I just manage to slip into Haymitch's house, to wake him up with another pitcher of water, avoid his knife, and drop off the rolls, and run out through the window.

I then go up the stairs of my own house to the bathroom, where a steaming tub awaits. My mother has added a small bag of dried flowers that perfumes the air. I try not to find an ulterior motive behind this tiny act and instead try and enjoy the luxury that it is. We've come a long way from only having cold water at our home in the Seam.

I slide down into the water, and try to relax for a few more moments. As soon as I get out of this tub... I won't be getting a moment's rest. If I were to recall a truly relaxing carefree moment it would be when I would go to the lake with my father and we would go swimming. I wish the tub were big enough to swim. I can almost recall hot summer Sundays in the woods. Those days seem to be from a different time altogether.

We would leave early in the morning and hike farther into the woods than usual to a small lake he'd found while hunting. I don't even remember learning to swim, I was so young when he taught me. I just remember being able to do it to the point where it became second nature to just enjoy myself. At night, when we got home, my mother would pretend not to recognize me because I was so clean. Then she'd cook up an amazing dinner of roasted duck and baked katniss tubers with gravy.

It's been years since I've gone back to the lake. I could have. It's time-consuming to get there, but the waterfowl are such easy pickings you can make up for lost hunting time. It's a place I've never really wanted to share with anyone, though, a place that belonged only to my father and me. Since I've won the Games, I haven't gone back. Swimming would be nice, but I don't know how I'd be able to handle the sight of so a lake so soon after Layla. I think I would want to say a proper goodbye to her overlooking the ocean in District 4. To see it for the first time and think of her, like I promised her.

Even underwater I can hear the sounds of commotion. Honking car horns, shouts of greeting, doors banging shut. It can only mean my entourage has arrived. I just have time to towel off and slip into a robe before my prep team bursts into the bathroom. Normally anyone seeing me like this would be unthinkable, but with my prep team it's unavoidable to the point where I don't even care anymore. They've seen it all.

"Katniss, we're here!" Venia squeals, and even with Layla's memory hanging over me, I am surprised when I find myself almost laughing. Her aqua hair has been styled so it sticks out in sharp points all over her head, and the gold tattoos that used to be confined above her brows have curled around under her eyes, all contributing to the impression that I've literally shocked her. I just know that any alterations they've done to themselves is because of the Victory Tour.

Octavia comes up and hugs me and pats my head, "There, there. We're here to get you out of this quaint little District for your Tour! Now let me see those nails!" She grabs my hand and pins it flat between her two peagreen ones. No, her skin isn't exactly pea green now. It's more of a light evergreen. The shift in shade makes me slightly wary considering my last name is Everdeen..."Really, Katniss?! You managed to keep up with your eyebrows, but not your nails?! What am I supposed to do now?" she wails.

My nails were the one thing they never told me to specifically upkeep. I've bitten them to tiny little stubs, and while I don't feel particularly remorseful I still mutter a half hearted," Sorry."

Flavius lifts a few strands of my wet, tangled hair. He gives his head a disapproving shake,causing his orange corkscrew curls to bounce around. "Has anyone touched this since you last saw us?" he asks sternly. "Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone."

"Yes!" I say, grateful that I can show I haven't totally taken them for granted. "I mean, no, no one's cut it. I did remember that. And I used the conditioner you left me!" I did use it mostly because it made getting ready in the mornings a lot easier with my hair cooperating.

This seems to mollify them, and they all kiss me, set me on a chair in my bedroom, and, as usual, start talking nonstop without bothering to notice if I'm listening. While Venia touches up my eyebrows and Octavia gives me fake nails and Flavius massages goo into my hair, I hear all about the Capitol. What a hit the Games were, how dull things have been since, how no one can wait until I make my debut at the end of the Victory Tour. After that, it won't be long before the Capitol begins gearing up for the Quarter Quell.

"Isn't it thrilling?"

"Don't you feel so lucky?"

"In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"

Their words overlap in a blur of excitement.

