Briarose's story: The 74th Annual Hunger Games

by RomanticCreator

This story involves Briarose Antigone as the narrator and tribute of District 12, not Katniss. I hope you take the time to read the entire thing because...I re-wrote the entire book! :

1. Part 1

I wake up to the sunlight peering in through my window and the smell of fresh berries coming through the door. Immediately, I push myself up into a sitting position and throw my feet over the side of my bed. I slip into my heavier nightdress and head downstairs.

"Morning, Briar!" calls my older brother, Birch. "How are you?" Oh boy, I think, because he sounds giddier than ever. Birch, or Birchfall, his full name, is a naturally cheery person, but only one thing can make him as joyful as he is now.

"Did you see Madge this morning?" I ask. Madge is the daughter of the district mayor, and Birch was in love with her. I know what his answer is before it even escapes his lips.

"Yes, indeed," he answers.

"Stop it, Birch. I don't know what you see in her," I say grouchily. I honestly didn't care for Madge much. She was, in a way, a bit of a snob.

"And I don't know what you see in that Peeta kid," Birch retorts.

Peeta Mellark is a boy, about my age, with ashy blonde hair and brown eyes. I used to have a crush on him when I was 10. Birch is convinced, though, that I'm still in love with him. I admit, my "crush" was more of an obsession. But that was almost six years ago. My feelings for him have long been diminished. Maybe not all of them, though... "I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

"Oh, come on, Briar," Birch says easily, prancing around me. "You still like him, I know you do. Just admit it, and we can eat in peace."

I do still honestly like him. I've been denying it for a while. But there's no way I'm going to let Birch know. "I don't. He's a nice boy and I like him as a friend, that's it," I insist, hoping Birch doesn't notice how red my cheeks are getting.

"Hmph. Okay. But we're not done having this conversation," says Birch. Then his tone hardens. "Because if my baby sister is going to start running off with some baker, I'll be sure to keep an eye on him."

"He's not just some baker!" I say defensively and almost instantly, I know I've let myself slip. Stupid, I think.

"Aha!" Birch yells triumphantly. "You do still like him! You love him, don't you?"

"Shut up, Birch. We don't need to discuss this now. Don't you know what day it is?" I ask, a bit annoyed. Birch is silent. "The reaping!" I shout.

"Oh...that. Don't worry, Briar. If you get picked, I'll volunteer for you." Birch is a good brother. Living alone together without any parents, we've developed a strong bond.

"Don't. You won't be doing either of us a favor," I tell him grimly. It's true, though. I don't want Birch going in my place. Besides, there has to be one girl tribute, and one boy tribute. If Birch volunteers, they'll have to pick another name from the girl's side. I don't want that to happen.

I eat some of the berries Birch collected earlier and go back upstairs to get into my reaping day outfit. It's a white dress, about kneelength, and it has buttons going halfway down my front. I tie a light blue ribbon around my waist to add some color to the white, although, after my few years of wearing it, it's become more eggshell than white. After I have my ribbon in a bow behind my back, I begin on my hair. On an everyday basis, I have it in a high messy bun or ponytail. My hair is long and thick, so there isn't much you can do with it, especially when you have to go out everyday to hunt for food.

I don't hunt alone, of course. I hunt with my best friends, Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne. I've known them both since I was five, and ever since the first day we met, we've been best friends. Nearly inseperable. Katniss is a fit girl of sixteen with medium length brown hair and brown eyes. I love her like my own sister, and I'd die for her. Gale is a big, stocky guy of about seventeen. He has gray eyes and black hair. Gale and I met before Katniss and I did. He was my first friend, but only after I met Katniss did we really begin to become close. He's a polite boy, but sometimes, he can be really cocky.

I begin to comb my hair with a brush my mother had given to me before she died. My mother was beautiful. And more than once I've been told I'm like her reflection, young and pretty. But my mother was her own person, and our personalities were very much unalike. After I finish brushing my hair, I pull it in a high ponytail and begin to style it into an old style I learned from Katniss. It's like a braid, only more tight looking and with less buildup. I like it just fine. I then pull the end of my hair to the beginning of my ponytail and tuck it inside and secure it.

I step back and look in my mirror. I see my mother, her presence in my face. Then I see Birch, standing in my doorway. He's dressed in a finely sewn shirt with a strong looking collar and black pants. It's exactly what my father used to wear when he had to go to reapings. But he, like my mother, is dead. And he has escaped the fear and anxiety of reapings.

"Ready to go?" Birch asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I say quietly. "Keep us safe," I whisper to my mother. I know she can hear me, wherever she may be.

Birch and I descend down the stairs and out the door. Whatever sense of jollity Birch had earlier in the morning was gone. Completely vanished. But what is there to be happy about? Someone from our district, probably one of my friends, was about to basically be sentenced to death. District 12 almost never had a winner of the Hunger Games. I say "almost" because District 12 did have a winner once. Haymitch Abernathy. I don't know how he did it. I only see him drunk nowadays.

As we walk, I realize that we're early. There are only about seven other people going to the reaping now. I hate being early to reapings. You have to stand there and wait forever for the comfort of your friends to come. "Birch, we're early," I say. "Again."

"No we aren't," he says and continues on.

"Yes, we are! I hate being early to reapings! It's like I'm a goat waiting to be slaughtered in a slaughterhouse!" I'm getting really worked up now. The anxiety of the reaping is taking full affect and Birch embraces me tightly. I'm almost ashamed, too, because usually, I'm very good at hiding my pain. Birch is lucky. Being 18, this is his last reaping.

"We're going to be okay, I promise," he says slowly. "Nothing's going to happen to us. The names will be picked, and then we can go home."

"No!" I shout, pulling away. "Birch, what if Katniss gets picked? Or Gale? Or even Primrose?" Katniss had a little sister named Primrose. She was definitely the sweetest girl I've ever met and I didn't want her to get picked as much as I didn't want Katniss or Gale to be picked. Or Peeta, a voice in my head adds urgently. Peeta isn't just a boy I'm in love with, he's also my friend, like Katniss and Gale. "I'd go in their places..."

"Briarose, don't talk like that," Birch says. "I know you would go in their places if you wanted, but just don't. If one of them is picked, don't make a sound. Stay silent." And he hugs me again. Like I said, he's a good brother.

"Okay," I sigh. But deep down, I know something bad is going to happen at this reaping, and I'm going to have to do something about it. "We're still early, though."

"Fine," says Birch. "If you really think we're that early, then go find Katniss or Gale. Talk to them. They probably feel the same way."

I take this as an oppurtunity to go see Peeta. He's in the bakery, as always. His father is the head baker, and Peeta and his two brothers help out. They're a lovely family. Except for the mother. She's a monster, always yelling and blaming everything that goes wrong on Peeta and his brothers. Usually I would be able to look by all that, but once, when I was younger and Birch and I were starving to death, I asked her for roll if she had an extra. You know what she did? She had a roll, alright, but it was rock hard and she threw it at me and Birch. So now, it's a personal thing.

I near the bakery and through the window I can see the outline of three people. Peeta is one of them. I can tell by the build the silhouette has. The other one may be his father. The last one I can't distinguish, but it's not his mother, so I don't worry. I was always welcome in the Mellark's presence. I step onto the porch and knock on the door.

The handle turns and I see Mr. Mellark standing in front of me. He smiles. "Hello, Briarose," he says warmly. "Come in."

"Thank you, sir," I reply. The scent of freshly baked bread is all around me, comforting me.

"How are you?" Mr. Mellark asks.

"Oh, fine," I say. "Just fine."

"Briar!" I hear my name almost squeeled, and I turn to see Peeta standing next to his brother. He looks handsome in his reaping day outfit. He comes to me and wraps his arms around me. He, like the rest of the bakery, smells of bread. "How are you?"

"Fine," I say. I'm not lying. I am fine, but just fine. Wanting to change the subject of how I am, I say to Peeta, "You look nice."

Peeta looks down at himself. "Thanks, but this isn't my favorite attire." I get what he means. A reaping day outfit is never a good one, no matter how beautiful it really is. "You look nice too."

"Thanks."

"How is Birchfall?" Mr. Mellark asks me. "I haven't seen or talked to him in a while."

"He's doing fine, same as me. I'll be sure to tell him to come down for some bread when we get back from the reaping," I tell him. If we get back from the reaping, I think.

"Very well, I look forward to it." Mr. Mellark smiles again and leaves the room, followed by Peeta's brother.

"Peeta, I'm worried," I suddenly blurt out as soon as they're gone. "Birch...what if he gets chosen? Or Katniss? And Gale, what about him?"

"Shh," Peeta hushes me. He hugs me again and I'm comforted by his warmth. "Don't worry about all that. Everything's going to be alright, same as last year and the years before."

"This one is going to be different, I know it is," I tell him. Then something hits me like a boulder. "What about you?"

"I'm going to be fine," says Peeta. I don't understand how he can be so calm at the thought of his own name being chosen for the Games. "It's you I'm worried about, and my brothers, of course.

"I should go," I say quickly. I tell myself I have to leave because Birch will be missing me, but really, I'm leaving because I feel like I'm about to cry, or worse, vomit. Peeta hugs me one last time.

"Okay. I'll see you in a few minutes," he says. "Just a few minutes."

"I know." And I leave the bakery, heading toward the reaping.

I'm at the square sooner than I had wanted to be. Birch is there waiting for me near the registration. The Peacekeepers jab your finger with a needle and take blood for some reason. I never understood why. It's not like District 12 really has the money for the machines they use at the Capitol to determine someone's identity by blood samples. But still they do it. I notice there are a lot more people filing into the square. This makes me feel better.

"Come on, Briar," Birch says as I approach him. "We've done this before. They're just going to take a bit of blood."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a baby, Birchfall!" I shout angrily. "You're only two years older than me. You're not my mother."

"And I would never want to be," Birch says calmly. He and my mother never did got along well. "Just, come on."

I stepped over to the registration table and the Peacekeepers, as always, stuck my finger with a needle and took blood. Then they let me go. "I'll see you later," Birch calls after me. I nod.

During the reapings, the boys and girls are kept on seperate sides of the square. And we're kept in little sections divided off by age, the oldest in the front and the youngest in the back. I step over the rope that divides off my section.

I'm relieved when I see Katniss. She looks very pretty in her light blue dress and her hair done up like it is. I walk toward her and stand next to her. She seems nervous, really nervous. Then I remember, it's Primrose's first reaping.

"Katniss..." I say softly. "Katniss."

She turns her head, surprised to see me. "Briar!" she says happily. I can tell she's as relieved to see me as I was to see her. I embrace her.

"Are you okay? You look so nervous," I say.

"I'm fine, but Prim...she was so scared. I didn't want to leave her side," says Katniss.

"Prim is going to be fine, just like the rest of us." I use the words Peeta used on me. "And we'll all go home, just like last year, and the year before."

Suddenly, I hear tapping on the microphone on the platform, and I know the reaping is about to start. I stand rigid, like a statue, and I see Katniss is the same way.

Effie Trinket's high voice trills over the microphone. "Good afternoon, and happy Hunger Games!" she says. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

A short video comes on about the rising of the districts, and the revolution, and the destruction of District 13, and how the Capitol is now punishing us for the uprising. I hardly pay any attention to it though. I'm thinking about Katniss. Poor, poor Katniss. She's so worried about Prim. It must be hard to be the older sibling. I'm lucky. I have Birch to play the part of the "responsible one". Katniss has to do that herself. I'm also thinking about Gale and Peeta. Gale doesn't have anyone to worry about but himself, but Peeta has two brothers and himself. And I think, I'm worrying about him more than he is.

The video is finished and Effie takes the microphone again. "And now for the names," she states. Well, no kidding, I think irritably. It always had vexed me how Effie was in a terribly good mood at every single reaping. "Ladies first."

Oh no, I think. No, no, no, no. I'm not ready. But it doesn't matter. Effie is already sinking her hand into the bowl of names. She pulls one out after feeling around for a minute, and returns to the microphone. "Hmm..." she says, unfolding the paper. "Primrose Everdeen!"

No! The thought almost escapes my lips. But I remember what Birch told me. Stay silent. How can this be happening? Prim only had her name in there once. Once! Not like Katniss, who had her name entered forty-eight times, because of the tesserae. We have the option of taking it in exchange for our name entered in again. Katniss had to take it. Her family survives mostly on Prim's goat milk, which isn't much. I look at Katniss. Her face has gone paler than snow and she's standing as still as a statue. Then I look for Prim. She's alone now, in her section. All the other girls from her age group are stepping away, as if she has a contagious disease. In a way, she does. I can hear the crowd cursing as they always do when a 12-year-old gets chosen because no one thinks it's fair. Prim is pale, her hands clenched in tight fists. Slowly, she begins to make her way to the platform. Prim!

"Prim!" I think the sound comes from my mouth, but it doesn't. It's Katniss who calls to her little sister. "Prim! Prim!" she shouts as she pushes through the Peacekeepers. "Prim!" Then, what I dread she is going to say, she begins to say. "I volun-"

"I volunteer!" I scream at the top of my lungs before Katniss can. A path is formed as the other girls in my section step away from me too. I take a pace away from my section, away from my safety. "I volunteer as tribute," I say again, nodding my head.

"Briar, no!" Katniss is on me in a second, her hands on my shoulders, trying to push me back into our section. "Don't do it!" she whispers.

