A/N: Sorry if there are any mistakes.

I bounce on my toes nervously. We've had three days to prepare for this evaluation thing. I've been training really hard, and, on top of that, making friends, talking, planning well into the night... It's exhausting. I'm not completely confident in my knife-throwing skills, but it will have to do.

The girl form District Three bounces out of the training room and the boy from District Four goes in. Why do I have to be last?

I try to shut out everything. It's surprisingly easy. I can make myself forget about the people who want to kill me in a few days, my mom, Katniss, Gale, my home. I sit there in complete calm until Peeta walks out and rests his hand on my shoulder for a moment. I look up into his blue eyes. "Good luck," he says, and walks away.

I take a breath and push open the huge doors leading in. The room is the same as the training room, except the stations are cleaned up. The weapons, herbs, and rope and stuff is organized in the middle. A rather large crater is in a corner of the room. Wonder who did that. A tribute, maybe? A stage is positioned like a loft one story up. Gamemakers and other important people sit there with food and comfy chairs. They haven't even noticed me come in.

Anger rushes through me, pushing out my jittery nervousness. If they don't notice me, I'll have to make them notice me. I storm over to the knives section and pull some out, going for the deadliest-looking ones. I examine the Capitol people and single one out. "Hello...?" My voice echoes in the circular room. A few glance at me, disinterested, and go back to the huge pie set in front of them. "You asked for it," I mutter to myself. I finger the knives one more time and suddenly fling them, four from each hand.

The fat gamemaker sitting in the two-person sofa squeals like a pig as my knives surround him, tearing the cushion and sending feathers everywhere. Oops. A few of the slower (dumber) gamemakers stare at the pig that was just set before them as if wondering if that was what made the sound. "And now, for my last trick...the disappearing parts of pig," I say it quietly, but Seneca Crane, head gamemaker, glares at me.

I attach rope to my last two knives and throw them at the pig. The needle-like knife pierces the meat. The other, sharper, one cuts. I yank the rope back and eat it, smirking. Then I bow mockingly and stalk out of the room.

xxXxx

In the elevator, I lean my head against the door, laughing hysterically to myself. I can't believe i just did that. And then I feel the overwhelming urge to throw up. I stumble out as soon as the doors open, ignoring Effie.

I sit next to the toilet after. That meat was too...rich, I guess. Too much fat. I hadn't ever tried anything like that in District Twelve, probably because we didn't have anything like that. Just lean squirrel meat, and skinny rabbits and the occasional wild turkey. I crawl onto my bed and somehow fall asleep while telling myself not to.

"Prim!" My mother's voice comes from behind me, and I turn around. "Look!"

"Mom?"

She thrusts her hand into my face. "Look, Prim, look. Look at it!" She grabs me in a hug and thrusts her hand back up. "I finally found it!"

"What, mom?" I back up to look at her fist.

"Prim!" My mother's form is receding, and her voice starts to fade as she calls my name repeatedly. "Prim! Prim!"

I try to run back, but I can't. "Mom!"

Suddenly, her voice gets louder again. "Prim!"

I suddenly jolt up in bed, panting. "Mom?"

"Prim!" That's not my mother's voice.

Effie stands over me, hands on hips. "Finally! Get up."

My mother was disappearing in my dream. I shiver and pull the blankets around me tighter.

"You missed dinner! What were you thinking?"

I wonder who put me in bed.

"Primrose Everdeen! Are you listening to me?" Effie grabs me and shakes slightly. "Meet us in the room with the biggest TV after you dress," she orders before stomping out, fuming.

Apparently we have more than one TV, I muse, as I hunt around the room for my clothes. A pair of hands suddenly appears in my line of vision, holding my pants.

I look up to see a silent red-headed girl. She was the one who served us at dinner yesterday, I notice, the avox. "Thanks," I say after a moment.

She helps me into my clothes and leads me to a room with a TV so big, it takes up the entire wall. Effie and the crew sit in the curvy sofas, eyes glued to the screen.

"District 1, Marvel- nine," the robotic voice announces.

"Just in time," Peeta whispers as I sit down next to him.

