Chapter 2: Crazy, Stupid Move

The first thing I feel is Rory Hawthorne's grip on my hand tighten considerably, making it throb. I have to be thankful for this, as everything within my line of vision suddenly seems to tilt. Teeter. I realize that I'm swaying, and it's only thanks to Rory's quick thinking that I am able to stand upright.

The only sound that can be heard is murmuring, shuffling of people in the crowd. But then, glancing to my right, I see my sister emerge from the sixteen-year-olds' pen further up near the front, and on the opposite side of the Square. Walking down the center aisle, her head is erect. I may not be able to see her face, but I know she shows no fear.

That doesn't mean I don't though. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I feel myself drop Rory's hand. He lets out a barely restrained shriek, so that it comes off as more of a choking sound, as he lunges to try and catch me, but I am already out of my place in line, staggering after my big sister. My protector. The one person who cares about me more than anyone, now about to be ripped away from me so she is sent into the Hunger Games.

"Katniss!" I yelp. "Katniss!"

She pauses a few feet from the stage, wheeling around, horrified that I have maneuvered out of my place in line. There is a crunch of gravel as I sense two Peacekeeper officers stepping into the breach to intercept me. Almost in slow-motion, Katniss's stormy and fierce grey eyes bulge, and she begins a lunge towards me…

Neither she nor either of the two officers get anywhere near me before I am calling out in a strong voice that I in no way feel:

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Katniss's entire face shatters like a fragile gem. "NO! Don't listen to her! I volun…"

"Wonderful!" Effie Trinket trills, the amplified sound of the microphone drowning my sister out and preventing her from protesting her own replacement. "Come on up, dear!"

"You're not going up there!" Katniss moves to intercept me.

"Stand aside, miss," one of the officers growls. When my fiercely independent sister refuses, the two white-plated guards proceed to manhandle her by the arms and lead her away, Katniss's legs flailing as she kicks and screams.

"Let go of me, you brutes! She's just a little girl! Prim! PRIM!"

It is the greatest pain of my life to ignore her as I mount the steps to the stage. My gaze landing on Haymitch Abernathy briefly, I watch as he takes one long slug from the flask at his hip. He looks somewhere between enraged and disgusted. Catching me staring, his lip curls in a sneer at me. It is as clear an admonishment of my choice as ever I'll find, and I turn away quickly. Effie has to winch down the microphone to get it to my level.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"Primrose Everdeen…."

"Well, I bet my hat that was your big sister! How brave of you to take her place!"

"Yes…." How brave it is of me, indeed. Even if I don't feel very brave. But Katniss is safe now, for another year, so that makes it all worth it.

Effie Trinket has quickly moved on from me, even if the media hasn't, our escort clopping in her high heels over to the boys' bowl and whipping out a name with a flourish.

"Peeta Mellark!"

The strong and strapping, ashy-blonde-haired boy who just hours ago was offering me cookies and flirting with my sister is now escorted up to the stage, his mouth unhinged in disbelief. At the very back of the crowd, my eyes find my sister again. Katniss has calmed down considerably, though her expression is nonetheless anguished. The pain only becomes worse as her eyes follow Peeta Mellark up to the stage. One soft hand is around her mouth, likely to hold in a gasp, and she is trembling. Her tempest eyes are deeply sad, and if I needed any further proof that she cares deeply for the boy who is to be my district partner, this is it.

"Shake hands, you two!" Peeta and I turn like robots and clasp arms. I have to tilt my head all the way back to look him in the eyes – those crestfallen eyes that now display a little bit of mistrust and fear. The Games have put such mistrust and fear there, in a kind boy. Even so, Peeta's hand nearly swallows my forearm and I know I am doomed. He could easily kill me – and chances are he will. He could kill me just as easily as any of the other 22 tributes who will be joining us in a fight to the death.

Haymitch Abernathy is now on his feet, clapping a firm hand on Peeta's shoulder. The gesture is a clear rebuke to me, but I can't take too much offense to it. Between the two of us, if I was the mentor, I would choose to back Peeta Mellark too. At least he looks strong. At least he's old enough. At least he might know how to fight. Me? I'm good as dead.

