A/N: Thanks so much to all who reviewed, especially Solaryllis, who was awesome enough to recommend this to the readers of her story "Saturday Night in the Seam", which is one of my new favorite Gadge tales.

This chapter will take place during the "present", on the day of the reaping. I'll be switching off the timelines, so chapter 4 will take place after the New Year's party. The timelines, obviously, don't have the same tone, and the "present" will be slightly darker.

Warning: If you loved how happy the last chapter was, you might be mad at me for continuing the story, because, well, it's still The Hunger Games. Happy doesn't last long. There will be happy moments, but nothing like chapter 2. You've been warned!

Some dialogue was taken directly from the book. Not mine!


Reaping

I hold my breath. Please not me.

I always hold my breath when Effie Trinket, the exhaustively enthusiastic woman who serves as District 12's escort to the Capitol, reaches into the reaping ball. I can't help it. Even if Gale believes that my name won't be chosen, I don't share his confidence. Plenty of kids from town have been chosen before. Granted, not as often as Seam kids, but still, it happens. My mother's own sister, for example, was a tribute, long before I was born. Of course, that was the year of the second Quarter Quell, during which the rules were changed and twice as many children from each district were reaped. But she was chosen, all the same, and died brutally. So, I hold my breath as Effie draws a slip of paper from the glass ball, knowing that it's possible I could meet the same fate, no matter what the wise Gale Hawthorne has to say about it.

"Primrose Everdeen," Effie calls, and I let myself exhale for only a moment before I realize what's happened. Katniss's sister, Prim, who's only twelve, has been called. I may not know much about Katniss's life outside of school, but I do know that Prim is the one thing in the world that Katniss truly cares about. Surely, this will devastate her.

I hear Katniss call out her sister's name, and when I spot her in the crowd, she's rushing to follow Prim, who is stiffly making her way toward the stage. I can see Katniss frantically pushing her sister behind her protectively. "I volunteer!" she yelps. "I volunteer as tribute!"

My eyes go wide, along with so many others in the crowd. My first thought is, no, not Katniss. Almost immediately, though, the thought is replaced by understanding. It's her only option. She can't let her sister die. Not after she's spent the years since their father's death practically raising Prim on her own, fighting just to keep her fed. Of course she'll volunteer to take her place.

Effie prattles on about the proper procedure for volunteers, and thankfully, my father interrupts, telling her to let Katniss come forward. His eyes find me briefly, and I nod in thanks to my poor, kind father, who already lets the forced festivities of the Hunger Games take their emotional toll on him, and who knows Katniss is the closest thing I have to a friend. The thought of her being shipped off to the Capitol to die in the Games is almost too much to bear. I feel like crying, but the tears won't come.

I spot Gale helping her up to the stage, and holding back Prim, who looks hysterical and heartbroken. For one ridiculous moment, my emotions betray me, and I catch myself feeling jealous of the tenderness he shows to Katniss, the pain I can see in his eyes as she moves across the stage away from him. Immediately, I hate myself for it, and banish the thought from my mind. What a horrible girl I must be, to have bitter thoughts right now, no matter how fleeting, as Katniss, a truly amazing and self-sacrificing person, marches toward the promise of death. It's really no wonder he loves her and not me.

When Effie tactlessly calls for applause, it makes me feel sick. And apparently I'm not the only one, because no one in the crowd makes a sound. It's a terrible and beautiful moment, and I feel proud that the rest of District 12 recognizes, like I do, just how big a loss this is. There is no one like Katniss.

The moment is interrupted, however, by an embarrassing outburst from Haymitch, who accidentally takes a dive off the stage and has to be removed from the scene before the show can continue. I can't help feeling slightly worried about him.

Compared to the beginning, which seems endless every year, the rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur. The youngest Mellark brother, Peeta, is chosen, with much less excitement, considering no one volunteers for him. It's no surprise. No one ever volunteers in our district. Katniss is the first I've ever heard of. Besides, I've come to know Peeta's brother, the one who isn't too old for the Games, and he's not the type to do anything that doesn't serve himself in some way. If he volunteered to take his younger brother's place, I'd die of shock right here.

My father begins to recite the Treaty of Treason, but I'm not paying attention. I'm looking only at Katniss, and wishing I could do something for her. Anything that might help.

Suddenly, I realize there is one thing I can offer. It's not much, but it's the only thing I have to give. As soon as my father finishes reading the Treaty, I watch Katniss shake Peeta Mellark's hand, and our national anthem plays. I bounce on my toes, waiting for the final notes to end, and when they do, I squirm through the crowd of girls with some difficulty, and dart into the Justice Building. A group of Peacekeepers are already leading Katniss to a room where she can have one last goodbye with her loved ones. She's ushered past me with a vacant look in her eyes. She doesn't even register that I'm here.

I'm the first one to arrive who wants to visit with her, but I can see Mrs. Everdeen and Prim approaching down the hallway, and I decide to let them go ahead of me. They're her loved ones after all. I'm just a girl she knows from school.