"Hush, Katniss," I say to her as calmly and as gently as possible, because, honestly, I'm as terrified as ever. "I told you it would all be okay." I push her hands off my shoudlers and I step toward the platform.

"Well, I never!" Effie exclaims. "Our very first volunteer from District 12!"

"NO! NO! Please! No! I'll go! Not her, please!" I turn around and see little Prim running toward me. She wraps herself around me. "Please! I'll do it! I'll participate! Just don't take Briar!"

"Prim, Prim, Prim," I say softly. I kneel down to her level. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. Calm down, alright? It's okay. I want to do this for you. It's going to be okay. I promise." Then I hug her and she hugs me. Actually, she squeezes me. She's not ready to let go, and I see Gale coming toward us and he pulls her off of me. "Gale..."

"Be strong, Rosy," he tells me. He's the only one that calls me Rosy. He came up with that nickname the first day I met him. "I'll come up to see you." After the names are picked, the tributes are allowed visitors, to say goodbye. Gale... I think, Thank you. He brushes a strand of hair back behind my ear and walks away with Prim held tight in his arms.

"No! Briarose!" She's still crying when she vanishes from my sight.

Just then, the severity of what I've just done sinks in. What I've done, in reality, is sentence myself to death. I'd rather die instead of Prim, though. I walk to the platform, head raised as high as I can manage. "Come on, dear. Come on over," Effie coaxes me. She takes my hand and leads me to the microphone. "Our very first volunteer from District 12! What's your name, dear?"

"Briarose Antigone," I answer. I can feel my hands shaking and I hope that no one else can notice. I survey the crowd, looking for familiar faces. I see many, but one stands out. It's Birch. He looks at me, his eyes sad and almost...disappointed. I'm sorry, I tell him in my head, but I had to do it. He looks away. Then I see another face that stands out. Peeta. His eyes are in shock and he looks paler than I've ever seen him. He mouths "Briar..." to me. He's scared, I tell myself. So scared, I'm afraid that he might volunteer as tribute before Effie can even pick from the boys' bowl.

"Lovely!" Effie says. "Can we all give a round of applause to our very first volunteer from District 12?" No one claps. It's eerily quiet in the square. No one claps, but one by one, they all press their three fingers to their lips and raise it toward me, a sign of respect and sadness for me. "Very good," Effie says gleefully. And right then, I want to tell her to shut her mouth and stop being so happy about this.

"And now for the boys..." She dips her hand into the bowl with the boys' names and pulls one out, carefully selected like the others. "Peeta Mellark," she reads.

My heart plummets. I feel my eyes widen. Peeta? Now, it's my turn to go pale. I can feel the color washing out of my face. Peeta stands in his section, his eyes widened. Someone pushes him forward. Give him a minute, will you? Peeta bravely ascends that stairs, the shock of what just happened clearly visible on his face. But in a way, I think he's glad. I can't tell why, but his face isn't in a grimace like the other boys that have been picked before him.

Of all the other boys in District 12...why Peeta? In the Games, we are meant to kill each other to survive, but I make myself a promise. No matter what happens, I will not kill Peeta. Even if he tries to kill me first, I will not. I repeat this in my heads many times and I know it's true. I can't kill Peeta. I won't.

"Well, isn't this a nice pair?" Effie asks the crowd. "Go on, you two, shake hands." It's customary that we shake hands, recognizing each other as competitors. But I can't accept Peeta as anything else other than my friend and love. He extends his hand. I stare at him. All I see in his face is sadness and worry and, maybe, a little bit of fear. I wish I could take his place too, save him, but there is nothing I can do now except take his hand in mine. We shake hands. Peeta pulls on my hand, and I go to him and wrap my arms around him. I hear the crowd murmuring about how untraditional it is to show affection for one of you opponents, but I don't care. Effie taps our shoulders after a moment and reminds us it's time to go into the Districthouse to say our last goodbyes to our family and friends. We let each other go, but we're still holding hands when we enter the Districthouse. I'm grateful to feel Peeta by my side when we step in and the doors slam behind us.

The minute we enter the Districhouse, Peeta and I are pulled away from each other and forced into seperate rooms. The room I'm in is beautiful, cleaner than any room I've ever seen in my life. The furniture is mostly a velvet red, with some silver thrown in, and there's a small table in front of me. I can see my reflection. I'm as pale as the clouds and I look as if I haven't eaten in days. This isn't the Briarose Antigone that I saw in my mirror this morning.

There's a knock on the door, and in steps Birch. Though he seems angry with me, I don't hesitate when he opens his arms to me. He holds me like he used to when I was a toddler. I begin to speak. "Birch...I-"

"Shush." Birch interupts me. "You did what you had to, I understand that. You're so brave to go through with it. But you disobeyed me."

Hot anger rushes through me and clearly registers on my face. "You're not my mother," I tell Birch again. "It's too late to change things now anyway, isn't it?"

Birch smiles, unaffected by my fury. "That is exactly what's going to keep you alive. You're rage, and how it leaves your body."

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

"I mean that when you're angry or upset, it's obvious. You're strongest when you're emotional, and it's scary when you are," Birch explains. It makes sense, and it's unfailingly true. I can disguise my pain or sadness with a quick smile, but my anger is impossible to hide. At least, it's impossible to hide from Birch. "It'll keep you alive."

"I hope," I say as I start to pull down my hair. What use is looking pretty in here? Then there's another knock on the door and the Peacekeepers tell Birch he has to go now.

"Stay strong, Briarose. Be yourself. It'll keep you alive," he tells me as he hugs me one last time and hands me a small pin. "Bye, little sister." He kisses my forehead, and walks out the door with the Peacekeepers right next to him. I look at the pin he gave me. It's a mockingjay, one of the Captiols' muttations.

I'm overcome with a strong sense of grief. I won't be seeing Birch for a long time. Maybe not ever again. He's the only family I have now. We keep each other alive. I wonder how Mr. Mellark will take Birch's visit? I wonder. But then I remember, I never told Birch Mr. Mellark wanted to see him. Birch will probably want to go see him anyway, though.

Another knock on my door signals yet another visitor. Or visitors, as it is this time. It's Prim, Mrs. Everdeen, and Katniss. I stand up. Prim runs to me and wraps her small arms around my waist. I can feel her tears seeping through my dress. "I wish you didn't have to go," says Prim.

"But I do have to go, Prim," I tell her. "But only for a little while. Then I'll be back, and I'll have great stories to tell you." I speak to her like I used to when she was younger.

"You have to win, Briar. You have to. Promise you'll try? Really, really try?" Prim sobs.

"I promise," I say, kissing her head. She steps back to her mother and Katniss comes toward me.

"Why'd you do it?" she demands angrily. "Why?"

"Well I was about to do it for Prim," I say. "but then...you were going to volunteer and...I don't know, I just...I didn't want you to go, Katniss. It wouldn't be the same without you."

"It won't be the same without you either," says Katniss. "You shouldn't have done it...you should've just let me take care of it."

"Come on, Catnip," I say, using the nickname Gale cleverly invented. "I don't mind going. It's like a new chapter of my life. And I think we all know that I could use a trip outside of the District."

"I never understood how you could be so calm in the worst situation..." Katniss says thoughtfully. "That's a trait that could help you survive longer." Another thing about me that can help me survie, I think. Great.

"Maybe," I shrug. "Not much else is going to help me, though."

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that," says Katniss. "You're a hunter and a fighter. You're just as strong as the others, if not stronger."

"Maybe," I say again. "I'll at least make it through the first day, probably."

"You will. You'll make it to the very end, and you'll be the one to come home."

"...what about Peeta?" I ask quietly.

"You're stronger than he is. Maybe not in size or build, but you can outsmart him. He'll be easy prey." I don't bother telling Katniss that I'm not going to kill Peeta. She would just shake her head and tell me to do it because I'm stronger than he is. To her I am, anyway.

"Hm. Okay," I say. Katniss didn't really answer my question. She kind of does, but what I really want to know is if Peeta stands a chance of coming out alive. Even if I'm killed, having Peeta be the victor instead of anyone else would be fine. And obviously I don't want him to die.

"Take care, Briar," says Katniss, giving me a long hug. "And come home safe."

"I will," I tell her. Mrs. Everdeen doesn't say anything to me, but she nods and, when the Peacekeepers come for them, is the first to leave. Katniss takes one last look at me and then, she too is gone. Prim, however, has almost walked out the door, but at the last minute, she runs toward me and hugs me again. "Come home, Briar," she orders me sternly. "Yes, ma'am," I answer, and then she's gone.

Not ten seconds have past, and I have another visitor. It's Gale. He stares at me, like he can't believe that this is really happening. "Hey, Gale," I say as easily as I can. "It's okay. I don't mind going for Primrose. She deserves to live a while longer..."

"So do you!" Gale says. "Rosy, you're only sixteen! You haven't lived your life yet. You haven't even been outside the Distict."

"Then this a great oppurtunity to get out and see the world while I have the chance, isn't it?" I say, smiling. On the inside, I'm not smiling. I'm scared as I've ever been in my life. And I know the worst is still to come.

"Briarose, don't do that," says Gale. I'm shocked he doesn't call me by my nickname he fashioned for me when we were only twelve.

"Do what?" I ask innocently.

"That! Don't be cheery when there is clearly nothing to be cheery about." Gale starts pacing in front of me. I step in front of him and he wraps me up in his arms. "If you die, I don't know what I'll do. It would never be the same without you. Katniss and I would be incredibly lonely without you..."

"I'm coming back, Gale. No matter what," I say reasurringly, even though I know that I might not make it far in the Games.

"Rosy, you are coming back. Do you hear me?" I nod my head. "You're stronger than they are, you are. You just have to believe it yourself. You can hunt and you can fight." I've never actually been in a fight, but it's pointless to tell Gale that now. "You've had practice. Years and years of practice. You will make it, I promise. I forbid anything else."

"Okay, Gale. I'll be coming back, I promise," I smile. "Gale..." I look at the pin the Birch gave me. "Promise me something?"

"Of course."

"Promise you'll look after Birch? He's a big boy now, but he gets lonely easily. He'll need some company. Genuine company."

"Okay, I promise," says Gale. "Stay strong." The Peacekeepers come in and tell Gale it's time to get out. He hugs me again and leaves. I'm alone again.

Effie comes into the room and takes me by the hand. "Come on, dear," she says. "We've got a lot to do today." And she leads me into another room which leads to the train station where we'll be shipped off to the Captiol. Effie takes me to Peeta's room and tell me to wait there for a minute and "make small-talk with my fellow tribute". I knock on the door, and it opens. I see Peeta laying on the bed in the room, which my room lacked. I step toward him loudly to let him know I'm here. He lifts his head.

"Peeta..." I say softly. I approach the bed and sit down with him. He lays on his back and stares at me.

"I can't believe you did that," Peeta tells me.

"Did what?" I ask. "Volunteer? I don't mind. Prim is too young to be going into the arena."

"We're only sixteen. I think we're a bit young, too." Peeta sits up, his eyes still trained on me. I avoid his gaze, afraid there might be a lot of fear or grief in it.

"Still, it's different," I tell him, not knowing what else to say.

Peeta takes my hand. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

I sigh, hesitant to answer because I know the true answer is not what Peeta wants to hear. "We are," I tell him. "but it'll be okay."

"I hope nothing happens to you," Peeta whispers. "I would protect you with my life. And I will in the arena if I have to. "

"Same to you," I answer.

"You're a great friend," he says. Yes, I think, just a friend...

Effie steps in the doorway and says, "Hurry up, lovelies. It's time to go to the Captiol! Of course, it will take a little while to get there, but it's well worth the wait. Oh...I'm not interupting anything, am I?"

She really is, but we both answer in unicin, "No."

"Well then, come on!" Effie squeels. "Big, big, big day ahead of us!"

Peeta and I follow silently, without speaking at all. As we enter the train station, I can't help being mesmerized. The train alone is beautiful. It has about twenty different cars, and it shines a brilliant silver. The actual station is equally as beautiful, silver and shining in the light. "Come on, come on. In here!" Effie calls.

We step onto the train. The interior is more amazing than the exterior. Everything, the furniture, the carpets, even the walls, are more breath-taking than anything I've ever seen in the Seam. I hear Peeta gasp. "This is where we're staying?" he asks.

"No, no, no! You will, for a short amount of time, but this train? It couldn't begin to compare to where you'll actually be spending your time in the Captiol." Effie says. Then she leads us to our rooms, the dining room, the living room. "Go on, Briarose. Go explore your room. Peeta and I have some things to do. Be ready for supper in an hour." she tells me. I have no idea what she meant by "things". I'm tempted to follow Effie and Peeta, but my feet refuse to move. I turn to my room. It's beautiful, like the rest of the train. There's a bed, and a closet, and even a bathroom. I decide to take a shower. I've never taken a shower before, and I've never bathed with warm water. The only way to get hot water back in the Seam is to boil it. The shower is refreshing and it reminds me of a summer rain, only warmer. And for a moment, I'm taken back to District 12...hunting in the woods with Gale and Katniss.

"Come on, Katniss!" I yell over my shoulder. "Keep your pants on, I'm coming," she yells back. "Catnip, come on! Hurry up!" Gale shouts mischeviously. Katniss hates being called Catnip. But it's her fault she has that nickname. When Gale asked her what her name was, she didn't say it loud enough, and he really thought she said 'catnip'. We're running through the forest, chasing down a small herd of deer. Gale is at my left and Katniss is at my right, just the way it's always been. Soon we come to a clearing, where the herd is beginning to scatter, so we give up the hunt. There's plently more game in the forest. We sit, trying to catch out breaths. When we're rested we stand. Together. Like a true pack.

