, my dear!"

I'm frozen in place, so Peacekeepers drag me, none too gently, out of line. Leta's ocean blue eyes meet mine and I have the courage to shake my head softly. She can't volunteer in my place. I won't let her. As I reach the stage, my eyes wet, but I pull myself together, not letting a single tear fall.

"Maeve, was it?" The woman, who introduces herself as Lenora, asks me and I nod, looking down. Her bone-straight, almost holographic hair is dyed in a sparkling silver that shimmers in rays of rainbows and falls all the way to her waist. "You've got quite a loyal family, don't you? That must've been your brother?"

I bow my head to hide the forming tears behind my thick lashes.

"Yes. Penn is my twin and he's fifteen," my breath catches as I realize that I might not make it past fifteen, but I force myself to keep talking. The last thing I want is to break down on live TV. Every moment of my life will be monitored from now on, and each one could decide my last. Sponsors will be my savior in there, I must gain some if I want to survive. "My sister Leta is twelve, Cyrik is nine, Farrah Lyn is five, and Rye is three."

"Sounds like quite a handful! Your parents must be superhuman!" The Capitol representative gasps dramatically and I glare up at her, wishing I could smack the expensive sparkles off of her face and peel off the whiskers plastered to her eyelids. I doubt she'd like the feel of that, but knowing the Capitol she'd probably be more upset that I embarrassed her on TV.

"My parents," I say grimly, "are dead. My brother and I take care of our siblings."

Which is why you can't send me into the Games! I want to add.

Lenora makes a pouty face and slowly shakes her head. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that dear. Well, our hearts go out to you. I'm sure you're more motivated to win so you can get back to them." The mourning ends as quickly as it began and Lenora clasps her heavily manicured hands together, exclaiming, "On to the boys then! Which lucky young man will get to accompany the beautiful Miss Maeve into the Arena?"

In my peripheral vision, I see on a screen as the camera pans away from me while I stare in shock at the unsympathetic representative. How could she be so heartless? She's really not gonna let me out of this!

Long fingernails sink into the second bowl. Clearing her throat, she unfolds the little paper and reads the name of a boy I don't know. A boy that might kill me in a few days. A boy that I might-

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

My heart drops to my stomach. One thought plays through my head on repeat like a broken record; no. Penn pushes past the other boys in line and marches to the stage. My legs have turned to jelly.

"What a turn of events!" Lenora claps excitedly as though the fact that both my brother and I are being sent to our deaths is good fortune equivalent to a surprise party in her honor.

Penn and I both... we can't. I can hear the little ones full-on sobbing and screaming, but they're paid no attention, simply held back by the Peacekeepers and given not even an ounce of sympathy or comfort. Everyone clings to their own children, grateful that they're safe another year even if it means they lose the pride that comes in having a tribute in the family.

As Penn reaches the platform, our eyes meet, the same ocean blue eyes covered by long, thick black lashes. His are filled with a mix of emotions so dense that only I, as his twin, can decipher them: determination, fury, and deeper down, fear.

"Anything you'd like to tell Panem?" The Capitol woman asks, earning harsh glares from both Driscoll twins.

"There are quite a few things I'd like to say, however none are quite appropriate for Panem to hear." Already Penn has put on a mask, already in the mind portion of the Games. He could win and no matter how much I fear death, I want him to. The littles need him more than they need me.

Lenora laughs. "Fiesty one, are we? I'm sure we can all agree that you've earned some enemies and some friends with that attitude." She bumps Penn's hip, oblivious to his clear hatred. When she doesn't receive any friendly banter in return, the peppy woman moves on. "Well, Panem, let's give a hand for District Four's Quarter Quell tributes! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Penn and I are ushered off stage. Finally out of the public eye, I collapse in my brother's arms. "This can't be happening!" I mumble into his chest through sobs. "The littles! Leta can't handle them on her own! She's only twelve!"

"We were only twelve when we had to do the same," Penn observes calmly, stroking my hair.

This only makes me cry harder. "Aren't you afraid?

His shoulders bop up and sag back down. "Why wouldn't I be? The thing is, being afraid won't help us. I'm better off trying to help us win. Worrying won't get me anywhere."

"Penn, don't you understand? At least one of us is going to die this week! Why would you volunteer? Why would you-" I exclaim incredulously and choke on a sob.

"Maeve, listen to me. Panicking isn't going to help anything. We need to focus on appealing to the audience so we can get sponsors and make allies. Got it? Work with me here." His slim fingers rub my shoulders, holding me at arms length and forcing me to look into his eyes.

I blow out a sigh and shake myself, trying to stop crying. "You're right."

"Always am." He grins sadly.

I return his smile with my own tearstained one and breath out a long, trembling sigh.

"That's it." His hand squeezes my arm. "Just breathe. We'll have plenty of time to figure out a game plan on the train. Let's go say goo- talk to the littles," Penn says, correcting himself to prevent me from melting down again. "Just act confident for the cameras."

Never let anyone see you in your weakness. That was his motto. Only three minutes older but infinitely wiser. With a short nod, I wipe the tears off my face, straighten my shoulders, and focus on the air rushing through my lungs as I walk towards the room where my family surely awaits.

"Maeve! Penn!" Farrah Lyn bodyslams me in an embrace and moisture seeps through my skirt as she sobs. The four of them stand in a spacious room, larger than our whole home, each one with streaks down their cheeks. The picture of grief that's already drawn on their faces is enough to crack the facade I'd been practicing, but Penn casts me a glance beneath his thick, dark eyelashes that glues it back together. This time, however, it's not as sturdy.

"Don't cry," I insist, wiping tears from the little girl's eyes. "It'll be ok. Nothing will happen to you."

Cyrik stares at his feet to hide the tears that pour down his face. "Maybe not to us."

Penn licks his lips and shoulder bumps his brother. "Oh, you're not scared, are you? Have some faith, buddy! When have we ever let you down? You just get to be rid of us for a while and hang with Leta. It'll be all good."

I watch in awe as he lies through his pearly white teeth. Leta nods, blond ponytail bobbing. Her eyes are bathed in salty water, but she smiles kindly like the caregiver she is. "It's like a vacation!"

"Exactly!" Penn exclaims. "A vacation from Maeve's stinky feet!" He pinches Rye's cheeks playfully. The littlest boy has no idea what's going on and a genuine smile crosses his ruddy face. He's so young, he might not even remember us in a year or two.

"Hey!" I try to smile and laugh with the rest of them, but my attempts are clearly failing. Farrah Lyn looks up at me with big blue eyes that swim with sadness. She bites her lip to keep from crying. A tiny shake of her sandy blonde head is enough to convey a world of emotions between us. "I love you," I whisper, "but I have to go to keep you safe."

"I'd rather be in danger with you than safe without."