"Oh, yes," I say neutrally. It's the best I can do. I don't want to be a mentor. While I may not have many people I call friends, I still know them. I've gone to school with them all my life. District 12 isn't very big and the chances of failing someone I've known for so long is terrifying. That and the facts that a Quarter Quell means everything will be worse.

Every twenty-five years marks the anniversary of the districts' defeat with over-the-top celebrations and some miserable twist when it comes to the games. I've never seen any of them. But in school I remember hearing that for the second Quarter Quell, the Capitol demanded that twice the number of tributes be provided for the arena. The teachers didn't go into much more detail, which is odd considering who won. Haymitch won.

"Haymitch better be preparing himself for a lot of attention!" squeals Octavia. Haymitch has never mentioned his personal experience in the arena to me. I don't know if I would ever want to recount my own. I don't know what that means for me as a mentor. Haymitch is wasted almost every day, but seeing as this year will probably be his worst games yet, I doubt he'll be much help for anyone. I just hope he's coherent enough to let me know what to do before he leaves me to do this.

After they've exhausted the topic of the Quarter Quell, my prep team, just keeps talking. Mostly just silly gossip, but harmless gossip at that. Soon my brows are stinging, my hair's smooth and silky, and my nails are ready to be painted. Apparently they've been given instruction to prepare only my hands and face, probably because everything else will be covered in the cold weather. Flavius badly wants to use his own trademark purple lipstick on me but resigns himself to a pink as they begin to color my face and nails. I can see by the palette Cinna has assigned that we're going for girlish, not sexy. Good. I need to look as girly and innocent as possible for this to work.

My mother comes in, somewhat shyly, and says that Cinna has asked her to show the preps how she did my hair the day of the reaping. I find it somewhat humbling how eager and polite and kind they are with my mother. They are so excited to learn the hairstyle and I feel bad for how tiring I find them to be most of the time. I account it to them simply growing up in the Capitol and how they can't help the life they live.

When everything is good I find Cinna downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of him makes me relieved. He looks the same as always, simple clothes, short brown hair, just a hint of gold eyeliner. We embrace, and I can barely keep from breaking down how nervous I am about everything.

It's so easy to talk to Cinna, though. Lately we've been speaking a lot on the telephone that came with the house. It's sort of a joke, because almost no one else we know owns one. There's Peeta, but obviously I don't call him as he doesn't have one. Haymitch tore his out of the wall years ago during one of his more... therapeutic episodes. Madge has a telephone in her house, but I can just go over to talk to her.

At first, the thing barely ever got used. Then Cinna and I had to talk about what kind of look I would be going for regarding my outfits for my debut and follow up concerts and music videos and just my Tour in general. There's even been talk of me being the face of one of his upcoming lines. It'll probably be named something like Girl on Fire or Flame or even just Katniss by Katniss Everdeen. It would be worth it to get to work with Cinna, and would add to my frivolous persona, but it just seems so pointless to me.

Cinna's clothes are always beautiful, though. He hands me a pair of flowing black pants made of a thick, warm material. A comfortable white shirt. Sweater woven from green and blue and gray strands of kitten-soft wool. Laced leather boots that don't pinch my toes."Will these be part of our future line?" I ask teasingly.

"No, that line will be a lot more fiery. This is Winter apparel." says Cinna.

"So a Summer line?" I ask thinking of how that will probably line up with the Quell...and he nods.

Just then, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, "We're on a schedule!" She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, then orders me into position. I am standing in front of life sized posters of myself and closeups of my face and background clips of my music videos, without the sound, of course.

Effie's the only reason we got anywhere on time in the Capitol, and I'm lost, so I try to take her direction. I start bobbing around like a puppet, holding up CDs and saying meaningless things like "I can't wait for you guys to hear it?" The sound team records me describing the description of the songs I'm releasing in a chirpy voice, then I'm tossed out of the room so they can film my props and CDs and so on in peace.