I'm jerked from my memory by the sound of knocking on my door. I quickly step out of the shower, throw on a small coat -called a bathrobe? I think- and I open my door. I'm surprised at who the visitor is. It's Haymitch Abernathy.

"Bree-are!" he says gleefully. He's drunk.

"It's Briar," I tell him. "Briarose."

"Oh..." he looks at the cup in his hand. It's almost empty. "Briar!"

"Haymitch!" I say, trying to sound as happily insane as he does.

"Oh, my new little tribute!" He grabs me and hugs me tightly. I squirm away because, to be honest, he was cutting off my air. "I'm gonna make sure you come out of there alive, just like I did. I'm your mentor!"

"Oh, yay," I say. Haymitch is insane. Literally insane. But maybe he's only like this when he's drunk. "So...are we going to get started?"

"On what?" asks Haymitch.

"Oh, god..." Without some sort of training, I don't stand much chance. "On the training!"

"Ah! No. Not yet," says Haymitch. "We'll wait for the...uh...for the boy. Where is he?"

"I don't know. I...haven't seen him," I say. "Should I go look for him?"

"Hmm...yes! You go do that and I'll...well..." He shows me his empty cup and walks away.

I go back in my room and get dressed in a light blue shirt and brown pants. I feel like I'm only getting ready to go hunting. The thought of not hunting with Gale and Katniss anymore discomforts me. But maybe I will get to hunt with them again, I think. Maybe...

I put my hair into a messy bun as it almost always is and head out my door. I look left and right and decide to go right. This was the way that Effie had taken Peeta. As I walk down the long hall, I notice there are pictures of all the tributes ever chosen from District 12. There's one that I recognize. Camilla Brygid. She had been chosen for the 71st Annual Hunger Games. She was my friend, well, more like my teacher. She taught me how to build snares. And she taught me incredibly well. I remember the day of the reaping that she was chosen. She was so brave...she ascended the stairs to the platform without any expression on her face. I wonder if I had been so brave looking.

"Isn't that Camilla Brygid?" I hear someone say over my shoulder. I turn around and I see Peeta standing right in front of me.

"Yes," I say. "She was my friend..."

"And now she's gone," says Peeta grimly.

"Yes..." Camilla was a strong girl, but she was no match for her opponent when only he and she were left to fight it out in the arena.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"It's fine. I mean, that was three years ago, right?" I say, trying to sound indifferent.

"I guess," Peeta shrugs.

"Haymitch was looking for you," I tell him, wanting to change the subject. "I think he's down in the dining room."

"Ah, Haymitch," says Peeta gratefully. "How is he? Is he a good mentor? Did he seem to know what he's doing?"

"Um..." Haymitch was actually none of those things. Yet. He probably just needed time to sober up. "He's very...excentric."

"Excentric?" Peeta asks. "Okay...I'm assuming you mean that in a good way."

"He's drunk," I tell him. "But he just needs time to sober up, that's all. I'm sure he'll be a terrific mentor after that." I try to stay optimistic.

Peeta and I venture down to the dining room. Effie and Haymitch are already there. Haymitch is sitting practically on Effie's lap. Effie keeps pushing him off and moving over. "Peeta! Briarose!" she calls to us, relieved to have an excuse to leave her seat next to Haymitch. She comes over and shakes each of our hands. "This is Haymitch Abernathy."

"Yes, we've already met," I tell Effie, eyeing Haymitch. He only grins.

"Oh, really?" she asks, looking over at Haymitch.

"Well, I met him. Peeta hasn't," I correct myself.

"Haymitch!" Effie yells. "This is Peeta Mellark."

"Nice to meet you, boy," says Haymitch. He seems less drunk than when I met him.

"Hello..." says Peeta, unsure of what to make of him.

"Well, come on." Effie starts pushing Peeta and I toward the huge dining table. "Time to eat!"

We sit down and immediately are served. It's a five course meal, soup, salad, lamb chops, fruit, and chocolate cake. Effie keeps telling us not to gorge ourselved because there's still more to come. I don't care. I stuff my face because the least I can do for myself is put on a few pounds. I see Peeta doing to same. Effie keeps shivering. I think it's because our table manners aren't the best. Even Haymitch isn't using his best manners. After I've finished my lamb, I put down my fork and lick up the rest of the sauce with my finger. Effie groans and Haymitch and Peeta laugh, following. At least we can still have fun in the last few weeks of our lives.

After dinner, I return to my room. I take off my shirt and pants and trade them in for a silky nightdress. I've never worn silk, but I had felt it a few times. It's slippery, like fish skin, and is easy to move around in. I take my hair down and shake it out. I don't look like myself. I look like an Avox, one of the servants in the Capitol. I'm about to slip into my bed when I hear a knock on my door. I'm tired of having visitors and am reluctant to open it. Still I go to my door. And I'm actually happy with who I see.

"Peeta," I say smiling.

"Briar...can we talk?" Peeta asks.

"Sure," I say and invite him into my room. He sits on my bed. "What do you need?"

"Just to talk. I can't tell anyone else this besides you. Haymitch is too drunk and Effie, well, you know. She would probably tell me I'm being too rash," says Peeta.

"About what? Is something wrong?" I ask him.

"No," he shrugs. "Well, yes. Briar," He takes my hand. "in the arena...we're meant to fight each other."

"I know," I say, shaking my head.

"I won't fight you," says Peeta. "I won't, even if my life depends on it."

"Peeta..." I begin.

"No. Briarose, I won't fight you. We're best friends and I won't hurt you," he says, squeezing my hand.

"Yes...we're friends..." I say. "Peeta, if we're the last two left in the arena...what then?"

"You kill me," he says simply. "You kill me and go home."

"I can't-" I'm shocked that Peeta is even thinking this.

"Briar, you have to," Peeta tells me. "You have to be the one to go home. Go home...to Gale."

"Gale?" I ask. "What do you mean?"

"I think everyone knows that you two are particularly fond of each other," Peeta says. I think I catch a bit of pain in his voice.

Is he joking? He has to be joking! I think. "We're just friends," I tell him. I can't believe I have to explain this to him! "That's it. Just friends." Right then, I want to tell Peeta how I actually feel about him. He thinks I'm in love with Gale! I want to tell him...I have to. But the time isn't right. Maybe it is, but I let it go. Idiot.

"Okay, but still. You have to be the one to go home," Peeta says.

"And what if I get killed by someone else?" I demand, because I'm still a little upset he thinks I'm in love with Gale. "What then, Peeta? If we're not the last two, what then?"

"Briar, I'll protect you with my life," Peeta says solemnly. He brushes my cheek with his hand. "I promise."

"Peeta, please don't," I say pushing his hand away. "I don't want you to die for me."

"I want to. Dying for you...it's the only way I want to go." For a second, I feel like Peeta really cares about me, maybe as more than a friend.

"You won't be doing me any favors," I remind him. "I can't think of what life would be like without you. You're...special to me."

"You're special to me, too. That's why I'm okay with taking an arrow to the heart for you."

There's another knock on my door and Effie steps in, grinning. "We'll be at the Capitol by morning! Isn't that wonderful?" she says. "Oh, Briar, you'd better get to sleep. We've got a big, big, big day ahead of us tomorrow! Peeta, you too." And she walks away.

"She's right," I say.

"Yeah, I guess I'll be going, then," says Peeta. He gets up and starts for the door. "Briar, I meant what I said. About dying for you."

"And you think I didn't mean what I said?" I ask. Peeta shakes his head. "Well, I was telling the truth."

"I guess we'll be each others bodyguards then," says Peeta. Then he walks out the door and closes it behind him.

When I wake up the next morning, I feel like I haven't slept at all. My eyes are heavy and my movements are rigid. Once again, someone knocks on my door. I groan and open it. It's Effie. She looks as ridiculous as ever, with pink hair, a pink dress, pink heels, and pink lipstick. "Good morning, Briarose!" she says. "Come on down to the dining room. We'll eat and then you're training with Haymitch will begin."

I get in the shower, being taken back to the forest like last time in the warm water. I get out and go to my closet. I pick out a green shirt and light brown pants this time and put my hair in its usual bun. I start for the dining room, almost running into Peeta.

"Morning, Briar," he smiles.

"Morning," I reply.

"Did Effie tell you about today?" he asks.

"She only told me our training starts today."

"Well, that and we're arriving at the Capitol this morning. We're going to meet our stylists."

"Stylists?" I say, confused at first, then I remember. Before the actual Games start, all 24 tributes make a special entrance into the Capitol. It's like a parade, almost. That, and our stylists will be responsible for designing all our outfits for the events we'll be attending, the interview with Caesar Flickerman, the journey through the Capitol. "Oh, right."

"I hope they don't make us look too ridiculous," says Peeta. It's true. A few years ago, the designers for District 12 had their tributes standing in a chariot, fully naked and only painted gray, to represent the coal we mined. I nod and head to the dining room with Peeta at my side.

When we get there, we see Haymitch, going after Effie as usual. Surprisingly, he isn't drunk. That's a first. He takes one look at Peeta and I and immediately straightens up. "Morning, sunshines," he calls.

"Morning..." I say, taking the long way around Haymitch to the dining table. As soon as we sit down, just like last night, the food is served. Eggs and ham. Delcious. After I've finished eating, I turn to Haymitch expectantly. Effie isn't there. I'm not surprised. "What are you looking at?" Haymitch says. He's started drinking again...

"Aren't we training today?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah," he says putting his drink down. Please stay sober long enough to help us, I pray. "Okay. So, what are your strengths?"

"What?" Peeta says.

"Your strengths!" says Haymitch impatiently. "What are you good at? Briar," He takes a sip of his drink. "I hear you're good with a bow."

I shrug. "I'm okay."

"She's better than okay," Peeta interupts. "She can nail a squirell 50 yards away right in the eye."

"Hmm..." Haymitch grunts thoughtfully. But he's not thinking about us. He's looking at his cup, empty once more.

"Peeta's strong," I tell him. "He can throw a 100 pound bag of flour like it's a pebble."

"There aren't going to be any bags of flour in the arena, are there?" says Peeta.

"Okay." I realize then that Haymitch has stopped paying attention to us and is more preoccupied with his drinks. He stands up and moves to a small table filled with all sorts of beer and wine. When he comes back, he starts chugging his drink.

"Hey!" I yell. Haymitch doesn't respond.

Peeta reaches his foot across to Haymitch and kicks him drink from his hand, spilling it all over him. Haymitch jumps to his feet and punches Peeta in the cheek then sits back down like nothing happen. This enrages me. I pick up the knife laying on the table, hold it by the blade, and throw it at Haymitch. I'm pretty handy with a knife. It sails through the air and, before it hits the wall behind him, catches his hair, slicing about 3 inches off the bottom. I smile at my success. Haymitch's hand goes to his hair, now extremely lopsided. "Can you hit a solid target, sweetheart, or did you miss pitifully on purpose?" he says.

"Do you want me to hit a solid target?" I growl, grabbing the other knife on the table and advancing toward him. Haymitch immediately shuts up.

"Hm, well, good job, hun," he says. "Now, Peeta. What are your strengths again?"

"He's strong," I answer for him, because I know Peeta is too humble to admit his own strengths. "Really strong."

"I'm not-" begins Peeta, only to be interupted by me.

"Yes you are," I tell him. I turn to Haymitch again. "Why do you think he has such a good build?"

"You do have muscles, kid," Haymitch tells Peeta. "That'll be an advantage on your part."

"Thanks," says Peeta. "Any other advice for us?"

"Stay alive, don't get killed," says Haymitch. He laughs, then he stands and leaves. I can feel my jaw drop. Is that it? I think.

"Well, that was helpful," I say sarcastically, sitting back down next to Peeta. "Lot's of useful information there."

Peeta laughs. "Yeah," Then he looks at my knife in the wall across the room. "I didn't know you were so skilled with knives."

I turn away because, to tell you the truth, I'm starting to blush. Being complimented by Peeta, it brings out a warm feeling in me. " Sometimes, when I'm hunting and I've wounded an animal, it's a good idea to get a knife in it too before approaching it. Wounded and scared animals are sometimes more dangerous than the others."

"You really scared Haymitch," says Peeta. "He might not have shown it, but you scared him."

"I hope so. Maybe then we can get some useful information from him." I notice Peeta's cheek is turning black and blue. "Is your cheek okay?"

"Does it look okay?" he asks.

"No, it's black and blue," I tell him. I gingerly lay my finger on it. It's throbbing. "It looks painful."

"Not really," says Peeta.

"Liar," I say playfully. "You should get ice on it or something." I slide my hand from his cheek to his chest. I feel his heart beating under his shirt. Beating for someone else, I think. Even though Peeta's never admitted it, he's in love with someone. Just not me... Peeta takes my hand and kisses it. No more than friendly affections. We've always shared it. And again, I wish I could tell him how I feel.

"We're here!" I hear Effie's voice calling to us. "The Captiol! There it is!"

Peeta and I look through the window of the dining room and we see the Capitol rising up around us. My stomach begins to hurt as I remember why we're actually here. To compete for our lives. I let out a small wimper of sort, and Peeta puts him arm comfortingly around me. I love feeling his arm around me. There's a familiarity to it, the muscles, the softness of his skin. "We're going to be okay, I promise," he says.

