How in the world did this happen to me, of all people? One day I'm just this nobody outcast from the Seam, the next my face is plastered all over the television in every home and every town square in Panem. One day I'm a girl determined never to fall in love, the next I'm the heroine in "the romance that's sweeping the nation!"

Right now I'm sitting in Algebra class, staring determinedly at my desk. It's been four days since Peeta said my name, since that phone call from Haymitch Abernathy. The furor and excitement over the reveal has thankfully settled down a bit, but I still keep catching people looking and whispering, so I do my best to keep my eyes to myself. People keep asking me questions I don't know how to answer. It hasn't been the best week of my life, to say the least.

At least, though, Peeta is alive and awake—he finally came to permanently late yesterday. Watching him dealing with his physical pain and the loss of Rue was hard—I wished so badly that I, or anybody really, could have been there to comfort him. He seemed so alone, so broken. But then he had received that parachute with that note. The cameras hadn't been able to catch what it said, but whatever it was seemed to have given Peeta new life. Deep down I wonder if the note had something to do with me.

I glance up and see my face on the television again. Each classroom has one, and during the Games they are required to be on at all times in case something "interesting" starts to happen. The teachers keep them on mute so they can go on with lessons, but it's still distracting. Nothing much has been going on the past few days since two of the three remaining Tributes were unconscious, so they've been running and re-running my interview time and again.

That damned interview. I had tried my best, and I think I come off as a complete idiot. Apparently, though, the Capitol people are thrilled with me. I wonder what Haymitch thinks. He and I hadn't exactly hit it off during that phone call…

"….we need to talk."

"What about?"

"About bringing the boy home alive."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, come on, Sweetheart. Everybody knows it was you. So are you going to help me or not?"

"Of course I'll do anything I can do to help Peeta, but I don't see what…"

"What are you planning to say when the cameras show up tomorrow?" he interrupts me.

"I don't know."

"Well, I'll tell you then…you are madly in love with the boy, do you understand?"

"What? That's…I don't…" I stumble.

"Eloquent, aren't you? Look, Sweetheart, I don't give a damn about what has or has not happened between you two, or about what you do or not feel for him. Unless you're a completely heartless bitch, which I assume you're not, you're going to want to help him survive. If he's going to survive, he needs sponsors. And to get sponsors, we need a love story. The sponsors can't resist a good love story."

I close my eyes and sigh. I see where he's going with this, but I'm not sure I'm the right person for the job. I hate it, but what choice do I have?

"Okay, tell me what to say."

"Tell them you love him, but you never got the chance to tell him. It's the biggest regret of your life, and all you want is another chance. Make them want to help him win so everybody can watch a big sappy romantic reunion when you meet him at the train station. Think you can do that?"

"I don't know. I'll try. I'm not very good with words."

"I noticed."

"Hey!" I snap. "I said I'll try, okay? I wasn't exactly ready for this."

"Nobody ever is, Sweetheart. But the boy's life is on the line, so suck it up."

I grip the phone hard, swallowing the invectives that want to pour from my lips.

"Fine," I mutter, my teeth gritted.

"Listen," Haymitch says. "You'll do okay. You're not so great with words like you said, but you don't really have to say much—the audience will be dying to fill in the blanks for you. Just be shy and sweet. Basically, just act completely opposite of what you apparently actually are."

I give a bitter laugh.

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?"

"Right back at you, Sweetheart. So are you going to help us out or not?"

"I've said yes like three times now," I say impatiently.

"Good," he says. "Wear something pretty, okay? And one more thing."

"What?"

"Welcome to the team."

And then he hung up on me.

Sitting here now, remembering, I roll my eyes and wonder what Peeta thinks of Haymitch. I try not to judge him too harshly, though—at least he sounded relatively sober on the phone, and he seems to be making a real attempt to help Peeta. Like he said, we're on the same team now.

