Birdie smiled softly, her hands cupped carefully around Sal's cheeks. "We're okay, Sal. This is just another day."
Sal pulled away. "Birdie, you're being stupid. Of course it's not another day. It's Reaping Day, and all of our plans could be ruined-"
"It's the last reaping day. Every year, we worry, and every year, everything is fine," Birdie said calmly.
"Shut up!" Sal yelled, kicking the wall with his foot. "You're tempting fate!"
Birdie rolled her eyes. "We're eighteen. We make it through today, we get to live the rest of our lives in peace. No kids. No more reaping. We ignore the Hunger Games. We go to work, then we come home and be together, in love, every day."
"Every day," Sal echoed. He took a deep breath, letting go of his anger.
He did not tell Birdie about his dream. He had not even told his girlfriend yet that his dreams had a disturbing pattern of coming true. And she was so happy, so content in this moment, that Sal decided it was better to prolong the peace.
"Here, look, I picked out my dress." Birdie held up a long, tattered black ball gown. "Actually used to be my grandmother's. I just cut it up." Staring Sal directly in the eyes, she peeled off her t-shirt and jeans and wriggled into the dress. Then she turned around. "Zip it for me?"
Birdie's back was covered in acne scars, scattered like stars over the expanse of her shoulder blades. It was the most beautiful thing in the world, and Sal always wanted to run his finger over her back, tracing constellations. He zipped the dress obediently.
Birdie took a little jar off of her bedside table and swirled her finger in it, swiping black eyeshadow messily over her eyes and lips. She fluffed up her dark brown hair. Sal bit back a gasp at how stunning she looked. He was always in awe of his girlfriend- the way she moved, spoke, and thought so quickly.
"Can I do your eyeliner?" Birdie asked with a smile.
Sal took a deep breath, mustering a smile. "Always."
Sal was wearing a white suit, the fabric shredded and tattered to match what Birdie had done to her dress, and his hair was cut into a shaggy mullet. He and Birdie looked so good together, two halves of a whole, and as she dragged a paintbrush covered in black ink across his eyelids and gelled his hair into spikes, he knew he could not live without her. He only hoped she could make it without him.
Sal and Birdie, Sal and Birdie. Everyone in District 3 knew the two of them as parts of each other. They had been together since they were fifteen. It was storybook, fairytale love. The kids idolized the two of them, the adults looked at them with some disdain and the Peacekeepers hated them wholly. Maybe that was why all of this was about to happen. Sal had never thought the tributes were truly chosen randomly.
As Sal walked out the door, he got a glimpse of himself in Birdie's yellowing mirror. "You look hot," Birdie said softly, kissing him on the top of his head. She was 6'1" and he was 5'8", and whenever Birdie got a chance to remind him of this, she took it.
"So do you," Sal said weakly. His stomach was turning.