We arrive at the Capitol Building with a huge crowd of spectators waiting for us. Seeing them makes me feel uncomfortable, so I back away from the window. Peeta, however, soaks in the crowd's excitement of our arrival. He waves to them and smiles. I feel a twinge of annoyance with Peeta. How can he be so inviting to the crowd's cameras? How can he be so calm about this whole thing? That crowd disgusts me. They're only here to watch us die. Maybe that's his stradegy though. To be overly friendly to the people, and therefore, rake in a lot of sponsers. You need sponsers to survive in the Games. They can send you food, medicine, anything that you need at the time. They are, in a way, your lifeline. It isn't a bad stradegy, when you think about it. It's quite clever, actually.

"Ow!" I grit my teeth as I feel each individual hair being torn from my leg. "Sorry," says Venia, a woman who was assigned to destroy my legs. "Sorry," she says again as she rips more hair from my legs. She has a thick Capitol accent. Why do their voices have to be so high? I wonder. And why do all their sentnces end like a question? "Last one," Venia tells me. "Ready?" She doesn't give me time to respond. She just does it.

For three hours I've been sitting in this Remake Center, and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he needs time to put final touches on my outfit I'll be wearing during the "parade" through the Capitol. I remember the last few tributes from District 12, and I don't really love the thought of being dressed in ridiculous looking oufits and processing all through the Capitol.

I'm then taken to another section of the Remake Center where I'm scrubbed down with an odd looking brush. They tell me it's meant to remove all dead skin cells from my body, making me "glow". After that, they continue ridding my body of hair. I hate the feeling that my skin has afterwards. It feels tingly, and it hurts in some places. "It'll all be worth it, hun," one woman tells me. "You'll be absolutely radiant after we're finished with you." I only nod.

The three people working on me suddenly put their things down and walk out of the room, and I wonder if they've given up completely on me. But then a man comes through the door. He's in his late thirties, perhaps, and doesn't wear what most of the Capitol people wear. He's in a black suit with a black tie, and the only thing that ties him to the other stylists is subtle gold eyeliner on his top lid. "Hello, Briarose. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says.

"Hello," I say as happily as I can. Because honestly, I'm not exctatic about seeing him. The thought of being put through more torture to make myself look "radiant" doesn't seem worth it anymore.

"Hmm..." Cinna says thoughtfully. "Turn around for me."

I reluctantly turn and I have to resist the urge to make a lunge for the robe sitting across from me to cover my naked body.

"This is going to be perfect," says Cinna at last. "Yes, I can see it now. The outfit I designed for you, it will be perfect."

"How long have you had this planned out?" I ask.

"Only a few days," Cinna tells me. "I had a look at some of the past outfits for District 12 and, well, frankly...they disturbed me. I wanted to go with something more fitting."

"Okay? So what did you do?"

"You see, each district is meant to where something that explains what they do for a living. Which, in your case, is coal mining. Instead of focusing on the whole concept of mining, I decided to focus on the coal itself. Not the color, but the makeup. Coal. It's gray on the outside, but heat it up, and it can become a brilliant gem. Heat. Fire. That's what I've come up with."

"Fire? Like, real fire?" I ask.

"Yes! Real fire," says Cinna gleefully. "We'll have some on your backs. It will look as though you're leaving a trail of fire on the walkway when you ride down it."

"Are you sure that's safe?" I'm not too thrilled at the thought of being turned into a burnt lump of flesh in the middle of the streets.

"Of course. It's not going to be real fire. It's only a synthetic that me and Portia invented." I give Cinna a confused look. "Portia is Peeta's stylist. She's a real whiz with fire."

Cinna takes me to yet another dressing room. This one actually contains the costume I'll be wearing. "Isn't it beautiful?" Cinna asks. I nod. He takes it down from an array of hangers and hands it to me. I immediately step into it, relieved not to be naked and exposed to the world anymore. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from my neck to my ankles. Although the only color on it is black, it shines as the light hits it at different angles. Leather boots lace up to my knees. And a cape, long and flowing, is pinned to my back. The material is unlike any I've ever felt before. It feels like a cross between silk and velvet, probably ideal for to sustain the synthetic flames. "Briarose Antigone...the girl who was on fire." Cinna says proudly.

We whisk down to a lower level where Peeta and his stylist are waiting for us. He is dressed in essentially the same outfit as me, except his hair is slicked back with what must be a ton of styling gel. My hair was simply pinned behind my ears and left to flow down my back, adding to the flame affect. I then realize, if my hair is flowing behind me, it will be intertwining with the flames. There couldn't be a chance it would catch on fire...could there? The thought makes me shiver.

"You okay?" Peeta asks.

"Just nervous," I say. We step into an elevator that takes us down to the streets where our chariot awaits us. "What do you think? About the flames?" I ask Peeta as we approach our chariot. It's drawn by four horses, the color of the darkest coal.

"I'll rip off your cape, and you rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth, and I can tell, he's no more excited about it than I am.

"Deal," I say. "Where is Haymitch? Isn't he supposed to be here? And isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"He's probably drunk somewhere, lying in the streets," Peeta says easily. "Don't worry. He'll get here."

The tributes from District 1 mount their chariot. Their horses are beautifully white and there's silver spraypaint on their legs. The anthem begins playing, and the doors to the street open. The roar of the crowd almost unsteadies me, but Peeta catches me. I give him a grateful glance. District 2 lines up behind District 1, followed by District 3, and so on. Before we know it, District 11 are the only ones seperating Peeta and I from the huge crowd. "Here we go," says Cinna and I barely have time to react before he sets our capes ablaze with the artificial flames. Our chariot begins to pull away just as Haymitch steps up next to us. "Hold hands," he hisses. "Do it!" Peeta, hearing him before I do, grabs my hand and our chariot is pulled into the streets.

Peeta is much more comfortable with the overwhelming mass of people than I am. I find myself moving closer to him, as if he's a sort of refuge for me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and I find the courage to step away from him and even wave a bit. The whole thing is breathtaking, the streets, the people, the blare of the anthem. All of it. And through the herd of faces, I see the other tributes. They're standing away from each other, not close like Peeta and I, like the Games have already begun.

I notice people staring at us. Clearly, no other tributes have ever done anything like this, setting our capes on fire. Their cheers are mixed with loud oohs and aahs. After what seems like forever, the twelve chariots pull into the City Circle in an organized loop. I see the other tributes staring too, but their faces are hateful. Because we stole their night with our outfits. President Snow mounts a large podium and welcomes us all. He then goes through another lecture about the revolution of the districts, the abolishment of District 13, and why we now have the Hunger Games. As a reminder of the Capitol's ever-reigning power over the Districts. Nothing I haven't heard a million times already. Then he bids us goodnight, and leaves the great podium. Our chariots are pulled from the City Circle, and I see Cinna and Portia and Haymitch all smiling at us as we approach. "Great job," they all say.

"Thanks for keeping a firm grip on my hand," says Peeta. "I was getting a bit shaky."

I hadn't even noticed I was gripping his hand that tightly. I don't bother saying this to him, of course. "You're welcome," I reply. "You didn't seem too shaky. I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure no one noticed anything but you," says Peeta. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." And then he gives me a smile so genuinely pleasant that I think it can't be real. But it is. At least, I think it is. Then I think, Maybe it's only another stradegy...to be so incredibly nice, that I won't suspect a thing and I'll be easy prey. But I won't give in to his games. No matter how much I feel for him. I promised I wouldn't kill him, I didn't promise I wouldn't play his games right back at him. So I lean up and kiss him, right on his bruise.

The Training Center. It's a huge building with a tower designed for each district. This is where we're staying until the actual Games begin. And when Effie told us that the train couldn't begin to compare to where we'll actually be staying, she couldn't be more correct. The elevator is made of clear crsytal which allows you to see everyone below you. You just step in and press the number of your distrct and you're whisked away to that floor. Once on the twelfth floor, I'm tempted to ask Effie if we can ride it again, but that seems childish.

My quarters are larger than our entire house back home. Birch and I don't live in the poorest part of the Seam ,like Katniss does, and the houses aren't as small and shabby as you would think, so if you think about it, that's saying something. There's a panel directly across from my bed with so may buttons that I'm not sure I'll be able to push all of them. The shower, for instance, had over a hundred little buttons that spray all sorts of different smelling soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and messaging sponges. And to dry off all you need to do is step onto a mat and it blowdries you with a billion mechanisms that look like hairdryers. There's also a button to press to comb out your hair when your done your shower. Press it, and a current goes through your hair, untangling, parting, and drying your hair almost instantly.

The closet is holding an array of different clothes like the one on the train, but this one must have at least two hundred different pairs of pant, shirts, dresses, skirts, and shoes. I pick out an outfit to my liking. The windows zoom in and out of parts of the city at my command. I whisper into a mouthpiece what food I want, and it appears right before me, hot and steamy. There's a knock on my door, Effie calling me down to dinner.

Portia and Cinna are standing on the balcony overlooking the city. Peeta is sitting on the coach in the living room, which is right next to the dining room. I'm pleased to hear the stylists will be joining us, since Haymitch is here. As we eat, they seem to be able to keep Effie and him calm. At least, they're addressing each other decently. The last course of our dinner just happens to be a flaming cake. "What makes it burn?" I asked. "Is it alcohol?" Frankly, I didn't want to end up looking like Haymitch after I had a piece of that cake.

Cinna laughs. "It is alcohol, but any remnants that might have made you, well, drunk have probably been seered away by the flames by now."

After we finish the cake, we move into the sitting room to watch a replay of the opening ceremonies. A few of the other district's tributes make an impression, particularly District 1. Because everytime their horses took a step, their legs and hooves glistened like they were covered in crystals. Still, none of them could compare to Peeta and I, the flames, the handholding. What I saw earlier in the streets was correct. None of the other district's tributes would even look at each other, let alone hold hands, like they were already planning how to kill the other. Everyone in the sitting room lets out an exhasperated gasp as Peeta and I ride through the Capitol, our flames leaving a blaze behind us.

"Who's idea was the handholding?" Haymitch asks. He's drunk. Again. But this time, I don't really pay attention to it.

"Yours," I tell him simply, without any edge to my voice like there would usually be if Haymitch asked an idiodic question like that anytime else.

"Oh...very nice," Haymitch congradulates himself. I roll my eyes. "Okay," he says, standing and facing Peeta and I. "Tomorrow. Breakfast. Then I'll tell you how I want you to play it in the arena." Then he trudges off to his quarters. Effie, Portia, and Cinna quickly follow him, leaving only me and Peeta sitting on the couch.

"Do you think he'll remember?" I ask Peeta. "About telling us how we should play it?"

"I don't know," Peeta sighs. "We'll see tomorrow." He gets up and leaves. I hadn't thought of it before, but that was actually an ideal time for me to at least hint to Peeta how I feel. But I'm not the smartest when it comes to those sort of things.

I wonder into my quarters and undress. I put on a comfortable flowy white nightdress. I can't tell what the material is, but it's warm and feels nice against my skin. I climb into bed, exhausted. But no sleep comes. My mind refuses to settle down. Maybe it's the anxiety of the Games? Maybe it's the thought of Birch, lying in bed, crying for me? Maybe it's the worry that Haymitch won't be there to train us tomorrow? And maybe, I think, it's the simple regret of not having the stomach to tell Peeta what I think of him. He's good-looking, strong, shy, but more comfortable around people than I am, polite, funny, and he's absolutely hopeless. I spend hours making a list of what I like about Peeta, what I like about Haymitch, Effie, Portia, Cinna. Cinna was only my stylist, but he had the District 12 air to him, which made me feel like I could really trust him.

Finaly, I can stand it no longer. I push the covers of my bed aside and swing my feet over the side. I open my door cautiously, not wanting to disturb the others. I stare down the empty corridor, debating whether or not to step forward. If there's an Avox there on guard, well, it'll be akward. What would I say? Hello, I couldn't sleep. I was too busy thinking about what I like about the boy I love. Don't mind me.

"Couldn't sleep?" I jump and quickly turn around. Then I relax. What a coincidence, it's Peeta.

"Obviously," I say. "What about you?"

"Too worried about the Games, I guess," Peeta shrugs.

"Me too..." I admit. "I don't know how I'm going to survive."

"I'll tell you," says Peeta, stepping toward me. "You climb a tree. You climb a tree and stay there, eat a raw squirell or two, and you pick off people with your arrows as the walk by."

"There's no guarentee there will be a bow and arrow, though," I say. Haymitch never said anything about a possibility that there might not be a bow and arrow, but I didn't know what to say, so I say that.

"There will be," says Peeta reassuringly. "Odds are, you won't be the only one who can shoot. But I doubt any of them have an aim like you do."

"What about you?" I demand, tired of being complimented on how strong I am, or how much of an aim I have. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, considering there won't be any bags of flour..." he says.

"There'll be rocks. Heavy rocks, with the same weight as the flour. You can use them easily," I tell him. "And you can wrestle, can't you?" Peeta came in second in the championship of our school's wrestling team.

"Come on, Briar. How often do you see people wrestling each other to death?" he asks.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat. Just get your hands on a knife and you'll be fine," I explain. I feel like I'm his mentor, instead of Haymitch.

Clearly wanting to change the subject, he asks, "Have you ever seen the roof?" I shake my head. And I realize, that may be the only place not under any type of surveilance. "Can we just go up?" I ask.