Prim got out early from school for the event. Now she stands in the kitchen, being interviewed by another crew. She looks lovely in a sky blue frock that brings out her eyes, her blond hair pulled back in a matching ribbon. I see her innocent expression and suddenly I squeeze my eyes shut and I don't see Prim—I see Layla, the little girl from District 4 who was my ally in the arena. She was tiny and innocent and just wanted to go back home. I couldn't save her and now she was gone. And I'm still here.

The Capitol's pretty little puppet.

What happens when being their puppet is not enough? Who else will be dead if I don't satisfy President Snow? I realize Cinna's trying to put a coat on me, so I raise my arms. I feel fur, inside and out, encasing me. It's from no animal I've ever seen. "Ermine," he tells me as I stroke the white sleeve, it's comforting. Leather gloves. A bright red scarf. Something furry covers my ears. "You're bringing earmuffs back in style." I just nod even if they already feel annoying. My mother hurries up with something cupped in her hand. "For good luck," she says.

It's my mockingjay pin that Madge gave me. A mockingjay flying in a circle of gold. I tried to give it back to Madge, saying that she was the reason it was suddenly so popular and that it was hers to begin with. She just waved me off and said it was a gift and it meant even more now knowing I'd made it back.

Cinna fixes it on the knot in the scarf. Effie Trinket's nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?" I don't exaggerate when I say she shoves me out the door. For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I see the cameras and the lights. In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And I know I must.

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking towards the cameras. I smile until my cheeks hurt and I want to rip my hair out in frustration. The rest of the day is a blur of getting to the station, bidding everyone good-bye, the train pulling out, the old team — me, Effie and Haymitch, and Cinna —dining on an indescribably delicious meal I don't remember. And then I'm swathed in pajamas and a voluminous robe, and trying to fall asleep. I am surrounded by comfort, but I feel none of it.

How long before those around me start to realize it, too. How everytime I see them, I just see the target on their backs because of me. I think of Haymitch, unmarried, no family, blotting out the world with drink. He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude— that sounds too nice. More like solitary confinement. Was it a choice or was he not allowed? Was the Capitol controlling him, too?

I didn't want to reach the point where I had to knock myself out of the real world because it was too much to bear. I can't let President Snow win. I could chose to end my own life and end everything. My loved ones would no longer be tied to me. Those around me wouldn't be stepping through landmines. I don't know if I would be able to go through with it. The unknown has never sat well with me. I rely too much on being in control of things myself. Ending things and then not know how it ends for everyone around me, is not the way I would want to go.

Running away could be an option. But I would never be able to come back. To Prim, to my home, to those around me. Taking them with me would be impossible. The woods has always been a part of me, but could it be my life?

I shake my head to clear it. This is not the time to be letting the hysteria fog my thoughts. I must focus on the Victory Tour. Too many people's fates depend on my giving a good show. My every move will be criticized and my every word remembered.

I don't sleep that night.

Effie knocks on my door. I pull on whatever clothes are at the top of the drawer and drag myself down to the dining car. I don't see what difference it makes when I get up, since this is a travel day, but then it turns out that yesterday's makeover was just to get me to the train station. Today I'll get the works from my prep team."Why? It's too cold for anything to show," I grumble."Not in District Eleven," says Effie.

District 11. Our first stop.

I try to enjoy the food if only to try and feel something. The kitchen staff clearly wants to please me. They've prepared my favorite, lamb stew with dried plums, among other delicacies. Orange juice and a pot of steaming hot chocolate wait at my place at the table. So I eat a lot, and the meal is beyond reproach, but I can't say I'm enjoying it. I'm also annoyed that no one but Effie and I has shown up.

"Where's everybody else?" I ask.

"Oh, who knows where Haymitch is," says Effie. I didn't really expect Haymitch, because he's probably just getting to bed. "Cinna was up late working on organizing your garment car. He must have over a hundred outfits for you. Your evening clothes are exquisite and your performance outfits are stunning!"