I look back up to the screen again. Thankfully, my face is gone now, replaced by a split-screen shot showing Cato, Farrah, and Peeta. They all seem to be making preparations for a fight—organizing weapons, eating, packing up their supplies. They must know, just as we do, that the Games can't stay so uneventful for much longer. The Gamemakers are going to force a confrontation, and they're going to do it soon.

The end will probably come tonight, and all eyes are going to be on me when it does. I've been "Invited" to come watch in the town square, with a seat of honor down in front. The cameras will have perfect access to film my reaction to whatever happens. The Capitol does like its drama.

After Algebra is lunch and I make my way over to my usual table and sit down across from my friend Madge Undersee. She has been blessedly silent on the topic of Peeta and the Hunger Games over the last few days, for which I will be forever grateful. But today she must see something on my face that makes her reach out.

"It's going to be okay, Katniss," she says, gripping my hand tightly. "At least…one way or another, it's all going to be over soon, right?"

I nod, fighting back the tears her kindness has elicited.

One way or another.

I'm running. Running fast than I ever knew was possible. Running for my life.

The mutts are close behind me, practically nipping at my heels. I get the sense that they could catch me if they really wanted to, but that's not their job. I'm being herded—chased into confrontation with the other Tributes, and there's nothing I can do about it but run.

Blood is pulsing in my ears, my heart pounding in my chest. Sweat pours down my face and soaks my shirt. Leaves and branches slap against me as I careen through the forest. Miraculously, I don't trip or fall—it's as though I'm going so fast my feet aren't touching the ground long enough to catch on any branches or roots.

I don't know how much longer I can last at this pace. I'm built for strength, not stamina.

Just as this thought crosses my mind, I burst out onto the open plain where the Games began and are apparently going to end. The Cornucopia gleams in the moonlight just ahead, beckoning me. If I can just make it there, maybe…

I put on one last burst of speed, pushing my wasted body to its final limit.

I'm halfway there when out of the corner of my eye I see another Tribute—Cato—shoot out of the forest, another pair of wolf-like muttations flat on his heels. He, too, is heading for the safety of the Cornucopia. I have to get there first. I can't let him get the high ground…

I have a head start, but Cato's faster than I am. He's merely yards away when I hit the golden metal of the Cornucopia. He disappears on the other side and I know he'll be trying to get up over there. I fly up, scrambling for any foot and handhold I can find on the slippery surface. Just as one of the mutts leaps up, I pull myself over the top, pulling my legs just out of the reach of its snapping jaws.

I quickly scoot backwards towards the lip of the Cornucopia, the highest point within my reach. Cato breaches the top moments later. He stays on his knees, a few feet below me. We are both gasping and retching, desperate for air, completely winded by the chase. The wolves, which have multiplied in number, are swarming around and around the base of the Cornucopia, looking for a way up.

Suddenly a scream rips through the air, drowning out the snarls and yelping of the mutts. I look over just in time to see the red-headed girl from District Five knocked down from behind by a giant wolf as she runs towards us. It happens in mere seconds—the moment she hits the ground, they're upon her. I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut, not willing to watch. There's one more blood-curdling scream, then the sound of a cannon.

It's just me and Cato, now.

I open my eyes and see him looking at me, the same thought in his mind.

We both scramble to our feet, staring at each other.

"Let's do this," he snarls, and I brace myself.

I lost my spear early on in my run from the mutts, and as far as I can tell Cato has no visible weapon, either. That's to my advantage, I think. I've pinned him before—maybe I can do it again.

Cato doesn't waste any time. Before I'm really ready for it he launches himself at me. I push to the side at the last moment, hoping his own momentum will send him over the lip of the Cornucopia, but no such luck. He hits me low, grabbing my left leg and throwing me back so that my head and shoulders are hanging over the edge. We struggle for control, and I can hear the wolves below, leaping up and snapping at my head. They are fearfully close and I swear I can feel the heat of their breath on the back of my neck.