"Sure, come on," says Peeta. He leads to to the end of the corridor, to a small door. It's not glamorous like the others. It must be a room where they keep the cleaning supllies. Peeta pulls it open, and I see a trapdoor above my head. He yanks it open and I feel a cool breeze drifting through the opening. We climb up the ladder that hangs from the trapdoor into a dome shaped room. The dome is made of clear crystal, like the elevator. We step through another opening in the dome, and I'm taken back by how much the air smells like home, sort of musty and with the lingering scent of flowers and berries.

Peeta and I walk along the edge of the roof, looking down at all the people below us. It's clear that they're having a party, celebrating our arrival. I feel honored at first, but then I realize, having a party because of our arrival is only because we're part of the Games, and they're going to enjoy watching us die. I step away from the railing, sickened by their happy faces and laughter, all because of our almost guarenteed death.

"I asked Cinna why they let people up here. Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might just jump right off the edge," says Peeta.

"What'd he say?" I ask.

"You can't," he says. He holds out his hand and I see an electrical current sweep aross the entire side of the roof and zap his hand back. "There's some sort of electrical force field that pushes you back."

"Always worried about our safety, huh?" I shake my head. Jumping over the edge would be an easy escape for any tributes driven mad with the thought of being calously murdered. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe," he admits. Then he extends his hand. "Come see the garden."

I take his hand and he leads me to a beautiful area, a garden. A very large one. There are even a few trees intermixed with the arrangement of flowers. Again I feel like I'm back in the forest with Gale and Katniss. I breath in the scents that remind me of home. Especially the flowers, because in the forest, there's a clearing, just a mile from the district's fence which is meant to keep us all in. That clearing is filled with beautiful flowers like these. I close my eyes, and sigh as my memories take me to another day in the forest...

"Gale! Where are you? I give up!" I'm shouting at the top of my lungs. Gale and I are playing hide and seek, for old times' sake. When we were kids, we loved that game because there were so many different places to hide. "There's no giving up!" I hear Gale answer back. I listen for where the sound came from, but can't locate it. His voice seems to be echoing around the whole forest, bouncing off the trees and through the leaves. "Come on, keep looking!" he urges me. I sigh and start running through the woods again, keeping my eyes open for any sign that Gale has been this way. At last I find it, a piece of black hair snagged on a low hanging branch. I slow down to a light jog, confident that I can keep going for a long amount of time. I turn my head from side to side, stopping occasionally to search behind rocks and up in trees for Gale. I start running again and suddenly he jumps out in front of me, and I barrel into him. We go tumbling down a small hill, and we finally land in a small patch of flowers. "I got tired of waiting," Gale tells me. "If you would've been patient for one more minute, I would've found you," I say. "Doubt it," Gale says playfully. "Wanna bet?" I growl with the same amount of playfullness. "Sure thing," says Gale, holding out his hand. We shake. I'm not sure what we've bet exactly, but it doesn't matter. Gale never keeps up with the bets we make, so even he wins, he doesn't hold it against me...

"Do you like it?" Peeta's voice brings me back to the present.

"It's beautiful," I tell him. "It reminds me of home."

"Me too," says Peeta.

Suddenly, I start telling Peeta about all the times I've smelt all the different flowers that are in the forest. I tell him about going out once with Katniss, and finding a small pond with a billion water lilies. I tell him about the time I've spent with Gale in the forest when Katniss was home sick or at school. Gale and I have a reputation for skipping school together. It's almost like a tradition we have. Birch always tells me not to, and when I do, he scolds me, but I know he honestly doesn't care because he says that school doesn't get you anywhere in life unless you're going to be a Capitol official, which I would never dream of. I tell Peeta all of it, my adventures with Gale, my summer days with Katniss, my quiet Sundays with Birch.

"You spend a lot of time with Gale?" Peeta asks nonchalantly.

"Well, yeah," I say. "I love him. He's like another brother I have." Immediately I regret saying 'I love him' because I've pretty much just stated what Peeta suspected. Adding 'He's like another brother I have' must have pulled it back though, right? Wrong. Peeta lingers on the fact that me and Gale spend enormous amounts of time together.

"That's nice," is all he says.

"And then there are the days I spend with you," I say, easing off of the thought of Gale. "All those weekends, and the few days that I'm actually in school." I sigh. I never thought I'd miss school, but right now, I'd rather be there than here in the Capitol. "But we've never gone in the forest together..."

"I'm not much for the woods," Peeta says.

"Well, it's odd that I never mentioned taking you with me the next time I went hunting," I say thoughtfully.

"I know why you didnt," says Peeta. I look at him, confused. "It's yours and Gale's place, that's why."

"You know, Katniss and I have spent time in there together too," I remind him. "Not just me and Gale."

"That's true," says Peeta. "But I bet it was the times with Gale you enjoyed most." I don't understand why he's lingering on the whole "me and Gale" situation when I'm clearly trying to redirect the conversation to him and I.

"Yeah? And who says it isn't the time I spend with you that I enjoy most?" I retort. "Who ever told you that?"

There's a short pause. "You really enjoy the time you spend with me?" Peeta asks quietly.

"More than you can know," I mutter. Peeta doesn't catch it, thankfully. "Yes, I do. They're different from the times I spend with Katniss and Gale. They're...special." I've been using that word a lot.

"Special?" Peeta says. "Like...what kind of special?" I want to tell him to stop lingering on all the subjects I don't like to talk about with him.

"Like...the kind that makes you feel good on the inside, when your chest is all warm and fluttery." I tell him, cupping my elbows in hands and hugging myself. I really don't mean to explain it to him like that, but it comes out anyway. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," says Peeta quietly. "I've been getting that feeling a lot lately." What he means by this, I can't say. Does he mean that he's been getting it a lot because he's been spending time with me? I can only hope. I'm not stupid. I know Peeta and I share a sort of romance. We've had it ever since we were kids, so in a way, it could easily be classified as no more than childhood affections. And how far will those get anyone, really? "Well...I think we should get to bed," Peeta says. "Goodnight, Briarose." And then he does something I never expected. He kisses me on the cheek. It's not a little "thanks-for-being-here" kiss, it's a real, genuine kiss.

"Goodnight, Peeta..." I beathily respond. After Peeta goes back down the trapdoor, I remain on the roof for another moment or two. I think about Peeta, him being so concerned with the time I spent will Gale, accusing me of enjoying the days I spent with Gale more than the days I spent with him, saying that he gets the fluttery feeling I described a lot nowadays, the kiss. It's all happening so fast. Maybe too fast? Maybe not. And yet, I welcome it with open arms.

The next morning I wake up to, surprisingly, the sound of nothing. No one seems to be awake or stirring yet and I wonder what time it is. The sun is shining through my window, so it can't be that early. I take a quick shower, choosing a lilac scented soap to wash my hair. I step out and onto the mat that dries you off. Then I dress in a mint green dress that hangs at my knees and open my door, heading for the dining room. Not two seconds after I open my door, I'm shoved by Peeta. Not intentionally, of course.

"Sorry, Briar," he says apologetically.

"It's fine," I say brushing myself off. "I've been running into you a lot lately."

"Our rooms are right next to each others, so..." says Peeta.

"I mean, I've been seeing you more than I've seen Haymitch or Effie," I say.

"Is that a problem?" asks Peeta.

"No," I tell him. "Not at all." He smiles and we walk to the dining room. There's no sign of Haymitch, but the loud slam of a door behind us tells me that he's coming.

"Morning, my lovelies," he says. I look at him, expecting to see a drunken mess, as he always is when he calls us "lovelies", or "sunshines". But he seems shockingly sober. Good.

"Morning, Haymitch," I say. We sit down together and eat. Lamb and stew. Not a meal exactly for breakfast, but I don't complain. As soon as Haymitch finishes his plate, he sighs and pushes it away from him. "Okay," he says. "Let's get down to business. First, I can coach you alone or I can coach you seperately. Pick one."

"Why would you coach us seperately?" I ask.

"Say you had a secret talent that you didn't want the other to know about," says Haymitch. He picks up a glass and takes a sip, but it's not filled with any sort of fancy vodka or wine. It's just orange juice.

"I guess you can coach us together," says Peeta. "I don't really have any secret talents. And I already know yours. I've eaten plenty of your squirells."

"It would be easier," I tell Haymitch.

"Okay," he says. "Now tell me what I have to work with. I know you're pretty handy with a knife, princess." He looks at me and I grin, rubbing it in that I cut his hair and made it look lopsided. We already went through what our strengths were, but Haymitch was probably too drunk to remember that now.

"Like I said, Briar can shoot," says Peeta. "She's excellent."

"And Peeta is strong," I say to Haymitch, who's paying attention this time. "Really strong."

"I'm not that strong," he says, but the muscles bulking out under his shirt make it obvious he's just being modest.

"Yes, you are, Peeta," I say impatiently.

"Oh, you definitely are, hot stuff," Haymitch says to Peeta. I laugh, because Haymitch seems to have an infinite amount of nicknames for us. "Okay, children," he says, clapping his hands together. "Briar, here's what I want you to do." I nod. "There's no true guarentee that there will be a bow and arrows in the arena. But during your private session with the Gamemakers, give it your all. Show them what you can do, sweetheart. Until then, stear clear of the archery. Got it? Good. Are you good with snares?"

I have to think on that. Gale showed me a few two summers ago, and I've been building and resetting them ever since, but is that going to be enough in the arena? "I know some basic ones," I finally say.

"Ah, that may be significant to your survival, though," Haymitch reminds me. "And Peeta. I don't ever want to hear that again, got it? You need to stop undergrading yourself, and just accept what advantages you have. They'll have weights in the private sessions, but don't you dare show the other tributes what you can do before you need to. Learn some new things instead. Throw a spear, swing a mace, try your hand at the camoflauge center. Understand?" We nod. "Good," Haymitch says, satisfied. "Oh, one more thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute." I start to say something, but Haymitch glares at me. "Every minute!" he says, shoving a roll into his mouth. "Now both of you, try to act amiable of each other! Meet Effie at ten for training." He gets up, takes one last sip of orange juice, and leaves.

"It won't be an effort to act amiable to Peeta," I call after him. He waves me off and disappears into his room. I sigh. "Why does he assume everything that's going to come out of my mouth is an objection?"

Peeta shakes his head. "I don't know," he says.

"He seems to prefer you over me," I say looking at my hands.

"Are you joking?" When I shake my head, Peeta insists, "He likes you way more that he likes me. He punched me in the cheek, after all." He shows me his cheek with faint traces of a bruise still left.

"That's only because he was drunk," I tell him.

"No," says Peeta. "He likes you more. It might look like he hates you, but that's only because you're so alike."

I retreat to my room and clean my teeth and smooth my hair down, then put it in a surprisingly neat ponytail. I feel anxtiety rising up in my chest at the thought of meeting with the other tributes. I go to the elevator where Peeta and Effie are waiting for me. The training rooms are underground, below all the other levels. It's a huge gymnasium filled with different weapons and training courses. It's not ten yet, but we're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a menacing circle, sizing each other up, picking their next opponent. I notice that Peeta and I are the only ones dressed alike.

A tall woman, the head trainer probably, steps into the middle of our circle and explains the training schedule. The trainers are to remain in one section of the training room. We go to each trainer, per our mentor's instructions. We are forbidden to engage in any combative actions with another tribute. If we want a partner to train with, there are assistants at hand.

When she begins to read a long list of the different training sections, my eyes flit to every other tribute around me. Some are two if not three times my size. I seem to be the smallest one there, until I see a young girl smaller than me. She must be only twelve, maybe thirteen, with dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. I think she's from District 11. She sees me and I quickly look away. I can't help pitying her. Being forced to participate in the Games, at the age of twelve, it must be hard.

I catch the eyes of many other tributes trained on me and Peeta. They're jealous of us, because our entrance stole attention from them. Already I can tell, I'm in trouble and the odds are definitely not in my favor. When the head tribute finally releases us, the others scatter and head for the deadliest looking weapons, handling them with ease.

Peeta nudges my arm. "Are we supposed to stay together here too?" he asks.

I shrug. "If you want to," I say. "If you can keep up, you're welcome to join me," I whisper into his ear.

I look around, trying to pick out what would be beneficial for me, without making me look like too much of an easy target. And I spot it. All along the ceiling, there are nets hanging from the top. I see small handlebars leading up to the very top. I decide to start there. As I walk toward the bars, I see every eye on me, wondering what the girl who was on fire is going to do next. Intimidated, I hurredly look away and quietly make my way to the nets.

I find I can mount the handlebars with ease, even though they swing at the slightest movement. They are like swings. There's manyof them hanging down from the nets, and I guess it's an option to swing from one to another, like a monkey. I climb onto the net, which is extremely unstable. I get to my feet, finding my balance first, and then I take off. Running, jumping, and dodging around the many moving obstacles that threaten to unbalance me and send me flying off the net. I skip around them easily, until the entire net is set completely on fire.

This is a problem I don't know how to avoid. Then I look up. There are multiple rungs hanging down from the ceiling, allowing me to jump up to them and swing away from the fire. Constantly swinging and jumping from branch to branch in the forest looking for voles, I swing from each rung with no trouble at all. The other tributes were watching me with envious eyes. I feel their gaze burning into me. After finishing the course, I jump down from the nets and turn to the other tributes. I decide to rub it in their faces, though I know this isn't the smartest thing to do. I smile a smile that provokes them because it's so adorably threatening. They're not sure whether to be intimidated by it, or to be happy because I don't seem like a direct threat. I hoped they would leave me alone due to the small threat I seem to pose because of my size. But after performing the course with such finality, I'm not sure I seem like that anymore.