Within moments, my sister's probable crush and I are taken into custody.

I am separated from Peeta almost immediately and ushered into an ornate room, complete with a roaring hearth. I overhear a Peacekeeper mention that this is the mayor's private living quarters, and why the hell isn't the Justice Building big enough to include proper holding rooms before he slams the door behind me and clicks the lock.

I stand there for a moment, hands fisting the skirts of my Reaping dress, before crossing to a plush loveseat against the far window. From here, the view is mostly the rooftops of Town businesses ringing the Square; turning my head to the left, I can see around the one column and observe the last of the crowd below dispersing.

Hardly anyone outside of family and maybe close friends bothers to come and visit the tributes Reaped for Twelve. I know Mother and Katniss are certainly fighting like hell to get in here. Perhaps the Hawthornes will also stop by? My heart aches at the thought of Rory.

I suddenly hear the click of the lock again that precedes the door opening, and as if on cue, Rory is shoved inside. "You have fifteen minutes," the officer rumbles to his back and the door slams shut once more.

Rising from the love seat, I stare at my childhood friend, and then he runs into my arms. He is clutching me so tightly that it is nearly painful, and it grows worse when I feel him lightly beating on my back with his fists.

"Why did you do that, huh? You're so stupid, Prim!"

He finally releases me enough that I can draw back and look him in the eye. "They were going to take my sister, Rory! What else could I have done?"

"Let her Reaping stand, for one thing!" Rory blasts out. His eyes then go huge at this, as he catches himself, and looks down at his feet, almost ashamed.

I sigh heavily. "You can say it. I should have let Katniss go in, because maybe she would have a chance as opposed to a twelve-year-old who everyone knows won't win."

Rory doesn't echo these words, much less admit them on his own, perhaps still afraid he might offend me by voicing what no doubt everyone in our whole district is thinking. What they know: pre-teens Reaped for the arena are as good as dead. No tribute has ever won who was younger than 14 years old…. and the 14-year-old winning only happened once, when Rory and I were toddlers.

At last, Rory speaks. "I'm sorry…."

"Don't apologize. You're not thinking anything that isn't true."

"But I don't want it to be true!" He takes my hands in his. "I might not agree with your decision, but we can't do anything about it now. What's done is done. Just…. promise me you'll try to win?"

I smile at him sadly. "Rory, Mama's been teaching me how to be a Healer. I've been trained to save life, not take it…."

"Well, then learn. Gale says there are ways to butcher an animal and still be merciful about it. Maybe if you go about it that way, you won't feel so bad. Like, if you see a Career gushing from a wound…. let 'em just bleed out."

He is making a certain kind of sense. But I can't hope that every tribute will meet their end at someone else's hand and all I have to do is…. not intervene to rescue them. Eventually, I will have to fight. I will have to kill – if I even get that far, and right now, that's still looking doubtful.

"Primrose…." Rory's voice is so soft that I tremble a little at it – a bizarre reaction – and I lift my eyes to his. "You still haven't answered me. Promise me you'll try to win. I… I can't lose my best friend."

I smile gently. "I promise."

"Good." Rory's eyes dart askance for a second, and I peer at him curiously. Our five minutes are nearly up.

"Rory…?"

Suddenly, his lips are on mine and he kisses me.

I squeak in surprise, but then suddenly, almost involuntarily, I melt into the kiss, my very first. My arms are shaking too much for me to even begin to hold him, pull him closer. Maybe even kiss him back… and in any case, the kiss sharply ends but a moment or two later. All I can do is gawk at this boy who I've known forever, speechless.

"Now I can say I did that. At least once," Rory croaks out, threatening tears.

"I'm gonna get another one of those from you, Rory Hawthorne!" I blurt it out, and he blinks at me, hopeful. "When I win, I expect to get another kiss just like that. Promise?"

He chuckles, eyes brightening. "Sure." He nods once. "Goodbye, Primrose." The door opens behind him and he backs away out of the room, trading places with my mother and sister.

Next instant, Katniss is gripping me close and sobbing uncontrollably. She is shaking violently, and I realize it isn't from her tears. It's from rage.

