So I've met a person who thinks that flowers and candy and money is so important when you have a boyfriend, she cried when her boyfriend never gave her anything but a sketch of her, painted and beautiful. He had put a lot of work into it and I felt devastated for him when she broke up with him. This is for you, Dave. Oh, and all rights go to Suzanne Collins.
11 Years Old.
Roses. Lilies. Petunias. My head is spinning as I feel each of their petals between my fingers. The flower shop lady is smiling up at me, waiting for me to choose.
At school, the teacher told us that a long time ago, before Panem, our ancestors had held a holiday on February 14th. It's about love. He said to get into the spirit of things, you could send a flower, candy, or even a note to someone in our class.
Gale and Katniss had just brought down a buck yesterday, and he let me take a few coins to buy something special for her. Flowers, but what kind? It hits me like rocks. I wonder why I didn't think of it before. "Do you have Primroses?" I ask shyly."
The next day, I hide the primrose under my shirt, but there is really no use. I'm at school so early it's an hour before the teacher unlocks the classroom door, spilling tea on his shirt as I race past him into the room. I sprint to her desk, place the primrose delicately on it, take a piece of paper and write a note, and slip out of the class.
The bell rings, as we slip into our desks. I'm surprised to see a pile on my desk- notes and chocolates, and the most surprising, a small piece of paper folded into pieces with her name written neatly outside. I'll open that one last.
I sneak a peek at her desk. It has about the same amount of things as mine, but no one but me sent her a primrose. I squirm in my seat, and the teacher says we can open our gifts.
All the boring, sappy notes I stick into the recycling bin secretly, and stick sweets into my pocket. Finally, I open hers, slowly, my fingers trembling. It's a drawing of a deer, its head cocked to the side, with a stubby tail and four hooves that are poised delicately. This drawing is so exact, so well drawn that my spine shudders. At the corner, she wrote something.
"Yesterday, on the way home from school, I saw a deer. It was munching on some grass, and it stayed incredibly still as I sketched it. Just as I got to its head, it slowly turned it towards me, like this. Its eyes were so shockingly gray, like yours, I decided to give you this instead of my original gift. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed drawing."
I turn my glance to her and she meets it, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She mouths the words 'Thank You." and so do I and I turn away before I can let her see my smile.