I walk away from the course toward Peeta. He's in another section, painting his arm. The craftmanship of the art is staggering. The colors on one side are darker than the other, hinting the sun is hiting on the opposite side. His arm is almost identical to a tree's bark. He puts it against a tree and it disappears completely. "I used to do the cakes," he admits, noticing me watching him.

"What cakes?" I ask stupidly.

"At home. I do the icing for the cakes," he tells me.

He means the cakes that are displayed in the window of the bakery. They're really beautiful. They have specially designed ones for New Year's, Harvest Day, Christmas. And I suddenly realize, Peeta is the one who designed them all. "You're really talented," I tell him.

"And you think you're not?" he asks. "You conquered that course, and you made it look so easy."

I shrug. "I've been doing stuff like that my whole life," I say. That, of course, only impresses him more.

Over the next few days, Peeta and I stick together most of the time. Not because Haymitch told us to, but because we just want to. We do pick up some valuable skills, though, like how to start a fire quicker, and making shelter. I don't think I'll have much use in learning how to build a shelter. Mostly, I think I'll stay in the trees like Peeta suggested. Despite Haymitch's orders to appear mediocre, Peeta excels through hand-to-hand combat and I sweep through the knife throwing without even thinking about it. I don't tell anyone this, especially Peeta, but the only reason I'm so good at knife throwing is because Gale taught me when we were twelve. Still, I think we've done well at hiding out skills, because Peeta hasn't even looked at the weights, and I haven't touched even one arrow.

One day I notice the Gamemakers watching us. Turns our they've been watching the whole time and I wonder if they saw when I made it through the nets. Sometimes they take time to call us over and ask one or two questions. They talk with out mentors during meals too. We see them all gathered together when we come back from training. During breakfast and dinner we eat on our own floors. But lunch is served to us in the gymnasium. The Career Tributes all sit together, looking like a ferocious pack of wolves in a way. No one else sits near each other. Except me and Peeta. We try to make small talk like Haymitch ordered, but somehow, the conversation is always redirected to what we'll do if we're the last two left in the arena. I don't like talking about this. It makes me uncomfortable to think that Peeta keeps offering himself up so I can go home. But honestly, it wouldn't matter if I did kill him and went home. It would'nt really be home with out him.

The next day, I notice Peeta hanging from a wobbly rope ladder with one of the trainers, acting as the enemy, waiting for him to fall. He's already losing his grip, when one of the Careers decides to throw a spear at him, missing by an inch. I'm certain that if they intented to kill him, he'd be dead. But it doesn't matter. Peeta loses his grip and falls onto the mat under the ladder with a small grunt. He sits up and glances at the group of Careers laughing at him. I drop my sword that I've been scewering dummies with and go over to him. "Use the weights," I tell him in a hushed voice to the Careers won't hear.

"But Haymitch said-" he starts to protest.

"I don't care what Haymitch said," I interupt. "Right now, those guys are looking at you like you're a meal." I glare at the Careers. "Throw one of the weights. Now."

Peeta hesitates, but then gets to his feet. He picks up one of the weights labelled "100" for how much it weighs. He winds up and throw it straight at one of the dummies, taking its head clean off its body. He turns to me. I nod, smiling. Then I see the Careers. They're standing back now, a good distance away from Peeta, as if they're afraid they'll have the same fate as the dummy if they get too close to him. Good, I think. They should be afraid of him. Maybe I should be too, but I can't bring myself to fear him at all.

Peeta and I stand next to each other, trying our hand at spear throwing, which I'm not bad at if I don't have to throw too far. I probably owe this talent to Gale too, even though we used knives, not spears. How different are they, really? Then Peeta leans over to me and whispers, "I think you have a shadow." I look behind me and I see the little girl from District 11 staring at me from behind a practice dummy. She watches me and Peeta on her tiptoes, with her arms extended forward slightly, and I can't help but think of a bird about to take flight.

I pick up another spear and throw it, nailing our practice dummy right between the eyes. "I think her name is Rue," says Peeta.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" I ask, more harshly than I intended.

"Nothing to do," says Peeta. "Just trying to make conversation." I feel bad that I snapped at him, but being followed by people annoys me, no matter who it is. I feel like they're depending on me, and I feel like I'll let them down.

Finally the day comes when we're called for our private sessions with the Gamemakers. We're scored on a scale of 1 to 12, 12 being the best, 1 being the worst. District by district, first the girl tribute, then the boy, we're called down to the gymnasium. District 12 is scheduled to go last, as usual. I begin to pace in the small confinement area we're to wait in. I start biting my finger nails. What if the Gamemakers hate me? What if they score me so low, I'll look like the easiest prey in the world? Or what if they score me too high, and I seem like a threat, therefore, being the target of every other tribute in the arena? I stop pacing and sit down next to Peeta. He puts his arm protectively around me.

"You need to talk?" he asks. He's so kind I can't stand it.

"No..." I say. Then I correct myself. "Yes, actually."

"Go on," says Peeta.

"I'm just scared that the Gamemakers might hate me and score me really low or they might score me too high. Either way, I'm a goner," I say pitifully. I put my head in between my knees.

"Don't worry about that, Briar," Peeta tells me. "They'll give you a perfect score, not too low, not too high. What's so bad about being scored high?"

"If they give me a, say, 12, people will think I'm a threat. Which, maybe I want to be considered a threat, but that'll make me the first person to come to mind when thinking about who to kill of first. Because I'm a threat to the others."

"Briar, don't worry about that. If you do get confronted, you'll be able to fight them off easily," says Peeta reassuringly. "You're stronger than they are. You are." These are the exact words that Gale said to me when we were in the Districthouse saying goodbye. "And I won't let anything happen to you, even if it costs me my life."

"Peeta-" I begin, but my name is called over the loudspeaker in our chamber.

"Shoot straight," Peeta says. I nod. I don't know why I didn't say anything, but I don't. Maybe because I didn't really know what to say back.

As I walk to the gymnasium, I think about what Peeta said. I won't let anything happen to you, even if it costs me my life. Did he honestly mean it? Or would he back out if the time actually came in the arena? I would easily give my life for Peeta. I was sure of that.

I enter the gymnasium and they ask me for my name. "Briarose Antigone," I answer. They all nod and tell me to "get to it". I nod back and head, just as planned, to the archery station. Oh, the weapons! The famliarity of the bow in my hand and the arrows at my fingers! This bow isn't like the ones at home, though. This one is made of silver and it's a lot heavier than the wood ones I use. Still, I do a few practice shoots with it, and I'm ready to go. First, I shoot a practice dummy from 50 yards and nail it square in the chest. Next, I shoot a rope which holds a heavy weight in the air. It plummets to the ground and makes a loud bang, leaving an indentation in the marble floors. And then, a twist.

One of the assistants, dressed in thick padding to protect his body, comes charging at me with a sword in hand. I quickly hop out of the way onto one of the podiums used for scaling practice. The assistant is confused for a moment at where I've gotten to, and a moment is all I need. I send the arrow flying into his back, and if he was unpadded, his spine. Then a second one follows, striking him in the chest, because he made the mistake of turning around to face me. He sinks to the floor, like he's really been killed by my arrows.

I look to the Gamemakers for their approval. They clap for me, but some of them, including the one I wanted the attention of most, Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker, is distracted by the large pig that has been brought in."What a fat pig!" he says. What a fat pig, indeed, I think. And before I can think, an arrows shoots from my bow, ripping the apple that sat in the pig's mouth away and pinning it to the wall behind the Gamemakers. They're silent and staring at me in disbelief. "Thank you for your consideration," I hiss, bowing politely. Then I put down my bow, drop my remaining arrows, and walk out the door, not feeling any remorse or reason to turn around.

I return to my quarters on the twelfth floor without even looking at Haymitch and Effie who are sitting on the coach watching another replay of our entrance into the Capitol. "How'd it go?" Haymitch asks, but I ignore him and head straight to my room, slamming the door. Then I lay on the bed thinking about the private session. How could I have been so stupid to shoot an arrow at the Gamemakers? What was I thinking? I know the answer. I wasn't. I was so enraged that I was being upstaged by a pig. What will they do to me now? Arrest me? Execute me? I hadn't tried to kill any of them; if I had, they'd be dead. They can't punish me for that...can they? If I explain to them that I only wanted their attention, they couldn't kill me for that. I should have stayed an apologized. Or laughed like it was a big joke. Then maybe I would've had some leniency. But instead I stalked out of the gymnasium without being dismissed.

When Effie calls me down for dinner, I decide I might as well go. The scores we recieve will be televised and we're to watch them together. It's not like I can hide what happened forever. I go to the bathroom and wash my face off.

Everyone's waiting at the table, including Cinna and Portia. I wish the stylists hadn't decided to come. For some reason, I don't want to disappoint them. Maybe it's because they were the ones that kept us alive in the entrance to the Capitol. It's have if I've thrown away all they've done for us. I make my way to the table, avoiding anyone's gaze.

The adults begin to talk about the weather, and I look at Peeta, knowing seeing his face will comfort me. He raises his eyebrows as if asking "What happened?". I give my head a small shake. Then as they're serving the main course, Haymitch asks, "Okay, enough small talk. Just how bad were you two?"

Peeta jumps in, saving me from having to admit what happened. "It didn't even matter. By the time I got there, they were too busy singing some drinking song to even look at me. So I just threw some weights around until they told me I could go."

"Hmm," says Haymitch. "And you, buttercup?"

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers," I mutter as I pick at my dinner.

"Sorry, love?" asks Haymitch, tilting his head toward me.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers!" I say, completely losing my patience. "Got that, Haymitch?"

Everyone stops eating. Then Effie shrieks, "You what?"

I sigh. "I shot an arrow at them. Not directly at them, but towards them. I was aiming for the pig, because no one was paying attention to me. It's like Peeta said, no one bothered to pay attention, except for a few. So, to get their undivided attention, I shot the apple from the pig's mouth that seemed so important to them," I tell them in an almost mocking voice.

"What did they say?" asks Cinna. They're all crowded around me know, like children around a fireplace when their mother is about to tell them a story.

"Nothing. At least, I don't think so," I say. "I left after that."

"Without being dismissed?" Effie gasps.

I shrug. "I dismissed myself," I say defiantly.

"There's nothing we can do now, Effie. No sense in buttering her with questions," says Haymitch.

"Do you think they'll arrest me? Or execute me?" I ask quietly.

"They can't!" Peeta exclaims. "They can't just do that!" He's standing now, right next to me. I feel as though he actually cares about me being arrested or not.

"They could," Haymitch tells him easily. "But I don't think they will, sweetheart. Don't you worry. It'd be a pain to replace you now, and I think they'd much rather make your life hell in the arena."

"They've already promised that, though, haven't they?" Peeta points out.

"True," says Haymitch. He rips of a chunk of pork chop and dips it in his wine. Effie shudders. "What were their faces like?" he asks, examining the pork.

A smile comes across my face. "Terrified. They didn't know what had just happened." We all laugh, except for Effie. She's smiling though.

"It's a good thing you did do that," she says. "It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you're from District 12 is no reason to ignore you."

"I'll get a terribly low score," I say grimly.

"Scores only matter if they're high. People don't pay attention to the low ones," says Haymitch. "You could be hiding a secret skill, for all they know, to get a low score on purpose. People use that stradegy, making youself look weak, then coming out and dominating the arena." This makes me relax a little. Maybe I still have a chance.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," says Peeta. I can tell he's only lying to make me feel better. But I don't mind. "Really, all I did was throw a few heavy things around."

"You'll get a beautiful score," I tell him.

"Maybe," he says

After dinner, we all go to the sitting room to see what out scores were. I'm not particularly loving the suspense, since District 12 is last, as always. Peeta's score comes first. His face flashes on the screen for a moment, then the number eight appears beside him. "Eight!" I exclaim. "I told you!" I say this almost in a mocking way. I don't mean to. Everyone's patting Peeta on the back and saying "Good job!" and things of that sort. I hug him around the neck and he hugs back.

Then it's my turn. I stop breathing. Haymitch's words of encouragement seem to have only lasted through dinner. Now, I'm terrified of what number will appear beside my profile. I see my face on the television...I close my eyes. When I reopen them, the number eleven is shining next to my picture.

Eleven? How did that happen?

Effie lets out a squeel and everyone is hugging me and congratulating me and Peeta kisses me on the cheek again.

It doesn't seem real. I thought for sure the Gamemakers would have scored me lower, much lower. "Eleven, kid!" Haymitch yells. "That's great!" Then he picks me up and swings me around.

"But there must be a...a mistake," I say after he's put me down. "How could that happen?"

"I guess they liked your temper," says Peeta, giving me a shove.

"They need someone with heat in them," Haymitch puts in.

"Briarose, the girl who was on fire!" Cinna says. "Wait until you see what I've designed for your interview!"

"Oh...more flames?" I ask.

"Of a sort," he says mischeviously.

Peeta and I congradulate each other again, and again he kisses me. We both got excellent scores, but what does that mean for the other? A better score means a better opponent...