Cato gets his hand under my chin and starts forcing my head back and down. I pretend to fight against him with all my might, keeping his focus while my right hand travels down my leg to grab the knife hidden in the picket there. I make sure of my grip, and then without giving myself time to think, I yank my arm back and then slam it back down, aiming for the center of his back. Instead of meeting soft flesh, my knife hits something hard and goes skittering across his back. It slips out of my hand and back down the slope of the Cornucopia.

What the…? Body armor? How did he…?

Fortunately, my failed attempt to stab Cato does at least serve to distract him just long enough. He reaches back to stop the knife he thinks is still in my hand, and I seize the opportunity to throw myself forward, forcing his weight off of me.

Then we're both rolling back down the Cornucopia, struggling for dominance. We are fairly evenly matched in natural strength and skill, I think, but my body is weak. Cato, unlike me, has had access to plenty of food and supplies during these Games, and it's going to take every ounce of strength I have left, every dirty trick my brothers ever taught me, every bit of determination I can muster.

Katniss. Remember Katniss.

Suddenly I have the upper hand. Somehow I have managed to get Cato in a headlock. He's still struggling but I hang on. One tug to the side and his neck will be broken. I'll go home.

I hesitate.

That one moment of hesitation costs me dearly.

I yell as my own knife slices through my thigh, cutting deep. I drop Cato in my shock and pain and then he's on top of me again, the knife at my throat. I use both hands to try to push the knife away, but he's just too strong. We're both panting as the knife inches closer to my neck. I've got to do something, think of something.

Ignoring the flare of pain in my thigh, I quickly bend my knees and brace my feet against Cato's body. Then I use everything I have to push him up and over me. The move works even better than I thought it would—Cato goes screaming over my head and the edge of the Cornucopia, dragging me with him. Together we fall towards the mutts waiting below. At the last second I manage to find a grip on one of the ridges in the side of the Cornucopia, barely stopping my descent.

Cato is not so lucky—he hits the ground and the wolf-like muttations are on him immediately, dragging him off. His cries of pain are gut-wrenching, but there's nothing I can do. I'm barely hanging on—I've got to get myself back up top, and this time I'll have to do it with one useless leg.

As I inch my way up, there are still two wolves below, just waiting for me to fall. I'm pretty sure I'm out of their reach, but I find out I'm wrong just as I'm about to pull my legs over the top—there is a sudden, searing pain in my calf as one of the mutts manages to reach me with a giant leap. Its teeth sink into my already injured leg, and then it falls backward again, its weight dragging me back down.

Somehow I manage to hang on. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I finally scramble to the top of the Cornucopia. I lay there on my back, gasping for breath. Cato is still screaming. How is he not dead yet? It took the mutts about five seconds to finish off District Five, so how? Then I remember the body armor. It's going to give him just enough protection to ensure his death will be long and drawn out and as painful as possible.

I sit up to assess the damage to my leg and immediately I know it's bad. Really bad. That mutt literally took a chunk out of my calf, leaving nothing but a bloody, pulpy mess. The knife, courtesy of Cato, has cut me to the bone. In the moonlight I can see a river of my blood streaming down the Cornucopia, and I am already starting to feel weak from blood loss.

So now it's just a waiting game between me and Cato, to see which one of us can hold out the longest. I lay back, squeezing my eyes shut, and attempt to block out the painful cries coming from below.

I muster up an image of Katniss in my mind and try to hang on.

Hey all! Sorry my updates have been a little slow lately. Some evil person gave me a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey and I've been barely able to do anything but read those damn books for like the last week. I have no idea why they're so addictive—they're pretty bad, really, and it's going to send a horrible message to a lot of young girls and women. Ladies, if you think your love is going to be able to heal a "broken" man, 99.9% of the time you're going to be wrong, and the attempt is going to bring you nothing but heartbreak at best. Voice of experience talking here. But I digress—I have finished the books and so my updates should start coming more quickly from now on.

I owe several of you PMs…Will be working on that!

As always thank you muchly for all the reviews, etc. I'm thrilled that so many people are enjoying this story.