They don't really seem to notice my presence either. Mrs. Everdeen holds Prim against her, gently stroking her blonde hair, trying to keep them both calm. I move my eyes elsewhere, feeling like an intruder in their grief. As much as I care for Katniss, idolize her even, I'm not a part of her family, and I can't truly feel the emotional gravity of the moment as they do.

I fix my gaze across the hallway, where the Mellarks are waiting to see Peeta. The eldest brother has a hand on his father's shoulder, and is saying something to him that I can't quite hear. The baker is nodding grimly, his eyes shining, fixed on the closed door between them and his youngest son. Mrs. Mellark's mouth has formed a straight line while she glares into the distance, and the other son, the handsome one whose name I'd prefer to forget, is staring at me. The moment I realize this, I dart my eyes back to my side of the hall, overcome with guilt, but unsure why. Maybe it's because Peeta has been nothing but sweet to me the few times we've spoken, and yet I'm here to support Katniss, and give her the one symbol of good luck I can offer. It feels wrong choosing between them, but then again, isn't that just one of so many terrible things about the Hunger Games? It's not enough that we have to watch our friends and neighbors die, but we have to pick a favorite to root for.

As my thoughts are overtaken by the sickening nature of the Games, both doors open, and two Peacekeepers emerge from each room. The Everdeens disappear into Katniss's room, the Mellarks into Peeta's. I'm left alone in the hallway with the Peacekeepers guarding the doors, but only for a moment. A few boys from school, friends of Peeta's, find their way across from me to wait, and to my dismay, I can see Gale Hawthorne turning a corner and heading slowly in my direction.

My heart starts pounding and I lock my eyes on the door, visually tracing the subtle groove pattern in the wood for several minutes until I'm distracted by the Peacekeepers conferring wordlessly, and opening the doors to usher the families out. As Mrs. Everdeen and Prim exit, it dawns on me that my turn is next. I hesitate though, and despite my efforts to forget that he's standing right next to me, I look up to Gale, to see if he wants to go in before I do. Our eyes lock, but he makes no movement toward the door. I seem to be frozen where I stand, and after a long moment, I decide to just go in. But when I look behind me, I'm surprised to see the baker entering Katniss's room. I glance over at the other Mellarks, and the two brothers look just as confused as I am. Mrs. Mellark is seething.

"She's going to come home," Prim is saying quietly. I see her take Gale's rough hand in her small delicate one, and he nods slowly. "She promised me she'd try to win. I know she can win," she tells Gale, her voice wavering slightly.

He doesn't say anything back, but nods and pulls the girl in close, and she wraps her skinny arms around him. I avert my eyes, knowing that if I watch them any longer, I won't be able to hold tears back, and I don't want Katniss to see me cry.

The Peacekeepers open the door again and I quickly remove the gold mockingjay pin from my dress, and squeeze it in my hand, running my thumb over it like a talisman. It's been mine since my first reaping, and the thought of parting with it saddens me, but not enough to change my mind.

Mr. Mellark rejoins his family, and I take a deep breath and enter the extravagantly decorated room, where Katniss sits on a velvet couch, looking dazed. I sit next to her, remembering that my visit with her is strictly limited, and there's no time to be shy.

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" I ask her, holding out the pin for her to see. I won't bother explaining its origin, or just how much it means to me. I'll just have to have enough faith for the both of us in the luck I know it will bring her in the Games.

"Your pin?" she asks, flustered.

"Here, I'll put it on your dress, okay?" It isn't a question. I take a bit of the soft blue material of her dress in my fingers and fix the pin onto it, trying not to sound frantic as I make her promise me that she'll wear it into the arena. I can see she doesn't understand why this is so important to me, but that doesn't matter, as long as she agrees. "Promise?"

"Yes," Katniss says, and I know my time will be up in a moment. I can't bear to have the Peacekeepers barge in and take me away from her, so I decide to leave on my own, but not before giving her a kiss on the cheek. I tell myself the gesture doesn't mean goodbye.

The moment I'm back in the hallway, Gale moves swiftly past me, grazing my shoulder with his arm. I turn, noticing that he's wearing the same worn out, once-black shirt he wore to my house half a year ago. He wore it to the reaping today. I realize that it must be the nicest shirt he owns, and I cringe, remembering how offhand and casual I was that night when I made him exchange it for a more proper one, because his wasn't even good enough to wear to clean up during my parents' party.

And I wonder why he thinks I'm a snob.

He doesn't bother looking back after he brushes by me on his way to Katniss, and before the door closes, I see her rush into his arms. I close my eyes, fighting back the choking feeling in my throat. Still, no tears come, and I'm thankful. If I do cry today, I want it to be for my friend, or my almost-friend anyway, going off to the Capitol, most likely to die. My tears will not be for me, and whatever latent feelings I'm holding onto for a boy I can't have.

I exhale slowly, and open my eyes. The boys from school are on their way out. I'm alone in the hallway with the Peacekeepers again, and before I can bring myself to leave, I make a decision. Without thinking, I march over to Peeta's door. The young Peacekeeper to the left of the door is one I recognize, and I know he knows me. He looks down at his watch, then meaningfully back at me. I nod, silently letting him know that I'll keep it brief.