I remember the talk we had about being the last two in the arena. He had told me to kill him if the situation ever presented itself. But I know I couldn't ever do that. Still, Peeta and I seemed to share a bond. An obvious one, apparently, since Haymitch has mentioned it to me on countless occasions, telling me how it's good to see us "playing the part" even when we don't need to. I try to tell him I'm not playing a part, but he stumbles off before I can.

I start to wonder about Peeta kissing me so many times. He got a score of eight, which is great. Is this what his stradegy is? To get me on his side, and then, when the time is right, kill me? He wouldn't. Would he? Peeta doesn't seem like the type to pull something like that. Besides, he told me he would protect me with his life. Doesn't that count for something?

All these thoughts buzz around my head as I climb into bed. I'm ready to fall asleep after the exhausting day, but of course, I'm not even aloud that. There's a knocking on my door. "Briar?" I hear from outside my door. It's Peeta, but I really don't want to leave the warmth of my bed. "Oh, just...just, come in!" I yell back. By this time, I really have zero patience left for any visitors. I sigh. "Yes, Peeta?"

"Do you want to go to sleep?" he asks. I realize my tone may not have been the friendliest.

"No, it's fine," I tell him. "What d'ya need?"

"Nothing, really. I mean, nothing serious. Just...someone to talk to, as usual," says Peeta.

"Okay," I say. "About what?"

"Anything," he says. So I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Have you noticed we've been having a lot of nighttime conversations?" I ask.

"I know," says Peeta. "I like having them with you. You're good at giving advice when I need it."

"Is that why you came? Do you need advice?" I can't help being a little disappointed. Peeta only comes to me when he needs advice? That's how it seems.

"No," Peeta shakes his head and looks at his hands. "I just...I wanted to see you, while you're still you."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Tomorrow and the next day, we'll be all glittered up and have a ton of makeup on," Peeta says. No kidding, I think. "It's not that you don't look beautiful with the makeup on, but...you look prettier when you don't have anything covering your face. You know, natural."

I smile at him, the kind of smile only he can bring out of me. Then I put my head down, letting my hair drape down in front of my face. Peeta thinks it's because I'm trying to hide my "natural beauty", but really, I'm blushing so hard that I can pratically see the heat coming off my cheeks. "Thanks," is all I manage to get out. It sounds terrible. Peeta keeps complimenting me on everything I do, and I can't come up with one good thing to say to him.

"Well, goodnight, Briar," says Peeta after a short pause.

"Peeta, wait," I call to him as he's almost out the door. "Um...thanks. For...just for everything." Then, playfully, I smile the cutest smile I can get out and I bat my long eyelashes at him. He smiles back and walks out the door.

It's long before morning and I lie in my bed, already awake. It's Sunday, a rest day in District 12, and I wonder what Gale is doing right now, and Katniss, and Birch. Gale is probably just waking up. We always do that. We wake up early on Sundays because we usually take that day as an oppurtunity to stock up for the week. We spend the entire day hunting, trapping, trading.

Katniss isn't awake yet, though she too wakes up early with Gale and I to go hunting. And then I wonder, how will they get on without me? I expect Katniss has taken over my shifts of checking and resetting the traps and Gale knows where I keep my bow and arrows, so he probably uses them when he can. I just hope he replaces the ones he uses, or at least salvages them from the animals he hits.

All of us are extraordinary hunters alone, but together, we're ideal for hunting bigger game, like deer and once, even a moose. It had wandered into our part of the woods during wintertime, and Gale, Katniss, and I siezed the oppurtunity to bring in more profit than usual, some for the meat, some for the skins, some especially for the antlers. They were magnificent on the animal, but they jabbed and poked at our legs and sides as we dragged it through the snow to the district fence. Of course we would share all of the profit made from the moose amongst ourselves. This is a system me and Gale designed one day when Katniss was in school. We would each vow to protect each other, each other's families, and each other's property. Protecting meant feeding as well.

Hunting together with each other made the task of feeding our families almost arduous. I close my eyes and drift into sleep once again for a short amount of time. My dreams are filled with memories of District 12, flashbacks of sort.

It was early winter. I had just begun learning to hunt on my own while Birch was in the mines. Since he had to work there, he obviously couldn't hunt too. So I picked up that task instead. I had been struggling on my own, since I basically had to teach myself to use a bow and arrow. Birch couldn't; he was too busy in the mines. I picked it up fast, but I still wasn't as good as I am now. I was wandering through the woods looking for more game to shoot, when all of a sudden, the tree two inches left of my head is pierced by a throwing knife. I immediately turn around and aim my loaded bow in the general direction it came from. Then I see another knife coming for me, and this time, I see the thrower. I duck out of the way of the knife and let my arrow fly. It swishes through the air and catches my attacker on his right arm. It doesn't pierce his skin, but I didn't try to. It's just gone through his clothes, pinning him to the tree he was hiding behind. I take another arrow from my quiver and start cautiously toward the tree. I expect to see a fully grown bitter man, but it's a boy. My age, which is twelve at the time. He just looks at me. He's not afraid of me; somehow he knows I don't intend to kill him or hurt him. Though, now I've got him pinned, I could easily shoot him.

"Hiya," he says. "Good shot."

"Thanks," I say back, unable to be sure of what to make of him.

"Don't think I'm rude for not asking your name, but do you mind first letting me lose?" the boy asks. I reach over and pull the arrow from the tree, careful not to damage the shaft. "Okay, so what is your name?"

"Briarose. Briarose Antigone," I tell him, lowering my bow. "Yours?"

"Gale Hawthorne," he says.

"Nice name," I admit.

"Your's too, Rosy," says Gale, pulling my new nickname right off the top of his head. "It's real classic."

"I don't kow anyone else with the name 'Briarose'," I tell Gale. "So it's not that classic."

"Are you always this technical?" he asks. I see his eyes. They're gray.

"Sometimes." Then I laugh. "You're alright."

"So are you," says Gale. "I could teach you to use those throwing knives."

I look at the tree with Gale's knife still embedded in the bark. And then I notice how skillfully it was put in. The bark around the blade wasn't damaged at all.

"Okay," I say turning back Gale. "I could sew your shirt back for you."

"Good deal," he says, a little sarcastic. I smile, because I know Iv'e found a hunting partner.

From then on, him teaching me how to throw a knife, me sewing his shirtsleeve back, Gale and I did everything together. We hunted, ate, went to trade together. I eventually taught Gale how to use a bow and arrow and, after we finally met at the age of thirteen, I taught Katniss too. She had already been taught by her father before he died, so I didn't have to show her much. That's one thing we all share in common. We're all fatherless.

I wake up and I start thinking about how Gale and Katniss are handling it. Me being taken away to the Hunger Games and all. Do they miss me? Do they even notice I'm gone? They must. I'm their best friend. They must think about me sometime.

I think of the eleven flashing beside my face last night. I think of how they would ave reacted. I can see Katniss congradulating me and hugging me. And I can see Gale, smiling at me, and saying jokingly, "Well, there's room for improvement there." And then he'd smile, and then I'd smile back without hesitation. I sit up. I look for Gale's face, though I know he's no where near here. And I don't want him to be. I want him to be safe in District 12, like he is. I still wish I could at least see him and talk to him for a little while. I hate feeling so alone. I hate the fact that I'm wishing it were Gale here, and I'm not wishing for Birch, my own brother. But it's different when you're actually related to a person. No matter who else comes into my life, Gale will always be the first person I ever cared about.

Effie's pounding on my door, demanding that I come out this instant. I guess she's been knocking for a while, and I just haven't heard her. I go to my door and hastily open it. "What?" I almost yell in her face.

"Come on, up, up, up. We've got a big, big, big day ahead of us!" she says. I really wish she'd stop saying words three times in a row.

I get up and take a quick shower. Then I dress in a light yellow shirt and brown pants and go to breakfast. Peeta, Haymitch, and Effie are tallking in hushed voices, like they don't want me to hear. But my hunger overcomes my curiosity and I load up my plate before going to join them.

I begin eating and I realize, no one's talking. Which is odd, considering we have an interview tomorrow to train for. I shovel through my plate, take a sip of orange juice, and say, "You're coaching us on the interview today, right?"

"Yes," answers Haymitch. "But-"

"You don't have to wait for me. I can eat and listen at the same time," I say.

"There's been...a change in plans. About your current approach," Haymitch tells me slowly.

"What is it?" I ask, taking another sip of orange juice. I try to guess what it is. Has Haymitch given up on us completely? Are we getting a new trainer? I don't want a new mentor. I liked having Haymitch as our mentor. I've grown quite fond of him, actually.

He shrugs. "Peeta's asked to be coached seperately."

I almost choke on my juice. Then I turn to Peeta. He's just sitting there, not daring to look at me. Good. Betrayal. That's the first thing that comes to mind. Betrayed by my best friend. I'm not particularly sad about it, I'm enraged.

"Well, is there something wrong with me?" I demand, standing and glowering over Peeta. "Am I too stupid or weak to keep up with you?"

"No! Not at all! It's just-" Peeta begins.

"It sure seems that way!" I shout.

"It's not! It's not like that! It's just...there's something that...Haymitch and I..." Peeta stammers.

"I can't believe this," I say through gritted teeth. But there's nothing I can do about it. "So what's the schedule now, Haymitch?" I growl, planting both hands on the table.

"You'll have four hours with Effie and four hours with me," Haymitch tells me. He's sitting up so straight in his chair, I can tell my outburst surpsrised him. "Peeta, come with me first. Briar, go with Effie. And try not to kill her." He says this like he thinks I'm insane.

I take one last gulp of orange juice, slam it down on the table, and storm away to my room with Effie following closely behind me. As I go to close the door behind her, I hear Peeta talking to Haymitch. "Do you think she'll forgive me?" he asks.

"She'd better," says Haymitch gruffly. Then he adds more gently, "Don't worry about it. If the kind of relationship you two have is real, she'll come around."

And what relationship whould that be? I ask Haymitch in my head. I close the door and I feel Effie pull on my shoulders, making me stand up straighter. "The first thing we need to work on is your posture," she tells me. I'm surprised. I thought my posture was pretty good, compared to some other girls I know. But Effie doesn't care. She keeps pulling on my shoulders, telling me to lift my head higher and puff out my chest.

Next she has me put on a long sweeping dress and high heels. When I say high heels, I mean high heels. They have to be at least 5 inches, maybe more. Effie instructs me to walk. I do. I find myself wobbling a bit, but after a few seconds, I have my balance, and I can even run in them easily. Back in District 12, I always needed balance, since I spent a lot of my time with Gale in the trees rather than on the ground.

I don't know how Effie walks around in these things full time. They pinch your toes, the squeeze your heels, and they make loud, obnoxious, pounding noises when you walk. The dress poses another problem. It keeps getting tangled around my heels, so I have to hike it up to my shins. "Not above the ankles!" screeches Effie. I immediately drop my dress, which again gets tangled around my heels.

I can feel my cheeks getting tired from smiling all the time per Effie's instructions. "Make the crowd be delighted by you," she tells me. So I flash the adorably threatening smile in her direction. "Not like that!" she snaps.

"How then?" I demand. "I can't pretend I like all of them when I really don't. I don't even know them."

"It's easy," says Effie. Then she puts on a huge smile. "See? Like this. I'm smiling at you even thought you're aggravating me."

"Well, you've been doing that you're entire life, since no one really even likes you!" I snap. Then I kick my heels off and stomp out of my room to the dining room, hiking my dress up to my thighs. I start feeling bad about snapping at Effie. But the thought quickly leaves my mind when I see Haymitch and Peeta. They seem in pretty good moods. "Hey, Briar," says Peeta cautiously. "Hey..." I say back, turning to the table with all the food. I pick up a plate and load it up. Then, when Peeta leaves, I sit in front of Haymitch. He frowns at me for a long time as I eat. I give him a few glares to tell him to stop, but he doesn't, so I finally say, "What? Do you have a problem with me eating?", shaking a roll in his face.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Just trying to figure out what to do with you," he says.

"What do you mean?" I ask impatiently.

"I mean, what should your approach be? Nice, funny, likeable, mysterious..." says Haymitch.

"Considering I don't want to be any of those things to that crowd, I don't know," I tell him.

"You're going to have to pick one," snaps Haymitch.

"Fine, then," I snap back. "Let's go with likeable."

"Wrong!" Haymitch says.

I lose my patience with him. I jump to my feet. "How could that be wrong?" I demand. "You told me to pick one, so I did! What else do you need?"

"I need you to pick a trait that you actually have," growls Haymitch. "You're not being very likeable now."

"Then you pick one! I give up!" I say, sitting back down and picking at my roll.

"Let's try being humble instead," Haymitch says, calming down.

"Humble..." I echo. "What about just being myself?"

"'Being yourself means being hostile," Haymitch tells me.

"Not all the time," I say defiantly.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just act humble, will you? Like you can't believe a little girl from District 12 has done this well." I'm about to yell at Haymitch for calling me little, but I decide not to provoke him.

"Hmm, okay," I agree. We try this tactic for a while. Haymitch asks me questions, and I answer them as humbly as possible, trying to keep a smile on my face like Effie told me to. By Haymitch's expression, I can tell he isn't satisfied. I can't gush like he wants me to.

Over the next few hours, Haymitch tells me to try a bunch of different approaches. None of them work. I can't be cocky because I don't have the arrogance.I can't be mysterious, because I can't answer the questions and leave the audience wondering. I can't be ferocious because I'm "too vulnerable".

"Well," says Haymitch, putting his arms behind his neck. "I give up, sweetheart."