We sit through the districts until District 12. "District 12, Peeta Mellark," Haymitch grips the sofa arm, "eight." Everyone cheers. And District 12, Primrose Everdeen-" the voice pauses. Effie starts muttering to herself. Haymitch coughs.

"It's unbelievable!" A new voice announces. "Caesar Flickerman here. If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a mistake. I felt this had to be announced personally. Prim has a whopping twelve! Congratulations!"

Silence fills the room.

Haymitch turns to me slowly. "You didn't just throw knives, did you?"

"Umm...no?"

He sighs. "You know what, I don't want to know what you did. I'm out of here. There better be wine in the dining room." He stands and leaves the room, but comes back a few seconds later. "Damned curiosity," he mutters.

"Well?" Effie demands.

"Well, you know, they weren't paying attention so I threw a few knives, and took some of that roast pig- it tasted horrible- and I left. So yeah. Nothing too special," I say quietly.

Haymitch groans and stomps out of the room, muttering "Need more wine..."

Effie stares at me, horrified. "You left without being excused? OH!" and promptly (fake) faints, leaving the avoxes to get her back to her room.

"So..." I say when Peeta and I are alone in the room. "What did you do?"

"Threw a few bags of weights around, you know. Just displayed strength best I could." He runs a hand through his unruly blond hair and looks at me weirdly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I demand.

"You're.. different. From when we were at home," he says slowly. "You don't need protecting anymore, it's like you're more.. independent." He yawns. "Goodnight, Prim," he says sleepily, and stumbles out.

I shrug to myself and go to my room.

xxXxx

"Hello," a man says, entering the room. I'm in the prepping room, and my three helpers or whatever have just left. Tomorrow's the start of the games, I suddenly remember.

"I'm Cinna," the man continues. He's normal looking, except for some gold eye shadow. Tomorrow the Games begin. Apparently, his student was the one who dressed me for the opening ceremonies. He fits me into a dress. It's white and poofy with a little pink bow to make me look "innocent". He talks as he takes measurements, and I find myself liking him a bit more, and even saying something every now and then.

Finally, he's done and it's time for the interviews. The night passes by in a blur again, and when it's my turn I manage to push my panic down enough to pay attention. I make myself bounce up the stage and sit down next to him, and then wave at the audience. They roar in response. These people want me to die in the games.

"Well, look who we have here! Welcome, young lady. My, that dress looks good on you!" Honestly, I don't get why they like this guy. "So, how're things going?"

Tomorrow is the start of The Hunger Games.I blank out the rest of the interview, but when I get back into the apartment Cinna and Haymitch congratulate me and assure me I did great.

"You must have gotten at least ten sponsers by now," Haymitch says, smiling down at me, but I don't care. I just want to go to sleep and forget about this forget about my homesickness, forget that the games are tomorrow.

The Hunger Games is tomorrow, my mind insists on thinking over and over again. I lay down in bed. The Hunger Games is tomorrow. I even dream about the words floating through my mind. The Hunger Games is tomorrow. I jolt awake in and find sunlight streaming through my windows. The Hunger Games is today. Today I am going to die. Or maybe tomorrow. But soon. I am going to die soon.

And then that thought drifts through my mind through breakfast, the somber ride on the hovercraft, Cinna's goodbye in the underground rooms- "You're going to do fine, Prim,"- and suddenly I'm rising though the tube. I am going to die soon.

"The Seventy Fourth Hunger Games will begin in sixty...fifty nine..."

But wait. I see Rue and Peeta looking at me encouragingly. Some other tributes are also looking at me, but not in a hostile way.

"Forty one...forty...thirty nine..."

I have others supporting me. I forgot. How could I forget? I might not be dying soon.

"Twelve...eleven...ten...nine..."

Me and Peeta had a plan.

"Five...four..."

I will survive.

"One."

The cannon booms, my heart starts racing, and to the confusion of the careers, the other half of us rush towards the Cornucorpia and grab any knife we can find. I will survive. I position the knife over my arm. I'm going to go home. I plunge the knife in and the tracker falls out.