When I enter, Peeta is standing, and he looks as surprised to see me as I am to be here. His face is stained with tears, his eyes, red and slightly puffy. I can't tell if he's been crying the whole time, or if he started when his friends left, because he thought he was done with visitors. He doesn't say a word, and before I know it, his arms are wrapped tightly around me. I let him hug me, which feels slightly awkward, considering the fact that we barely know each other, and I take in the smell of freshly baked bread that lingers on his clothes.

He lets me go and flashes a small, apologetic smile. I'm not sure what I should say, or what even possessed me to come in here because, if by some miracle, one of District 12's tributes were to actually win, I'd want it to be Katniss. I can't wish him luck, or tell him I hope he comes home, not if I'm being honest. Still, Peeta Mellark is a good person. Probably the only person from town I wish I'd gotten to know better. Now it's too late, so I wipe a tear from his cheek, in the way Nessie might do for me, and tell him the only thing I can think of. "Show them what you're made of."

He nods swiftly. "I will."

There's nothing else to say, so I nod back and open the door, taking one last look at him before I'm escorted out. I'm still not sure why I wanted to say goodbye, but I'm glad I did, because I know this is the last time I'll ever see him.


The large window in my room is open, the curtain drawn back, but the air still seems stale. With my mother in bed suffering from another headache, which seem to plague her more often this time of year, and my father working late at the Justice Building, I came up here to escape the vastness downstairs, but now I just feel claustrophobic. I perch on the edge of my bed, trying to force myself to breathe deeply, but the air feels thick in my lungs and I'm afraid I might be sick.

I need fresh air.

I fumble my way back downstairs and into the kitchen, which is dark since Nessie's already gone home for the night. I don't bother with the light switch, choosing instead to feel my way around the counters to reach the back door. When I open it, the refreshing night breeze gives me a slight shock, and so does the familiar figure I find facing me, just a few feet from the doorway. A gasp escapes me.

"You scared me," I say needlessly. I'm sure he guessed that from my reaction.

When I recover and take a good look at him, it's hard to believe that this wounded looking boy is the same daunting Gale Hawthorne who spoke so coldly to me only this morning. Unlike me, in my summer nightdress, he's still wearing his reaping clothes, but his shirt is untucked and his hair is mussed. I can't imagine what he's doing here, and he isn't offering any clues.

"How long have you been here?" I ask.

He shrugs. There's a glassy look in his eyes that makes me think of a lost child, and I realize that behind the disheveled appearance and the misery, I'm seeing traces of something I've never seen in him before. Fear.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask cautiously.

He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck while we stand in silence. When he lets his hand drop back to his side, I can't help noticing that his knuckles are swollen and pink, with traces of blood that's beginning to dry. I feel sorry for whatever was on the receiving end of one of his punches. I want to take his hand in mine, to show him some comfort with a small gesture, any gesture, like I did with Peeta, but I can't bring myself to move.

"I'm sorry, Madge," he says gruffly, after a long time. His voice is thick, and I tell myself it's from the awkwardness of being outside my house so late at night, and it couldn't be that he's been crying. Gale Hawthorne does not cry.

I tilt my head slightly. "What for?" For as long as I've waited for an apology from Gale, this is the last moment I would have picked to expect it.

"This morning," he says. "I was rude to you."

"Oh," I reply, taken aback. "Well, yes, a bit. But that hardly matters now, does it?"

"I guess it doesn't," he agrees. "I was wrong though, about your chances."

"My chances?"

"Of getting picked," he says. "If Prim's name could have been called her first time around, I guess yours could have been too."

I nod slowly. "Right."

Another breeze hits, and the fresh air I longed for a few minutes ago is beginning to make me shiver. I focus my gaze on my bare feet. The silence grows again, until it's almost a tangible object, filling up the space between us.

Finally, I open my mouth, and in a feeble attempt to reassure us both, I say, "She could win. Katniss could win."

I expect him to nod in agreement, like he did when Prim told him the same thing this afternoon, but he surprises me. "No, she can't," he says flatly, looking me straight in the eyes. The fear I thought I saw in him before has been replaced by a look of grim acceptance.

He turns away from the house to leave. I allow my legs to give way, and sit down hard on the bottom step, feeling defeated, and finally, the tears come. I look down to my lap and watch as, one after another, tiny circles of moisture form on my nightdress. The first are for Katniss, for her family, and for Gale, who loves her. One for Peeta Mellark, with the kind eyes and the bakery smell, who I should have become friends with. And while I'm at it, one for Haymitch who, once he's ushered two more kids to their deaths, will pick out a gift for me before he leaves the Capitol. I tell myself that none are for me, lucky enough to be at home, safe from the Games.

When I raise my head again, Gale's still standing there, half turned away but looking back at me curiously, watching me cry. "Goodnight Madge," he says.

I stare after him as he walks away until he finally disappears from my view. Tears keep trickling down my face, and after a while, I forget to keep track of who each one is for.