"You can't just give up on me!" I cry. "I won't stand a chance without sponsors."

"Don't worry, buttercup. Just answer the question honestly, and you should be fine. We'll find out what your approach is then," Haymitch tells me.

In the morning, my prep team is standing over me. They greet me with "Good morning!" "How did you sleep?" "Are you hungry?" "Wait until you see your dress!". My dress! I then remember, my lessons with Haymitch and Effie are over. This day belongs to Cinna. I hope he can make me look so breathtaking, no one will care what comes out of my mouth.

The team spends the morning and early afternoon cleaning me up. They rub my body down with a sweet smelling oil, they comb my hair until it feels like silk, they stencile a few patterns on my arms, they paint light pink flames on my fingernails. Venia goes to style my hair. First she sprays it with a can containing glitter. It's a nice touch, actually. Everytime I move my head, my hair glistens under the light. She then pulls half of it up and leaves the other half down. She twists the upper half into complicated swirls. Venia sprays it one last time with the glitter, and then she lets me look in a mirror. My hair looks beautiful, gorgeous really. The glitter in my hair makes it look like it's on fire. The reddish-brown color my hair has only adds to the affect. I turn my head. The complicated swirls Venia made look like tiny little briar roses. I wonder whose idea it was, to interpret my name into my hair. And the ends of my hair are curled ever so slightly, which brings out the bone structure in my face. "It's amazing," I tell Venia.

Then they all go working on my face, covering it in a light mask of makeup. They shadow and they hightlight, particularly my cheekbones. I have naturally large cheekbones, and I can't imagine what they'll look like when the team is finished. They start applying bits of light brown and gold eyeshadow and some eyeliner, bringing out the green color my eyes have. Then they powder my body making my skin look absolutely flawless.

Cinna finally enters my room with what I can only assume is my dress. I can't see it; it's under a covering. "Close your eyes," Cinna instructs me. I close my eyes and feel my dress slipping over my body. I expect to feel weight drop down on my shoulders, but it doesn't come. This dress is surprisingly lightweight compared to the others. I take Venia's hand and step into a pair of shoes, much more comfortable than Effie's had been.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" I ask Cinna.

There's some adjustments, and then he says, "Yes, open them."

I look in the full-body mirror and gasp. My dress is stunningly beautiful. The color of it is a gorgeous shiny lilac. It hangs just below my ankles in such a way that I don't have to hike it up to walk. It's long and flows behind me when I walk, leaving a trail of flames behind it. Flames! These flames aren't red and yellow and orange like the ones I wore at the opening , the ones I'm wearing now match my dress, a soft purple that shines under any light that hits it. "Cinna," I breath. "Thank you."

"Twirl for me," Cinna says. I twirl and then ends of my dress extend outward and burst into flames, giving the affect that I'm being fully engulfed by them. My prep team gasps.

"Cinna, this is marvelous," I tell him.

He smiles. "So, all ready for that interview?" By his expression, I can tell he's been talking to Haymitch.

I frown. "I'm awful. We couldn't get an approach that fit me. Haymitch was about to give up on me, too," I tell Cinna.

"Why don't you just be yourself?" Cinna asks.

"Haymitch told me being myself means being hostile," I say bitterly.

"You'll do beautifully," Cinna says. "You aren't hostile to me. The prep team adores you, and you even won over the Gamemakers. You're the talk of the Capitol. Everyone admires your spirit." My spirit. I hadn't ever thought of people loving my spirit. I'm a friendly person when need be, but I don't particularly go around loving people I've never met. "Just answer the questions as honestly as you can."

"Okay. What about if what I think is horrible?" I ask.

"Say it," Cinna tells me simply.

It's time too go, a little too soon. The stage where we'll be interviewed in right outside the Training Center. Cinna and I walk to the elevator together. He's gives me words of encouragement, telling me to answer all the questions honestly, like I'm speaking to a friend. I just nod, because words won't come to my lips. I'm too nervous about the interview.

What if I can't speak on the stage? What if Caesar asks me a bunch of really personal questions, like if I have a boyfriend back home? What do I say to him then? I can't just tell him, "It's the boy who I'm being forced to fight in the arena.". And also, what if the crowd doesn't like me? Caesar not liking me, I can handle. But the audience, the people who I'll depend on in the arena, I need them. Cinna reminds me to be myself once again, and we step onto the elevator with the rest of the District 12 group.

Portia and the prep team have been hard at work. Peeta looks striking in his black suit. The bottoms of his pants and suitcoat are accented with flames, like my dress. His are realistically colored though, red and orange and yellow. I'm relieved we aren't dressed alike. I don't know why, but I am.

"You look beautiful," Peeta tells me, clearly trying to win me back. He beams at me. I decide it's time I forgave him, and give in to his compliments.

"Thanks," I say. And I can already feel my cheeks begin to flush a light pink. "You look very...handsome."

"Thanks." And that's all we say. I'm disappointed. I want to talk to him a little before our interviews, before I get too choked up with fear.

The minute the elevator lands on the ground floor, Peeta takes my hand and presses it against his lips. I smile, which I was unable to do before. I see Haymitch smiling down at me, as if saying "Good job. Keep it up.". I shake my head at him and turn back to Peeta.

"Good luck," Peeta says. "They're gonna love you. I know I do."

"They'll love you more," I tell him ernestly. Haymitch comes up next to me.

"If you're asked any questions about Peeta, answer them positively," he orders me.

"Obviously," I retort.

We walk to the stage, still holding hands. Although it's early evening, the stage is brighter than day. Brighter than my summer days with Gale. Then a thought comes to mind. Cinna told me to answer the questions like I was speaking to a friend. Why not pretend I'm talking to Gale? There's only one problem though; Gale would never be asking me any of the questions I'm going to be asked tonight. He already knows everything about me. Still, it's better than nothing. I'll pretend it's the winter day when I first met Gale, and he knew nothing about me except my name and that I had a great aim.

All the tributes walk, singlie-file, to the back of the stage where we're to wait until our interview time comes. The lights dim on the audience, the cameras turn on, and we're on the air. The girl from District 1, Glimmer is her name I think, is up. She walks easily along the stage, waving and smiling and blowing kisses to the crowd. I can tell she's going for a sexy approach, the way she stands and puffs our her chest. Caesar welcomes her, his blue hair and blue shiny suit attracting all eyes.

Each interview, thankfully, lasts only three minutes. A buzzer sounds after Glimmer's time is up, and the next tribute steps up. I'm surprised, but Caesar really tries to bring out the best in each tribute. He tries to set the nervous ones at ease, which I hope he'll do for me, since I can feel my hands shaking like they were when I volunteered for Prim at the reaping. I'm happy when Peeta comfortingly takes my hand again.

Everyone seems to have some approach. Everyone! Except me. I feel my palms starting to sweat, because the boy tribute from District 11 is on the stage, and the next person to go is me. Thresh, the boy from District 11, is huge. He can't be any less than six foot three, and all he appears to be made of is muscle. Compared to Rue, he could be a mountain and she could be a pebble.

They're calling my name. Caesar is already welcoming me onto the stage, beckoning to me. But I can't move. I don't even want to. That crowd is going to enjoy watching me die. Why should I show myself to them? Peeta gives me a shove, urging me on. He lets go of my hand and I ascend up the stairs to the stage. I manage to wave a bit, but quickly stop because I'm afraid my waving hand could easily turn into a fist at any moment. I shake Caesar's outstretched hand. He gasps as he sees the trail of purple flames I'm leaving behind me. Then, to really play it up, I spin around right center-stage letting the artificial flames engulf me. I hear oohs and aahs coming from the crowd. Caesar claps for me and I take a seat next to him.

"Beautiful dress, Briarose! Anyway, the Capitol, is it much of a change from District 12?" Caesar asks.

Is he joking? He has to be joking. District 12 is clearly not anything compared to here. "Well, Caesar," I say, stalling a little because I don't know how to explain to him. "The Capitol sure is an upgrade from Disrtict 12, but I'd choose there over here any day. It's where my friends are." This response gets some awws from the audience. They think it's sweet for me to be so close to my friends that I'd give up luxury for them. Of course I would.

"Ah, I can understand that," says Caesar. "What's impressed you most since you got here?"

I have to think for a minute. "Definitely the fine, cultural artwork and construction around the Training Center. It's lovely," I respond, smiling. It's really not. It's a place where the other tributes practice slicing off each other's heads.

"The artwork is extremely cultrual," Caesar says. "Isn't it, folks?" The crowd roars in agreement and he turns back to me. "Now, Briarose, I couldn't believe my eyes when you came in through those doors at the opening ceremony. What did you think of the outfits?"

"Hmm, you mean after I got over the fear of being burnt alive?" I ask wittingly. Big laugh from the crowd and Caesar.

"Yes. Let's start there," he says.

Gale, I think. Pretend like your telling Gale what you thought. "I thought Cinna did a beautiful job at making me, and my fellow tribute, look as stunning as possible," I tell Caesar.

"Aha, speaking of your fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark," Caesar begins. Damnit, I think. How could I have been so stupid as to even mention Peeta? "How is he? Do you feel like he's a threat to you? Or do you feel confident you can win over him?"

"Well..." I say, looking at my hands, trying to think of what to say. "Well, um...Peeta's very..." I remember not to let any of his skills slip. "Well, I'm not exactly aloud to say, am I? But I can tell you that I think Peeta is definitely a threat to me." I don't mention Peeta being a threat to anyone else because I know the other tributes are watching me, and if I say that Peeta is strong and definitely a threat to them, he'll be one of the first people they hunt down.

"Oh, come on, I'm sure you could stand a chance against him," says Caesar. "You must have a strength above him."

"Mm, I'm not aloud to say, remember?" I say, nodding toward the Gamemakers sitting in their private box above the stage.

"You're absolutely right!" Caesar exclaims. Like I said, he tries to help you out. He helped me by not lingering on that subject of Peeta's stengths. "Let's go back then, to the moment they called the name 'Primrose Everdeen'. She's not related to you, correct? So what was going through your mind when you volunteered?"

"Prim is the sister of my best friend, Katniss Everdeen," I explain to Caesar. "So, in a way, she is like my sister."

"I see. And what did she say to you after the reaping?" Caesar asks.

"She asked me to try really hard to win, so I could come home," I say. "And I told her I would," I add icily.

"Briarose, you have a magnificant heart. To have the bravery to step between death and a friend, it's very brave. Very, very brave," Caesar says with his hand on his heart. "You must have a lot of courage."

"Only because of my brother, Birchfall," I say honestly. If it hadn't been for Birch, I'd have never had the need to learn how to hunt. So, in a way, I wouldn't be a tough as I am now.

"Oh, you have a brother?" Caesar says. "Wonderful. And what did he say to you after the reaping?"

"Well...he told me to stay strong. And to be myself. He said that doing that would keep me alive." I look down at my hands. I think of Birch, watching me on the television. What is he doing? Is he crying because he misses me? Is he not crying because he's still upset that I volunteered?

"You must miss him," Caesar says sympathetically. The crowd murmurs, moved with pity for me. "What about your parents? What did they say to you?"

A knife stabs my heart. But instead of leaving a wound, it only makes me angry. "They're dead," I tell Caesar harshly. "Both of them."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Truly, I am." I bet you are, I think. The crowd cries out in agony for me. I look up and I see some of them wiping their eyes. "Sorry, Briarose, but we're out of time," Caesar says as the buzzer goes off. "Best of luck to Briarose Antigone!" I get up, shake Caesar's hand, and hastily walk off the stage, hiding my face because, to tell you the truth, I was beginning to cry myself. The thought of Birch, sitting home alone. The thought of my parents, perhaps looking down on me and thinking, Brave darling. It was all too much and I think to myself, I wish Peeta were here to give me a hug like he always does when I'm emotional.

I miss the first half of Peeta's interview, too preoccupied with holding back my tears. The other tributes aren't near me, but crying here would still be dangerous. I can hear the audience clapping and laughing at Peeta's approach. He's playing up the whole baker's son thing, comparing some of the other tributes to the bread he bakes.

He even compares me to the sweetbread he bakes and how it feels after it's fresh from the oven.

"Well, it's hard to think of lovely Briarose any less, right folks?" Caesar says after Peeta makes that statement. Then he says, "Now, Peeta. Tell me. Is there a special girl back home? One you hold dear to your heart?"

"No, not really," answers Peeta shaking his head.

"Really?" Caesar sounds shocked. "I don't believe it for a minute! Handsome fellow like you? There must be someone! Now, what's her name?"

Peeta hesitates. "Well...there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her forever." My heart sinks. I can't help being disappointed. It never feels good when the person you love is admitting they love someone else on national television. I sigh.

"There we go!" Caesar says excitedly.

"Yeah, but I don't think she feels that way about me," Peeta says with a sigh. "And I know a lot of other boys like her. I can't compete with them."

"Well, I'll tell you what." Caesar leans in closer to Peeta. "You go out there, you win this, and when you get home, she'll have to go out with you." The crowd shouts in agreement. I'm sure a lot of them would be willing to volunteer to date Peeta.

Peeta nods. "Thanks but, um...I don't think winning's gonna help me at all. Not this time."

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks surprised. I want to know too. Any girl with eyes would date Peeta anyway, even without him being the victor. I don't understand why he doesn't think winning will help him. It would only boost his popularity in District 12.

Peeta lets out a long sigh. He hesitates for a while, then he finally says, "Because she came here with me."