Two

The impact of these words knocks every wisp of air from my lungs. All the blood is drained from my face and I feel my hands clenching in fists involuntarily at my sides. Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen. Because it's not fair. Not at all.

One slip. One slip in thousands. The odds had been entirely in my favor. Katniss, on the other hand, had not had the odds in her favor. Even so, I am the one who walks with stiff, small steps toward the stage.

I pass by the crowd where Katniss is, but I don't have the courage to look at her. If I do, I'm not going to make it. I'm going to fall on my knees and cry like a baby. I don't want to do that in front of her.

I'm about to climb the steps when I hear a strangle cry. "Prim!" And I know the voice belongs to Katniss, so I freeze. No, I think, realizing what she's going to do. No, I won't let her do it. "Prim!" She doesn't need to shove through the crowd. The other kids make way immediately. She reaches me and grabs me, leaving me with the sensation that she'll never let me go. And that's what worries me.

"Young lady," Effie Trinket says with a strident voice. I think she's torn between annoyance for messing up with her show and excitement. That is the only district with some action going on, after all.

"Katniss," I whisper, trying to control myself. "Katniss, don't you dare."

I look at her face. I know she's about to say the words. The two words that are going to take her away from me, probably forever. I can't let this happen. She has suffered so much because of me. It's time to return the favor.

"Katniss," I say seriously, "if you do this, I promise that I'll hate you for the rest of my life!"

Every word hurts. But I have to say them if I want to keep my sister alive. I wouldn't ever say these things to her if I didn't need to. I could never hate Katniss. And I know she wouldn't bear it if I did.

I can see that I have made an effect on her. She lets go of me. Her face is so heartbroken I feel bad. I am doing this for you, sis, I think.

But when I feel that everything is going to be fine, when I think Katniss is safe, she blurts out, "I volunteer!" And pushed me behind her. "I volunteer as tribute!"

My world crashes down. The shock stops me from doing anything. I'm suddenly angry at Katniss. It's not proper for the moment, but the only thing I can feel is anger. I was supposed to reward her! I wanted to do her a favor! She's been taking care of me for so long! And now, when I have the chance, she messes everything up!

There's some confusion on the stage. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades. The rule is that once a tribute's name has been pulled from the ball, another eligible boy, if a boy's name has been read, or girl, if a girl's name has been read, can step forward to take his or her place. In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a great honor, people are eager to risk their lives, the volunteering is complicated. But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.

Katniss is now a volunteer. Therefore, she is now a corpse.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um . . ." she trails off, unsure herself.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor. He's looking at Katniss with a pained expression on his face. He doesn't know us really, but there's a faint recognition there. She is the girl who five years ago stood huddled with her mother and sister, as he presented her, the oldest child, with a medal of valor. A medal for her father, vaporized in the mines. Does he remember that? "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."

When I hear these words, I come to myself. I start to scream hysterically. I grab hold of Katniss, just like she had done to me, and refuse to let go. My skinny arms are not enough to hold her hunter body for long, and I know it. I begged not to take Katniss away from me! I begged so hard! "No! Katniss, no, you can't go!"

"Prim, let go," she says harshly. She has never been so harsh to me. Is that it? Now she hates me? She hates me for being reaped of for having to save me? "Let go!"

"No." This time, I'm not hysterical. I'm determined to pay Katniss back. For everything she has done for me. I will not allow Katniss to fight until death because of me. "I veto!" I yell. I yell as loud as it's possible. "I veto her volunteering!" I am now thinking of every synonym for the word I have ever learned, to emphasize, to show them I'm not kidding. But who's going to take a twelve-year-old girl seriously? "I veto, I forbid, I prohibit, I disallow!"

I don't even know if that is allowed. They may think that I'm defying the system. But that's not my intention at all. All I know is that I won't watch my sister's death on TV. I don't think about anything else.

Everyone is confused. So am I, to be honest. No one knows how to react, not even Katniss. The entire population of District 12 stares at me.

Effie Trinket is the first to regain her composure. "Now that's different!" she says brightly. "I'm not sure if there's a rule about this kind of situation… I think it is the first time that this happens!"

"No!" Katniss is back to herself. "No, that's not possible! I volunteered! I'm going to compete now!"

"I don't want anyone to volunteer!" I scream. "I want to compete! Certainly, I have the right to do that! I don't want her to volunteer to take my place!"

I can feel the eyes on me, wide as the berries Katniss finds in the woods. They can't believe I'm doing this. They don't understand. I'm always so peaceful, so passive. I don't do things like these.

I risk looking at Katniss. And I see that she, too, doesn't understand. I want to scream and cry. If even she doesn't get it, then who will?

Suddenly, Haymitch steps forward. He sways back and forward. "Give the little one a chance!" he bellows groggily. "She has got spunk!" He looks triumphant at the pronunciation of such difficult word. Then he looks directly at the camera and points. "She has got more spunk than you!" And then he knocks himself unconscious.

I have the sensation that I'm not the only one defying the Capitol today.

