Hannah Fillia's (District 9) P.O.V:
Bracken and Baylin, two of my younger sisters, could be chosen today. I hope not. I really, really hope not.
The other two girls in our family, Milin and Anya, stand with myself and my parents. Neither are eligible for the Games yet, thank goodness. Milin, age eleven, leans against me worriedly, her honey-blonde head just reaching my shoulder. I'm anxious for next year, when Milin turns twelve. Anxious nervous, not anxious excited.
Little Anya, the youngest of us, squeezes my hand to get my attention. "They'll be okay, won't they?" She squeaks in her high-pitched, four year old voice. Anya's blue eyes are wide with fear.
"Of course they will," I reassure her, pulling her in for a hug. I'm reassuring myself, too, in a way. Of course Bracken win't get Reaped. Of course Baylin won't be Reaped. They both still have a whole life ahead of them.
The escort calls for everyone's attention, says her short speech, and daintily selects a name from the male Reaping ball. Surprisingly, a volunteer runs up. The kid has dull brown hair, and he's an average height for thirteen. He looks strong but a little out of shape. Suddenly it clicks. This is Mayor Miller's older son. I half-smile as I recall Milin has a crush on this kid's brother, Sebastian, who's her age.
"Johnathyn Miller," he announces his name. The escort claps excitedly and then selects a girl name. I pull in my two younger sisters for a hug. Not Bracken Fillia. Not Baylin Fillia.
"Bracken Fillia!" The escort says in a sing-song voice. I let out a sigh. Bracken. It had to be her, of all people. Milin hugs me harder, while Anya begins to cry. I bend down to her height and try to comfort her so that we don't make a commotion. The square echoes with her sobs.
I glance up at Bracken, who has now made her way to the escort. Her eyes are cast down, so I can't see her reaction. Oh, Bracken. Please, please try to win this for us.
"Our District 9 tributes- Johnathyn Miller and Bracken Filla!"