The early morning sun hasn't stretched over my thin mattress yet when Posy nudges me awake. Her smile can be heard through her childish voice that begs me to play with her, and even though I would've appreciated an extra ten minutes of sleep, I rise anyways. I swing my legs off the edge of the low bed and slip them into a pair of boots resting on the floor. They are old, incredibly worn, and the soles are growing thin, but I refuse to buy another pair, no matter how much my mother comments on their condition. They were good enough for Dad, I remind her. So they're good enough for me.

My shirt hangs over the back of a chair in the corner of the room I share with the rest of my siblings, but as I tuck my pant legs into my boots, I watch Posy tug it off and wrap it around herself like a blanket. In spite of the chilly air that stings my bare back, I laugh quietly. Her small frame is instantly swallowed by the sheer amount of fabric, but she manages to wave at me cheekily. "If you want your shirt, you got to catch me!" she exclaims, giggling. Posy races out of the room quickly, her tiny bare feet barely making a sound against the wooden floor. I roll my eyes but get up too, pretending to run after her to take back the stolen clothing. The sound of her footsteps comes to a halt- she's hidden herself somewhere. "I'm gonna getcha," I call out, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can't hide from me, you know," I add. I stop and stand still for a moment, waiting for a sound to reveal her hiding place to me. The house is small- two tiny bedrooms and a multifunctional kitchen and living area- so there aren't many places to hide, but somehow, Posy is constantly finding new places to squeeze into. After a minute or so, I hear a giggle from the far corner of the kitchen, and smile to myself. My mother remarks on this often. Only one person can bring out a smile in Katniss, but two people can bring out a smile in you, Gale. It doesn't take a District 3 genius to figure out who these two are.

I move over to Posy's location easily, then let out a shout as I draw back the threadbare curtain. She shrieks and laughs loudly, surely waking the other boys- but I forget it in favor of a little bit of fun with Posy. Especially today, after all. Reaping Day.

My sister attempts to run away from me, arms outstretched, but I reach out and scoop her up into my arms easily, her laughter bubbling out of her. "Nice try, Posy," I say, ruffling her dark hair. "Give it back now," I say, attempting to sound stern with her, but hard as I try, I just can't. Posy leaps out of my arms and lands square on her feet, then holds up my shirt for me to take. I take it from her fingers and pull it on over my head, the fabric doing little to warm me. "I've gotta go, Posy," I say quietly, crouching down to her height. She gazes at me with wide, dark eyes before speaking. "Where?" she asks me, just as she does every weekend. Every time I tell her I have to leave her. "Just… over to the market," I lie smoothly. My real destination is the woods, of course. "I'll be back soon, okay?" I promise her, then stand back up. "Be good for Mom," I add as I begin to walk towards the door. My hunting bag sits on the ground and I pick it up just as I pull the door open; it has nearly closed behind me when I hear her voice reply, "I will!"

I make my way through the Seam and to the edge of the district quickly; the dirt roads are abandoned this morning, as the mines are closed. No one works on Reaping Day.

As I approach the electric fence, I pause for a moment, waiting to hear the soft hum that reveals whether the fence is switched on or not. Silence. I move forward at a quicker pace, hoping to take down a few squirrels or rabbits before Katniss arrives later this morning.

Before even a half-hour passes, my bag holds two squirrels. The baker should take these for trade, possibly for a few slices of his freshest and finest bread. I toss the bag over my shoulder and then glide under the fence easily, its metal links still uncharged. The town square, where the bakery is located, is a short walk away, and in a matter of minutes, the bell that signals the arrival of a customer is jingling over my head as I enter. Mr. Mellark looks up from his ledger with a paper thin smile, and while on another day, I might be curious as to why his demeanor is not of its normal joviality that he puts on for customers, today I know the reason.

Every parent is worried sick for their children on Reaping Day.

"Morning," I greet him shortly. "Two squirrels. I'll take whatever you can give me for them." I hold out the bag for him to take from me, and he does. Mr. Mellark peers inside for less than thirty seconds before meeting my eyes again.

"Good. Does a loaf of bread sound alright?" he offers, removing the animals from my bag before handing it back to me.

More than I had hoped for- an entire loaf. I nod briefly, and the baker smiles at me with more sincerity this time.

"Let me just- well, er- Peeta!" he fumbles about for a few moments before calling out the name of his youngest son. I hadn't noticed him lurking in the back, tending to flames, but he emerges from the kitchen and wipes his hands on his apron. "Yes?" he replies respectfully.

"Could you get Gale a loaf of white bread?" Mr. Mellark asks Peeta. "I've got to go put these away , before…" He needs not finish his sentence. Before any Peacekeepers come into the shop. Peeta understands his father and nods. "Of course, sure," he says easily. Peeta gives me a friendly smile, which I do not attempt to return. He's nice enough, but he's one of the merchants' kids. The kind of kids who never know what it's like to go hungry or starve. The kind of kids that don't share with those of us from the Seam.

Peeta hands me the loaf of bread and I nod once more before turning to leave; a wordless thanks. "Have a good day," he calls politely, standing back from the counter.

I look back at him over my shoulder, my eyebrows coming together as I answer his farewell. "It's Reaping Day," I say flatly. "Not a thing about it is good."

Peeta doesn't know what to say to this, and mumbles something incoherently. I smirk slightly, then move to leave. As I pull the door open, I do not try to swallow my second comment. "Hey, Peeta," I say, barely glancing at him. The baker's son looks up at me hesitantly. "Yeah?"

"May the odds be ever in your favor," I quip, raising my eyebrows at him.

And without waiting for his reaction or reply, I shut the bakery door behind me, leaving Peeta Mellark lost for words.