"Stupid. Stupid, stupid!" she admonishes. "What possessed you to volunteer and take my place?"

"You're a little late," I quip dryly. "Rory called me stupid at least ten times, and nearly pummeled me too."

That snaps my sister out of it, at least a little bit, and she rears back to eye me hard. "Rory Hawthorne did what? Just let him wait – I'll give him a beating!"

"He was upset! I don't think he realized he was doing it!" I throw out desperately, heart clenching oddly. I decide it probably would not be a good idea to mention what else Rory Hawthorne did with me – should I, Katniss would probably shoot him through with her bow.

Katniss remains kneeling at my side as Mother gathers me in her arms, weeping bitterly and kissing my hair, mumbling over and over again, "My baby…. My baby…."

Something brushes near my breast, and I realize that Katniss is lightly fingering the mockingjay pin she fastened to my bodice just this morning. "Wear this as your token," she instructs me. "Maybe it'll bring you luck. Protect you. And when you get into the arena…. I want you to run, find an excellent place to hide and stay there." She eyes me fiercely, looking truly scared. "Primrose, do you hear me? Hide and stay there!"

I nod. "I understand."

She nods. "There's a good girl." The door opens behind us, and my sister embraces me quickly, kissing my cheek. "I love you, forever. You are the best of my life. So come home to me alive and breathing!"

"I will. I'll try, Katty! I love you!" I start to sob as my family is led away.

The hour allotted for the tributes to see their loved ones is almost up. I watch the mantelpiece clock over the hearth tick from the 30 to 45 minute mark without anyone else entering my room. Then, at a quarter to the hour, my door opens again, and a man is muscled inside.

"You have fifteen minutes." The door slams once again.

I stare, blinking, dumbfounded, as the Baker lifts his eyes to study me. Why would he come visit me? Did he get enough time to say farewell to his youngest son?

Sitting back on the cushioned loveseat, I beckon the Baker forward with a finger. He shuffles forward awkwardly and lowers himself into the space beside me, hands in his lap. His fingers are clutching something, as I glance down, before just as quickly looking away.

Then I feel the Baker nudge my leg.

Turning to him, I watch as he presses the thing he's been holding it my palm. Tugging on the ribbon, I unwrap it to find a colorful cookie, the icing crafted in the shape of a yellow and white flower. A primrose, the flower that is my namesake.

"A treat for the train?" I ask. He nods silently. Tears sting my eyes. "Thank you."

The Baker clears his throat and then taps me on the knee. "I'll stop by often to check on your mother and sister. Make sure they're eating."

"You won't have to worry much," I smile with pride. "My sister's the best huntress in the district."

"That she is, lassie. That she is." Turning over his shoulder to study me one last time, the Baker gives an awkward way and shuffles out before his fifteen minutes are even up.

I am left alone for the rest of the hour until the Peacekeepers finally come to fetch me. Out in the hall, I reunite with Peeta, Haymitch and Effie Trinket. Our escort guides us to an armored car, where we all squeeze in for the brief ride to Lucy Gray Baird train station. Stuck in the middle seat with Effie, Haymitch riding shotgun, Ms. Trinket is babbling on about all the lovely sights we'll see in the Capitol. Eyes sweeping about this car, the first of many prisons to come, my gaze happens to fall on Peeta. His face is turned slightly away, almost in profile, but not quite, so I can see a bit of wetness glistening as it blazes a trail down his cheek. The profile of his one eye is red and puffy. I can't begrudge his crying, though it doesn't make me feel any less comforted about my own fate. If the strong baker's son is emotional, if he thinks it's hopeless… well, then, I can hide all I like, but the outcome will be the same. My job from here on out is, in all likelihood, to die with dignity.

I just hope it will be quick. At least then, I can say I didn't let Rory or my sister down. Better to not even be given the chance to try at all then to try and fail.

We arrive at the train station and are hustled past the paparazzi onto the sleek and silver locomotive. As soon as we step off the platform and into the traincar, the whole vehicle lurches forward and we speed away from home forever.

The last thing I see of Twelve is the gray telegraph lines before the huge, metal district gate seals behind us.