Chapter 2

Katniss's sister walks over to the stage. I think of how Katniss had done everything to keep this from happening. I watch as her sister, who's tiny, only twelve years old, walks up to the stage. Her blond hair is braided back and the back of her blouse sticks out, almost like some sort of bird. The blood is drained from her face and she walks up with her hands clenched into fists, taking stiff, small steps to the stage. That's when I hear it. Katniss calling out to her sister.

"Prim!" she says in a strangled cry. "Prim!" the other girls in line make way for her as she walks through the crowd toward her sister. She reaches Primrose just as she's about to mount the steps. With one sweep of her arm, she pushes her behind herself.

"I volunteer!" she says, gasping. "I volunteer as a tribute!"

Something inside me had known Katniss would do this the moment they called her sister's name. That doesn't stop the dread from hitting me. They're going to take her away. No one will stop her from volunteering and there's no way anyone will take her place. In some districts, where winning is a great honor (and happens more often), the volunteering process is complicated. But here, no one volunteers. Not when being a tribute is a death sentence.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I believe there's the small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth the we, um…" she trails off, not sure herself.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor. He's looking at her with a pained expression. No one wants to see this girl go into the arena. "What does it matter?" he repeats. "Let her come forward." He says gruffly.

Her sister begins to scream hysterically. She wraps her arms around her sister. "No Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, Let go!" she says harshly. "Let go!" Just then, Gale Hawthorne pulls Primrose away from her sister. She thrashes in his arms. "Up you go, Catnip." He says in a strained voice. He turns and carries Primrose away from the stage, toward her mother and the other spectators. Katniss turns and climbs the steps to the stage, her face an emotionless mask now.

"Well, bravo!" Effie Trinket gushes. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" she asks.

"Katniss Everdeen"

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I refuse to applaud. I refuse to applaud as the Capitol takes this girl away to be slaughtered. The girl who's done so much to take care of her family, who has risked everything to save the sister she loves, even though no one can save this girl. I refuse to applaud the death sentence of the girl I love. To my surprise, I am not the only one keeping silent. No one applauds, no one makes a sound. Remaining silent, I life the three fingers of my left hand and press them to my lips, and then I slowly hold them out to her. In our district, it's a final good-bye to someone you thank, someone you admire, someone you love. Everyone has done the same thing. This is the final goodbye to a girl no one can help but admire, for her strength, for her defiance of the Capitol and her refusal to allow her family to die.

The deadpan expression on her face is in danger of breaking at this point, I can see it. Just then, Haymitch staggers across the stage to congratulate her.

"Look at her! Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulder "I like her! Lots of…" he pauses to think of a word. "Spunk! More than you!" he lets go of her and walks to the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing at the camera. It seems everyone is being defiant of the Capitol today, Katniss, in her refusal to let her sister go to the arena; the people of District 12, in their silence; and Haymitch in his yelling at the Capitol. I'm almost impressed, when Haymitch falls off the stage just before he can continue. The cameras eagerly turn to him, and for the few minutes the cameras are on him, I watch Katniss close her eyes, tremble a little bit, exhale and open her eyes again; the sadness only showing in them for a minute, before her face is wiped of all emotion.

As Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, Effie Trinket tries to get the ball rolling again. "What an exciting day!" she warbles as she tries to straighten her wig, which is now tilting severely to the right. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" With that, she plants her hand on her wig, trying, still, to fix it, and walks over to the ball that contains all the boys' names. I watch Katniss on the stage, thinking of how I'll try to say goodbye to her in the Justice Building, when Effie Trinket calls District 12's boy tribute….

