The Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games

Annabeth

"Shift is over!" the Peacekeeper calls as a bell rings overhead. There's a sudden stampede of feet rushing to leave the factory. I rush out with them, eager for my shift to end. I end up tripping and falling over someone's foot, and I accidentally let go of my hat.

"No, no, no!" I rummage around on the floor, probably tripping a bunch of other people and getting weird looks as I do so. Finally, I spot my cap lying on the floor. I snatch it out of harm's way before it can be stepped on and hug it tightly to my chest to ensure that I don't drop it. The royal blue color has faded and it's literally ancient, but it's all I have left of Mom. When I'm wearing it, I feel confident, like I can walk into the room and do whatever I want and nobody will care. Which may as well be true. There are so many people in District 3, I can do pretty much anything and go completely unnoticed.

I scan the room, looking for the exit. I spot the large steel door at the front of the room where the Peacekeepers are waiting to escort us to the square to watch the other District's reapings.

Unlike others my age, I haven't had to get many tesserae. Dad wouldn't let me even if I needed to. I only have my name entered ten times, which is hardly any compared to most other kids.

I spot Dad waiting in the crowd at the square and head in his direction. We don't say a word, but I know he's worried. My dad and I might not have the best father-daughter relationship, but I know he cares about me. After a while, Peacekeepers separate us, me to stand in the line for sixteen year olds, and my dad to the other side of the square. We watch the other reapings in silence. There are a few that stand out to me.

A boy with black hair and pale, sickly skin who looks like he went to hell and back. A girl with reddish brown hair in choppy braids with eyes that practically change colors. And then it's time.

A woman with garish mint-green hair and the number '65' tattooed onto her cheeks steps up to the platform at the front of the square.

"Happy 65th Hunger Games! My name is Cordelia Trinket, and I will be the escort for the lucky pair selected today! May the odds be ever in your favor!" she practically squeals, beaming down on us. I scowl back at her, although she can't see my face in the crowd. "Ladies first!" The woman rummages around in the glass ball, pushing around thousands of little slips like snowflakes in a snow globe. My heart starts to pound.

What if I'm picked? What will Bobby and Matthew do? Their mom isn't exactly bringing in a bunch of money. I try to reassure myself with the fact that there's only a one-in-a-thousand chance of me being picked, which would usually work. It calms me down a little. You can always count on math (no pun intended).

"The lucky girl is..." she squints. "Annabeth Chase!"she says with a brilliant smile.

No, no, no! How could this happen! It feels like a painful betrayal. "Annabeth, get up here!" I force a smile, but it turns out looking like a grimace. The others look on with pity, but also relief that they weren't be picked.

I reluctantly walk up to the platform, pasting on the same pained smile. It doesn't matter. They can all see right through it anyway.

"And the lucky young man who will be joining her is..." Once again, she picks a thin slip of paper from the ball. "Charles Beckendorf!" I've met Charles before, although he prefers to go by Beckendorf. He's eighteen, a couple of years older than me. He would do well in the Games. He's a good person, but I'd rather I win than him. Beckendorf steps up, looking oddly confident, like he's going to win the games and somehow bring freedom to all the Districts. District 3 isn't exactly the ideal place to live, but we have it much better than, say, District 12.

In great contrast to Beckendorf, his family looks appalled. It makes me feel a pang of guilt. I haven't even considered how Dad must be feeling right now. I look to him, only to find that he's looking away from me pointedly.

I've never been an emotional person, but suddenly I feel like crying. Blinking, I hold back my tears and paste the grimace back on. I need to be strong. For Dad, for Bobby and Matthew, and for myself.

"Best of luck to Charles and Annabeth, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

After saying an almost tearful goodbye to Dad, Beckendorf and I board the train that takes us to the Capitol. The train is unsurprisingly lavish, with velvet seats and chandeliers in every room. We even get our own rooms, even though it's only a five-hour journey. I run my hands over the gold embellishments on the velvet couches. We have velvet in District 3, but it's quite expensive and usually only used for important things like wedding dresses, and the quality is nowhere near this good.

"You get used to the luxury after a while." I turn around to the voice to see a man. He looks to be about forty.

"Are you my mentor?" The man smiles kindly, but there's an underlying bitterness to it. He pushes his silver glasses further up his nose.

"My name is Daedalus. And yes, I am your mentor."

"What about the other mentor?" I ask, curious to know all I can about the situation I'm being thrown into.

"You'll meet her," he says dismissively. "She's the mentor for the other tribute. Correct me if I'm wrong, which I'm probably not, but his name is Charles, likes to go by Beckendorf?" I nod, not really surprised he knows so much about him without ever actually meeting him. He's smart, but a bit arrogant.

"That's the one." Daedalus gives me an almost patronizing smile. I return the smile, mustering up as much bitterness and anger I can in one expression. "I'll be going now."

I open the door leading to a narrow hallway and find the door with a silver plaque with my name on it. Silver. Just another sign that the Districts will always be second to the Capitol. I shove the door open and slam it closed angrily, ruffling the hand-embroidered bedsheets and knocking the fancy pencils off the fancy desk.

Why? Why me? Why couldn't it be our neighbor, or anyone else?

I take a deep breath. Mom always said that was the best thing to do whenever I was angry or upset as a child. It's what I did when I saw her getting killed by a drunk Peacekeeper, it's what I did what when I found out Dad was getting remarried, and it's what I'm doing now. I take a seat on the ornately bed and cross my legs. Hugging my knees to my chest, I take another deep breath to calm myself down.

I survey the room, spotting a notebook and pencils on the desk. I smile a bit to myself. Finally, something familiar. District 3 has a surprising amount of stationery, probably for the engineers. I swing my legs off of the bed and scooch over to the desk, pick up one of the pencils and start sketching out a plan for a new medical center. 

This chapter was written by me! (You can tell because the spelling and grammar are actually good). Anyway,

-Toodles!