As she stood on stage, the scorching sun shining down mercilessly on her, she silently thanked her stylist for that extra layer of make-up. At least she wouldn't get sunburnt, which would be a shame, because everyone knows sunburns cause wrinkles, and facelifts are such a hassle.

She looked out over the crowd, elated to think about the millions watching her at that very moment as she read the name from the slip of paper.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Then, quickly. Screams, confusion, a volunteer, the blond girl with the braids was replaced by an older, darker girl. What a show, she thought. This will get District 12 some extra air time tonight.

Her voice shaking slightly, the girl told Panem that her name was Katniss Everdeen.

The girl was pretty in a sort of plain way, and she thought, she must be rather brave to volunteer - perhaps this one will last longer than they usually do. The problem with being stuck with District 12, which everyone knew was the least desirable district, was that the tributes were of such inferior quality that they rarely lasted longer than 24 hours in the arena. Which didn't give her much to work with. Her greatest wish was to climb on the ladder of the Hunger Games. To a career district, perhaps even to – her mouth watered – District two.

Not having to work with the vile and rude drunkard would help, too.

She wasn't after the money, she had enough. What she wanted was for people to truly notice her. To admire her, to invite her to all the best parties, to want to know her, to talk about her admiringly. But to achieve that goal, she needed some good tributes.

"Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta? It sounded like a girl's name. She saw a blond boy in the crowd, people shrunk away from him, as if he were already dead.

And as she looked at them, together on stage, she thought that they would surely never win, but perhaps they would last long enough for her to be noticed.

It took her some time to realize their full potential. In hindsight, she guessed the first clue was how the girl, Katniss, stabbed the knife into the mahogany table on the train, surprising even Haymitch, who – however grudgingly – seemed to respect her somewhat after that incident. One night in the bar, after the two tributes had both gone to bed, he drunkenly admitted to her that this year was the worst he'd ever experienced as a mentor – because Katniss was the first tribute he had met from District 12 who actually stood a chance. The disappointment when she died would be even worse than usual.

"What about Peeta?" she asked. She had, much to her surprise, come to like the blond baker's son, even though she tried very hard not to, because he would be dead in a few weeks.

Haymitch's answer mirrored her own thoughts. "Oh, he doesn't stand a chance." He gulped down his glass of white liquor, then poured himself another. But then he surprised her by saying: "I think he loves her, though."

And she thought, how convenient if it were true. Perhaps they could get District 12 some extra airtime this year.

She observed the two tributes closely over the next few days. Was Haymitch right?

She wasn't used to people trying to hide their affections. It wasn't the way it was done in the Capitol. However, she soon came to the same conclusion as Haymitch – as soon as she started looking, it became nearly painfully obvious. How Katniss could be so ignorant of the way his blue eyes never left her when she didn't look in his direction, was beyond her.

One night, in her room on the 12th floor, after she'd taken her sleeping pill and was in that drug-induced limbo between wake and artificially deep sleep, she even cried for them, much to her own surprise. The next day, she blamed it on her drugs, but she also realized that this was their one and only trump card, her ticket to fame.

The star-crossed lovers of District 12.

The phrase was her idea. Haymitch reluctantly agreed, but he wasn't stupid – 23 years of losing tributes in the Hunger Games had taught him that physical strength and intelligence, both of which were qualities Katniss and Peeta already possessed, were not enough.

They needed to be prepped, of course. She was delighted by how much of a difference Portia and Cinna's creations and some good, old-fashioned Capitol prepping did to their dull District 12 looks. She was ecstatic when the two of them rode in the chariot, hand in hand, on fire. She drank in the admiration and jealousy of the other escorts, and she thought: Next year, I'll have your job. Or perhaps yours.

When Katniss earned an eleven, she would've thought things couldn't possibly get better – if she hadn't known what was to come during the interviews, of course. She and Haymitch had planned it carefully, working as a true team for once. He'd managed to get the boy to open up, to confess his love for the girl. It turned out to be even better than they had thought – he'd loved her since they were five.

"Poor bastard," Haymitch told her over a late night drink, as had become their custom. She had to agree, but at the same time she couldn't help but think: These two are golden.

"I think Katniss might actually…" he whispered, his voice trailing off as he tried to suppress what she was surprised to realize must be tears. "I think we may be able to get her out of the arena alive." He didn't say anything about Peeta, but it wasn't necessary – they both knew that he was too good, too kind. But Katniss, the dark huntress – she was their best hope, possibly the finest tribute they'd ever get.

It was imperative that Katniss couldn't know, not until the interviews. It was hard to hide something so exciting from her, but Haymitch insisted. Her reactions had to be real, she was such a terrible actress that everyone would be able to tell instantly if she only tried to feign surprise.

Katniss did as well as could be expected during the interview, considering how she couldn't act and couldn't really interact well with others. She looked pretty, and her dress was stunning, yet she was forgettable, even with her eleven.

Peeta, though, he was the one who had the potential to change everything. She had to suppress the urge to take a pill as she watched him on the screen, the way he joked so easily with Caesar Flickerman. And then it came, his confession, what she had been waiting for: "…because she came here with me."

Perfection!

Every eye in Panem was looking at them now, at the poor and neglected district, at her.

Her star-crossed lovers of District 12.

Never mind the fury Katniss unleashed as soon as she met Peeta again off-camera, how hurt he looked (his eyes, not his bleeding hands), that tonight was (quite possibly) the last night in their lives in which they would feel safe. How she actually rather liked the two teenagers. It was all necessary to achieve her goal: To get a new job, a better job. That primary goal would perhaps be easier to achieve if she managed to reach her secondary goal:

To get Katniss Everdeen out of the arena alive.