After that she sends me to get my hair ripped off my body right after breakfast. It feels just as awful as I remember from my games and I'm left feeling very much abused. My prep team is making it work with coffee and some kind of pills that make them perk up one after the other. Being up this early must be taking its toll on them, but my leg hair is something they just can't let slide. I usually shave when they come over for photo shoots, but that's not painful. After I feel like all my hair and a few layers of skin have been peeled off I have to soak in a tub full of a thick, unpleasant-smelling solution, while my face and hair are plastered with creams.

Two more baths follow in other, less offensive, concoctions. I'm plucked and scoured and massaged and anointed until I'm raw. My prep team finally seems to cheer up after they're done, but I don't.

Octavia seems to notice and just rubs my freshly plucked arm and says soothingly," Don't worry, we'll be able to set up an appointment for you to be altered. They'll get rid of all this nasty hair in the Capitol."

I look at her confused," You can get rid of it? Permanently?"

Flavius nods happily," Oh, yes, dear! Of course you can!"

"How else do you think we don't have any of that?" Venia says with a tittering laugh.

I frown and then ask hesitantly," Does it hurt?"

They shake their heads and Octavia answers," There's a pill for that, dear Katniss."

That doesn't make me feel much better, but considering the alternative is to be plucked and scrubbed for the rest of my life, however long that may be, it's at least worth considering," I'll ask Cinna about it then."

They beam and that's that.

Lunch comes around and everyone is finally there. I'm not really in the mood, and neither is Haymitch, but he never is. Everyone is talking and enjoying themselves. Eventually I get pulled into the conversations and I can somewhat hold them. I'm never going to be a natural, but I can appreciate someone trying to cheer me up, and that is what they are trying to do. In their own way.

It turns out my prep team was right about the procedure. Cinna reassures me that it is harmless, but considering how much I hate being waxed, it's might be worth it. Effie immediately makes it a point of setting up an appointment for me in the Capitol before my debut, and I can almost see the end of my waxing days for good.

We are nearing out first stop and I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta would like the color. Effie goes through the day's program one last time.

In some districts the victors ride through the city while the residents cheer. But it's different in District 11. It could be because there's not much of a city to begin with, things being so spread out, or maybe because they don't want to waste so many people while the harvest is on, but either way the public appearance is confined to the square.

It takes place before their Justice Building. Everything will be outside on what Effie refers to as the verandah. I will be introduced, the mayor of 11 will read a speech in my honor, and I'll respond with a scripted thank-you provided by the Capitol. If a victor had any special allies among the dead tributes, it is considered good form to add a few personal comments as well. I should say something about Layla when we get to District 4, but I don't know if I could. It's hard for me to talk about her without getting emotional.

At the end of the ceremony, I'll be presented with some sort of plaque, and then I can withdraw to the Justice Building, where a special dinner will be served. As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress.

There's no welcoming committee on the platform, just a squad of eight Peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck. Effie sniffs as the door clanks closed behind us. "Really, you'd think we were all criminals," she says. Not all of us, Effie. Just me, I think. The truck lets us out at the back of the Justice Building. We're hurried inside. I can smell an excellent meal being prepared, but it doesn't block out the odors of mildew and rot. They've left us no time to look around. As we make a beeline for the front entrance, I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. The mayor's introducing me as the massive doors open with a groan.

"Big smiles!" Effie says, and gives me a nudge.

My feet start moving forward. This is it. This is where I have to convince everybody of my innocence, I think. The solemn ceremony is pretty tightly mapped out, so I'm not sure how to do it. I can smile, I guess, but unless I can say something brainlessly silly or unbeguling I don't really know how.

There's loud applause, but none of the other responses I would get in the Capitol, the cheers and whoops and whistles. I walk across the shaded verandah until the roof runs out and I'm standing at the top of a big flight of marble stairs in the glaring sun. As my eyes adjust, I see the buildings on the square have been hung with banners that help cover up their neglected state. It's packed with people, but again, just a fraction of the number who live here. As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes.

