Kamau lay silently on his bed, stomach softly heaving up and down. His family's one-room shack was illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, bright beams streaming in through an open window. He couldn't sleep. No one could. He knew by the constant shuffling in the other beds that his parents and sisters were just as restless as he. The Reaping Ceremony was scheduled for the following day, and nothing could ease the worry that drifted over the families of District 11 the long night before. Kamau couldn't handle the anxiety that was twisting his stomach around like a rubber band. He quietly got out of his bed and tied on his shoes. His parents heard the floor creak, they heard him sigh and leave the shack, but they didn't stop him. They knew he was going to find Rue.
Kamau paced soundlessly through the barren streets. Hanging tin cans clanked and cold, wet laundry flapped and swung back and forth at the will of the strong wind, and Kamau's heart was beating faster and faster. He was always anxious the night before Reaping Day, but this time the knotted feeling of worry was crawling around so insistently, as though something had been foreseen—there she was. She was hunched into a ball, arms hugging her dark, skinny knees. Rue was perched in her usual spot on the willow tree overlooking District 11's main field section, a wistful look smoothly lathered across her face. Her hair blew in thick wisps against the wind, and Kamau was overwhelmed by her beauty. He'd been called crazy for falling in love with Rue, but there was no way he couldn't be. She was so strong, so humorous, and so kind. Her every move was graceful and generous, and her eyes—Kamau couldn't breathe when he felt the soft pressure of Rue's blazing orbs bore into his. It was like sunlight; powerful, yet warm. Kamau swallowed, and began climbing up the tree. He knew Rue could hear him, but she didn't say anything. He settled himself down next to her on the rough, cracked branch, and the two watched in silence as the long, green leaves of the willow tree rocked back and forth.
Kamau cleared his throat. "You know, the stems kind of look like hair. When they all move together."
Rue smiled, but still continued to gaze at the starry sky. "Life's kind of like hair," she said abruptly.
"What do you mean?"
Rue reached for a strand of her hair, and twisted it around her fingertip. "Each and every one of us is just a strand of the universe's hair. At first we might seem unimportant, because there's the entire head of hair to focus on, but if you take away the strands, you've got no hair. So, we might be small in physical form, but our existence itself is a large as we want it to be."
Kamau lightly touched Rue's shoulder. She slowly glanced up at him, and their gazes met. Kamau thought of the first time he'd seen her, years ago. It was during the harvest, and she, a tiny child, was lovingly balancing two babies on her knees. She'd been singing to them, a sweet tune about a happy place. Kamau had felt the love her voice and eyes, and he was amazed by her boldness to comfort strangers. He didn't see that often.
He'd been crazy about Rue ever since. Somehow, she made him feel good in a way no one else could. Her words of wisdom, her kindness, her confidence resonated within his heart, and filled him with elation, with those butterflies that fluttered around and smacked against his rib-cage.
"Rue," he said softly, and somehow, a moment later, his hand was stroking her head of soft hair.
"What would you do if they reaped you?" she asked, with no acknowledgment of his movements.
"I'd fight. What else am I supposed to do?" Kamau answered, cocking his head.
"You'd have a chance, Kamau. But I don't think I would," she replied quietly.
"What are you talking about, Rue? You—you're smart, and kind, and—Rue, you're beautiful. You'd get sponsors," Kamau breathed.
Rue let out a laugh. "Me? Win against 200 pound eighteen year old guys?"
"Rue." Kamau waited until she was staring at him again, and took a breath. "Please, Rue. If I'm picked to go to—the Games, you can't volunteer just to be there with me. You promise?"
"What if I'm picked?" Rue's voice was stable, even confident.
"You won't be," Kamau replied sternly. He knew he had no power over the Reaping, but—Rue couldn't go the Hunger Games. He wouldn't let the Capital steal her innocence, her childhood. He swallowed, and grasped Rue's slim hand. He didn't let go until the sun rose.