"Peeta Mellark"

My stomach drops at the sound of my name. My heart begins to pound in my chest, beating against my ribs. I take a deep breath, trying to control my emotions as I make my way to the stage. Katniss is looking at me; the only sign of emotion is in her gray eyes. There's recognition, sadness, and something else, pity maybe, as she sees me walking to the stage. When I climb the steps and stand next to her, Effie Trinket asks for volunteers. Of course no one volunteers for me. No one is brave enough to do what Katniss did. I don't blame them though; few are as brave as she is. The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point. But I'm not listening. She recognizes me. We've never spoken though. I've never been brave enough to even approach her. But there was one interaction we had, years ago. Until now, I figured she'd forgotten it. I never have though, and it looks like that will be the only connection we had…

It was three months after her father had died in a mining accident. I'd seen her at school. The sadness, the pain of his death, was always visible on her face. But after about a month I saw something else. She was getting thinner each day, almost haggard. Her cheekbones began to stand out more prominently. There was more going on at home that she would ever purposely let on. On the day it happened, it was raining relentlessly. I was in the bakery with my mother; my father had gone out to the train station to buy supplies from a train coming in from District 11. My mother went outside to yell at a Seam kid going through our trash. My father hates it when my mother yells at them, and I understand why. It's not their fault that they're starving and going through our trash to look for something. I looked beyond my mother to see who she was yelling at, hoping I didn't know them. That's when I saw her. She was soaking wet and shivering. Her hair was plastered to her face by the rain and she shrank at my mother's threats. She was thinner than I'd ever seen her and pale from the cold. She replaced the lid on the trash bin and walked away. I watched through the back window as she walked to the apple tree by our pig pen and leaned on it, sinking to her knees after a second. It was her under that tree, curled inward, with her head in her knees that showed how much she had given up; how she had given up hope of not only finding food for her mother and sister, but of surviving. That's when I was suddenly scared of her dying.

Starvation's not an uncommon occurrence in District 12. It usually happens to children in the Seam, or people who can't work anymore. I'd see it all the time at school. One day, the bone thin Seam kid would be at school, the next they wouldn't and we'd eventually hear about how the Peacekeepers were called to retrieve the body. I didn't want this to happen to her. Even then, I had a crush on her. I wanted to find a way to talk to her. I still wanted her to know how much of an effect she'd had on me, even then.

In the bakery, there were two loaves of bread ready to be put in the oven. If I could do this right, the bread would still be edible, only burnt on the outside. When my mother wasn't looking, I dropped both loaves in the fire, watching the outsides turn black in seconds, and then pulled them out as quickly as I could. As I was pulling out the second loaf, my mother saw what had happened and began to yell at me. She hit me with a wooden spoon, the handle hitting my cheek the hardest. I could feel the burning where it hit me. I walked outside with the loaves of bread in my hands. I was afraid of what my mother would've done to me if I had thrown the bread to Katniss in front of her. And that would've gotten Katniss in trouble as well. My mother stood at the door watching me.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!"

I began to tear off small chunks and throw them to the pig. I could feel Katniss watching me, but I didn't look at her. I heard the bell ring in the front and my mother turned to go help the customer. I checked that the coast was clear and I threw the bread to her, one after the other. Without looking at her, I walked back into the bakery. When I looked out the window, both she and the bread were gone.

The next day was bright and warm; the sun was shining, barely interrupted by the small, fluffy white clouds passing by. I saw Katniss at school, but I was still too nervous to say anything to her. She was still bone thin, but her face was flushed, and with her hair and clothes dry and a certain brightness in her eyes, she didn't look as in danger of starving to death as she had before. I saw her in the hallway, but I quickly looked away, hoping she hadn't seen me. At the end of the day, I watched her from the school yard, hoping to catch her eye. When her eyes met mine, I turned my head away, unable to think of anything else. When I looked back, she was picking a dandelion out of the grass. When her sister found her, they began to walk toward the Seam, Katniss looking determined as she sped home.

Over the past five years, I've tried to think of something to say, think of some way to talk to her, but that never seemed to come up. More than once she's caught me looking at her, but I'd quickly look away. Now it seems like that was the only chance I had to act on how I feel. Because there's no point in telling the girl you love how you feel when she might have to be the one to kill you. So now, she'll never know.

The mayor finishes reading the Treaty of Treason and motions for Katniss and me to shake hands. Her hands are thin, but strong. I look her in the eye this time and give her hand a slight squeeze, mentally wishing her luck. We turn to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays and I think of how the odds are not in my favor. But I know that the odds will be in hers.