I didn't really know either of the tributes from 11, and so the ceremony really just flies past. I try and forget each and every family who either looks at me with hate, resignation, or pity. The last one is the one I hate seeing the most. It's like they can see through my silly smiles and laughs and see the pain and tears underneath the mask, and wouldn't wish that fate on their own children even if it meant they would still be here in my place.

District after district passes by and I watch myself on the recaps. They remark how happy I look and how grateful I am to have been given such help from Panem during my games. How they can't wait to hear my talent. So on and so on. I mainly just study my reactions and expressions and work on making myself more and more believable. The farther we go, the less I recognize myself on TV, until even I believe I'm as stupidly blind to the Capitol's cruelty, as I'm trying to make everyone else believe.

It's District 4, I dread the most. I hop off the train and am immediately greeted by the sea. Everywhere you look, as far as you can see, is sparkling water. I am reminded of the sea when Cinna places me in a ocean blue dress that seems to cascade down my body in waves, this is no dress for the Girl on Fire. Strappy sandals with laces up my calves replace my regular shoes, and my hair is loosely curled. Once I'm deemed presentable I am ushered to a float. It is decorated with strange rock like things. I reach out to touch some when a smooth-almost seductive-voice whispers in my ear," Do you like those, Girl on Fire?"

I jump back, startled, and he laughs. I glare at him only to stop short and realize that District 4's very own Finnick Odair is standing before me. He is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hard pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons.

Everyone probably underestimated him because of his looks, and it took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident—which may be the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena—it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

The citizens of the Capitol have been drooling over him ever since. I could've been like him. They waited until he was 16 to be sold off, but he doesn't give the appearance of that at all. He plays his part well. I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe I always assumed he was too easy to get, or maybe now it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose considering what President Snow has over all of us Victors. "Hello, Katniss," he says, acting like nothing happened.

"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually, although I almost want to step back seeing him shirtless. He only has a pair of casual shorts on and his chest is on full display."Do you know what those are?" he ask, pointing at the things on the float.

I shake my head, curiosity making me actually want to know what they are,"No."

He laughs and reaches over towards the edge of the street towards the sand and he picks something up and hands it to me. It's a smaller version of what they've decorated the float with.

"They're called sea shells," he says surprisingly kindly," If you put it up to your ear you can hear the ocean."

I look at him dubiously but he just smirks and moves it to my ear and I gasp when I hear the whooshing sound coming from the shell. I look at it one more time before handing it back to him but he shakes his head and says," Keep it, to remember me by," he probably can't help but add with a wink and a smirk.

I must look tempted to throw it at his head because he sombers up and says," For the little girl."

I look at him incredulously, but then he asks," What's with the little girl dresses? I was expecting flames and smoke and ash, not this."

"I like them," is all I say. Finnick takes the starfish necklace I have on and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about your singing career. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?" I say wondering what he's getting at.

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do they pay you for the "pleasure" of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly.

He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "I don't really have anything to hide."

He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think we'll have to agree to disagree." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Haymitch is coming. Say hello to your mentor for me. Make sure to blow a kiss my way!" He has the nerve to kiss my forehead before I can even step away and then saunters off.

Haymitch is by my side in a second and he gruffly demands, "What did Fish Boy want?"he asks.

I turn and roll my eyes," He wanted to know all my secrets."

Haymitch looks at me and then chuckles," Of course he did, and what else?"

"He gave me a seashell," I offer and he just rolls his eyes and says," He probably just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

I look at him "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," he says," But don't worry your pretty little head about him. Just smile and wave and do what we practiced."

The music is beginning and I see crowds gathering around the float. Haymitch actually decides to be helpful for once and offers me a hand up. It goes about as well as I pictured and I smile as happily as I can, and wave, and even giggle at Haymitch's expense. He is as bitter and grumpy as ever and I don't have to try so hard to laugh at him which he doesn't seem to appreciate.