"Um…" Effie Trinket says, trying to bring the attention back to her and away from Haymitch. "I think we shall save this for later! Maybe we should go for the boys."

Katniss and I are partially forgotten when the tension restarts. Effie crosses to the ball that contains the boys' names and grabs the first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium and reads the name. "Rory Hawthorne!"

My blood goes ice cold. That can't be happening, I think. No, no, no, no! From all people, why him? The odds are not in my favor today. My entire body trembles as I concentrate on not crying.

Everyone thinks I'm weak, I think. Everyone loves me, but I know they think I'm a weakling. Even Hazelle, Gale, Rory and Vick. Even Mom. Even Katniss. I will not prove them right. I won't cry.

How is it possible? Rory also has his name entered only once. He's twelve. Were these the odds, the powerless odds, in action? Or is it possible that someone has been manipulating District 12's reaping?

I watch Rory as he walks toward the stage with big steps. His face is firm and concentrated, his grey eyes are grim and I have never thought about how much he looks like Gale as I do now.

"Rory! No!" I have no doubts that it's Gale's voice. I expect nothing less of him. Just like Katniss, he does everything for his family. And he's willing to do this one thing: save Rory's life by volunteering.

Gale doesn't have much difficulty in crossing the crowd, since the eighteen-year-olds are the closest to the stage. He embraces Rory just like Katniss did to me.

"I also volunteer!" he says, his strong voice filling the square. Everyone is shocked. Another volunteer? In the same reaping? That is so improbable, so impossible. In District 12, people simply don't volunteer.

"No!" Rory screams in fury, pushing Gale. One look at his eyes and I know that everything that went through my head when Katniss volunteered are now going through his head. He takes a shaky breath and shouts, "I veto!"

That causes more surprise yet. Everyone is whispering. Effie Trinket's face is close to pure desperation. Rory followed my lead. I don't know how these Capitol people are going to react now.

"You can't just ignore our requests!" I make myself say. Everyone looks at me. "There's no rule that specifies we can't veto!"

Rory joins me, to my relief. "Prim is right! If we want to compete, let us compete!"

"No!" Katniss screams. "We volunteered! When someone volunteers, you have to let the person compete! They're just kids, please!"

"Since we volunteered, the previous tributes have no right to compete!" Gale echoes.

Now everyone is screaming their opinions. Should they allow Rory and I or Gale and Katniss to compete? Or neither? Should they redo the reaping?

Effie clearly doesn't know what to do. Neither does Mayor Undersee, who is petrified on the stage. It's as if he can't understand why we all want to be on the Games.

Katniss grabs my shoulders and shakes me. "I haven't done everything to protect you just to lose you for the Games, Prim!" she shouts.

"Exactly!" I push her away. "You're always saving me, Katniss! I want to save you now, just for a change!"

She stares at me, incredulous. But before she can think of anything to say, we're interrupted by someone that grabs the microphone.

"Well!" Effie Trinket shouts to be heard. "I have to contact the Capitol about this…"

No one seems to be listening, though I observe her as she snaps a high-tech cell phone and speaks quickly and anxiously. A few moments later she is back at the microphone and says dramatically, "Let's see what these twelve-year-olds are capable of! It was decided by President Snow and Seneca Crane, The Head Gamemaker, that our tributes are Primrose Everdeen and Rory Hawthorne!"

I don't know if I should feel triumphant or miserable. Have I just fought with my sister and won my death on TV? Yes, it sounds stupid, but that's what I just did. No, I'm doing this for Katniss. It's all for Katniss.

Now it is her turn to scream hysterically. Gale's face has gone pale. He finds Katniss and embraces her. Neither of them looks at the stage while Rory and I climb up the steps.

"What an exciting day!" Effie Trinket exclaims above Katniss's screams. Effie is the only one who seems to find that 'exciting'. "After all this fuss, I present you District 12's tributes, Primrose Everdeen and Rory Hawthorne! Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our tributes!" trills Effie Trinket.

To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Mine and Rory's words were effective, but the most deadly weapon for people is silence, and they know it. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.

A shift has occurred since I stepped up to stop Katniss from volunteering, and now it seems I have become someone precious. Katniss is the bold one, not me, but now it seems that I have become important. I, the peaceful healer from the Seam. At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love. It's not only destined to me, but to Rory as well, who is also a fighter. Even more than I am.

The mayor finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions for Rory and I to shake hands. His are rough and dry. Rory looks me right in the eye and gives me a reassuring squeeze. This gesture calms me down more than I thought it would.

We turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

Now that I know that Katniss is safe, another thought of desperation invades me. My face remains expressionless, but my heart is racing and my mind is working hard.

Only one is going to leave the arena. Which means that one of us is going to die. Or both of us.

Maybe I won't have to kill him myself, I think. There are twenty-four of us. Someone may kill him before I do.

But then I think furiously, again fighting against tears, I don't want to kill him! I don't want to kill anyone! Especially Rory!

The odds… they are my last hope. But they, of course, have not been very dependable of late.