hook, line, sinker.

one.

"How are you ever going to beat your record at that pace?" Silas Flanagan teased. Mags was already rolling her eyes before she looked at her father.

There were three of them on the pier, next to the Flanagans fishing boat, and Mags looked over at Ridge. His tongue was stuck out slightly as he concentrated on looping his hook, and she stifled a laugh at how seriously he was taking this. It seemed pretty obvious to her that her dad was making them do this to distract them from what day it was. July fourth, reaping day.

She wasn't actually sure how old Ridge was, just that his name was still in the bowl, and it was in there twice as many times as anyone else's. Silas had taken Ridge under his wing when Ridge's parents had died, but Mags knew he entered his name a lot to get additional rations before he joined the family. Last night she had prayed to her mother to keep Ridge safe, and she hoped desperately he would be spared from being reaped. She had to stop thinking about it.

Mags only had two more years left of dreading this day until she was an adult, but it felt so far away it could have been twenty. It had never seemed truly real, until she watched her best friend go insane during last year's game. Coral had killed three people on national television, she had become a stranger, a psychopath and Mags could only watch on.

She looked back at the hook she was in the process of making, and frowned at the sight of her red raw fingers. She must have been on her twelfth hook, she was sure of it. Ridge only had five beside him, and as usual, Mags won by a mile.

The fish hook fell to the floor as Margaret stood up, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked around the bay. She couldn't take a single second for granted until after the reaping, once she had another year of guaranteed life.

Her eyes fell on the newly constructed houses that sat right above the shore. Everyone had been calling it something different, but the latest theory was that they were vacation houses for the Capitol. This was mostly fuelled by the visit from Dr Gaul, who had come to inspect them herself.

Mags liked to think they were rewards for the good people from District 4. Not for any particular reason, just because the Capitol finally recognised how hard they all worked. Especially her Pa.

"Imagine living in one of those houses." Mags said, and her Pa looked towards them as well, while Ridge made a face. He hated the Capitol.

"I think we'd be lonely," Pa looked back at Mags with a sad smile, a knowing smile. "Besides, it doesn't matter where we live, as long as we have each other." Mags nodded, and began packing up their fishing gear. It was almost time, and she felt so nervous she might actually be sick.

"It'll be okay, my Maggie." Silas said soothingly, and Mags took a deep breath. Her father was hardly ever wrong, she needed to listen to him more often. There were over five thousand names in the dreaded reaping bowl, there was practically no chance of hers coming out.

Mags watched as her father tied up their little fishing boat, and she took another deep breath. Ridge held his hands out for the tacklebox, and Mags handed it to him, grateful she wouldn't have to carry it home. The three set off towards their cottage on the outskirts of District 4, right along the smallest bay in the district. It might have been one of the less popular fishing spots, but they never went hungry, and that was all that mattered.

The reaping was to be held in the centre of town, but Mags realised very quickly that they were running late. Late enough to miss the entire thing if they walked.

"Pa! Where are our bicycles?" Mags yelled out as she peered around the property. Her father was a scatterbrain, always misplacing things. She couldn't imagine where he had put the bikes this time.