We reach the center of the district where the stage is placed and I am helped down. As usual, a special platform has been constructed at the bottom of the stage for the families of the dead tributes. On the boy's side, there's only an older man with an even older looking elderly woman. After Layla's death, I'd been stupid enough to be caught in a Career trap. He found me and asked about what happened to Layla. I told him everything and he raised his spear. I'd been sure that would have been it for me, but he just let me go and ran off without another word. I owed him my life, but I didn't even know his name.

On Layla's ... I'm not prepared for Layla's family. Her parents, whose faces are still fresh with sorrow. Her 2 younger siblings, who resemble her so closely. I hadn't allowed myself to remember exactly what she looked like but seeing them there, brings it all back to me. The slight builds, the sparkling big blue eyes. So like Prims, but deeper blue with a hint of green...like the ocean, I realize with a start.

The applause dies out and the mayor gives the speech in our honor. I learn the boy's name is Caspian. A little girl comes up with a tremendous bouquet of flowers. I speak but don't even seem to register the words coming out of my mouth, they're so scripted. The mayor steps forward and presents me with a plaque that's so large I have to put down my bouquet to hold it. The ceremony is about to end when I notice one of Layla's sisters is staring at me. She must be about nine and is almost an exact replica of Layla, down to the way her red hair slightly curls.

She's not happy. In fact, her look is reproachful. Is it because I didn't save Layla? No. It's because I still haven't thanked her, I think. Not properly, at least. A wave of shame rushes through me. The girl is right. How can I stand here, passive and docile, leaving all the words to the Capitol? If she had won, Layla would never have let my death go unsung. I remember how I took care in the arena to cover her with flowers, to make sure her loss did not go unnoticed. But that gesture will mean nothing if I don't support it now.

"Wait!" I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. "Wait, please."

I don't know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they've been forming in the back of my mind for a long time."I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Four," I say. I look at the man and elderly woman on the boy's side.

"I only ever spoke to Caspian one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his kindness. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. He could have been a regular Career and used my own mistake against me, but he didn't. I respected him for that." For the first time the old hunched woman — is she Caspian's grandmother? — raises her head and a soft smile plays on her lips.

The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how they manage it. I can hear the sound of distant waves nearby. They must all be holding their breath. I turn to Layla's family. "But I feel as if I did know Layla, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the blue flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. "Thank you for your children." I raise my chin to address the crowd. "And thank you all for the bread."

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. This is what had happened when District 12 bid me goodbye when I was reaped. I hadn't expected it, but appreciated the sentiment more than I could explain. This is also how I said goodbye to Layla. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

Then something crazy happens that is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me.

If I wasn't so terrified of what President Snow would do, this gesture might move me to tears. But with his recent orders to calm the districts fresh in my ears, it fills me with dread. What will he think of this very public salute to the girl who defied the Capitol? The full impact of what I've done hits me.

It was not intentional—I only meant to express my thanks — but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 4. This is exactly the kind of thing I am supposed to be defusing! I try to think of something to say to undermine what has just happened, to negate it, and I burst into the tears I've been holding this whole time.

Haymitch comes up to me and shoos away other people trying to calm me down. He also has a microphone, but he acts like he doesn't even notice," There there, what's wrong, Sweetheart?"

I sniffle daintily and look up with watery eyes and say," I'm just so sad!"

"Why are you sad?" he asks with a weary sigh and a slightly amused look towards the cameras.

"I just find it so wonderful that District 4 would be so kind to me," I say a bit tearfully, I even allow my voice to sound almost childish," They are almost as wonderful as the Capitol. It's no wonder that Layla and Caspian were just as kind to me, as well."

Haymitch nods," Yes, I'm sure they are, now why don't we get you a handkerchief and wipe those tears off your face?"

I nod making a show of trying to compose myself," Oh, yes, I wouldn't want my makeup to get messed up. I couldn't bear it!"

I turn to the crowd who has thankfully stopped their saluting," Thank you all so very much and I can't wait for tonight's feast!"

I blow a kiss to the audience and I just manage to catch Finnick's knowing smirk as he makes a show of trying to catch it and patting above his heart.