Beauty and a Beast

Chapter 1

"Come on, Enobaria! You're better than this!"

My dad's voice. Again. I've been training for the Hunger Games for what- ten years now? -And he still pushes me around. Forget that I'm fake-fighting my own sister. What can I say? Jetta's been at this longer than I have. She has me in a tight hammerlock, preventing me from moving. But he's right. I can do better.

I give Jetta a mighty push, and she falls to the matt. Then I take my sword to her chest. Pretend that I'm going to kill her. She weighs twice as much as me, so it's hard for her to get up quickly. Which wouldn't help at all if she were reaped today.

"Aand Enobaria wins!" our father announces. I extend Jetta my hand, and she rises, glowering. She hates when I beat her. The other tributes-in-training applaud. Their noise echoes around our basement in District 2.

Well, of course it's a basement. You think any District actually allows us to train for the Hunger Games in public? Nope. This is like a fight club. With a more dangerous purpose. Good old dad, Lux Golding, leads our group every morning before we go do our jobs or attend school. There are about twenty people here of reaping age. We teach each other skills, perfect them, and master a weapon of choice. I love me a sword, personally.

Knives,

spears,

axes,

bows,

staffs,

darts,

clubs,

ropes,

boxing bags,

electronic targets,

monkey bars;

We've got everything we need here. Dad always shows off his prize-fighting daughters at the end of each session. Me? I just do it without question and know that I might be grateful for it one day. I mean, you can't be too careful, right? If somehow, I become a tribute, I'll go into the arena prepared.

"You've all been working hard," Dad says to us. "No matter what happens at the reaping, I'm proud of your skills. You should be proud, too. Any one of you could represent District 2 and win. Happy Hunger Games!"

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," we reply back.

He shakes hands with every group member as they leave, and then it's just our family; me, Jetta, Dad, and my mom. She's been watching from the sidelines.

"Way to go, Aria!" she exclaims. Her pet name for me. "Heaven help the boy who cheats on you. He'd get a serious whooping."

I laugh at her light-heartedness. "Any guy I go for," I say, "would be one who can give me a run for my money."

Mom's always able to brighten even the gloomiest days, and unlike Dad, she never criticizes me.

We get busy clearing away the equipment, hiding all traces of illegal training. Who knows if Peacekeepers might come through and inspect?

This takes about an hour. Then I follow Jetta to our latest work project: building axes at the workshop. It's all we've been taught to make so far, all we're allowed to make. Teen girls can't handle more than one weapon, so people around here believe.

Ha. Haven't they seen our past female victors?

We resurface from the factory in a few hours, and now the time is here. Another reaping. Our district wears red to reapings, but there are no other requirements. I still put on a dress. Mom and Dad would pitch a fit otherwise.

When we're dressed properly, Jetta and I go into the kitchen, where our parents wait.

Dad throws an arm around Jetta. "So, it's finally your year. Your last and only opportunity to volunteer. I hope you're gonna take it."

Um... did he just encourage his own daughter to kill herself???

"You bet I'm volunteering," Jetta replies. "I'm totally going to win, too."

"Just like I am when I'm eighteen," I remind them.

Mom strokes my cheek. "And those other tributes will be sorry."

"First she has to learn to disable opponents more quickly," Dad argues. "You still haven't broken Jetta's record for the fastest pin-down."

Yeah, I know. Ten seconds. I'll never get those numbers erased from my head.

"It's because she's so heavy!" I exclaim. "At least I don't have to worry about being fat. I could actually make a quick escape in the arena, which matters just as much. If not, more."

Jetta looks wounded. "Why are you being like this?" she asks.

"Look; you're not as good as you think you are, and... I-I don't wanna lose you." Deep down, it's absolutely true. I love my sister. Really, I do. Sometimes I forget that.

"I still wanna fight, Enobaria. We don't know how I'll do unless I go in. Besides, everybody dies eventually. The Games only shorten lives, not preserve them."

I let out a long, dramatic sigh, wondering what kind of world we live in, where she believes dying young is perfectly fine. Blah.

"Whatever," I say. "So long as you don't die a stupid death."

"There's my baby sis!" Jetta replies. She wears the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face. Aw, am I gonna miss her if she doesn't win.

But enough of that mushiness. We have a reaping to attend.
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"Hello, District 2!" a woman calls out from the Justice Building stage. She's unfamiliar to me, but her outfit's crazy. I'm talking feathers- and I think she's covered only in feathers. The feathers are peach to match the highly unnatural shade of her hair. "My name is Doris Wicker and I'm just so honored to be the new escort in this year's 58th annual Hunger Games! Who's ready to meet your tributes?"

Everybody cheers, and I throw my fists to the sky. We're seriously pumped. I wonder if the other districts are this enthusiastic about the Hunger Games. If the Peacekeepers know why we're this enthusiastic.

"First up," Doris says, "the girls." She skips to the female reaping bowl, so eager. Her fingers flutter for a bit over the papers before she picks one up and announces the lucky girl's name.

Me.

Is it possible to stop breathing even though your heart beats? Oh man. I can't. I can't I can't I can't- oh crap, I'm really gonna put my life at stake. Am I so crazy-

No. I'm a warrior, and I should look like one when I accept my fate. So I leave the line, with my head high. I march up in between the Peacekeepers, but we're not alone. Jetta runs behind them.

"I VOLUN-"

"Don't you dare!" I yell at Jetta. She's not taking this moment from me.

The crowd loves drama. It happens at basically every reaping. Mom and Dad, however, are shocked. Eh. I think they'll get over that once they remember their younger daughter is risking her life so she can return home alive.

As always, our boy tribute is selected next. It's no surprise that somebody volunteers. He's a boy I used to go to school with, eighteen just like Jetta. What was his name again?

"I'm Hal Dennison," he declares to all of District 2. He's incredibly tall, and his blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail, is lengthier than the ponytail of black hair that I call mine.

"Enobaria and Hal," Doris says, "You look like two fine young people. You'll be amazing tributes, no doubt! Am I right, District 2?"

My neighbors agree. Mom and Jetta are even chanting my nickname: "A-ri-a! A-ri-a!"

Dad offers me a slight grin, but I can see he's upset that I took Jetta's 'rightful' place. Why am I never good enough?

I'll make him proud in that arena. I will.