My first day of teaching reminds me of my first day of school. My mother had been busy with baby Prim, so my father walked me to school. With an empty bag slung over my shoulder, I'd clutched his hand and walked through town, upset that I was getting dirt all over my shoes before I even got there. My mother had braided my hair on either side of my head, and she'd sewn a special dress for the occasion.

When we reached the school, I refused to let go of my father's hand. I begged and pleaded for him to stay with me. I told him there would be an empty seat in the classroom he could use, I was sure of it. He, in turn, told me he had to go to his school. But never to fear, for he would always be right there in my heart. He thumped his fingers against my heart, then chucked me under the chin to make me smile. As I grew older and he continued the tradition of walking me to school on the first day, I realized what pride he took in the tradition. Each year he went to get strides to shower and launder his clothes to look his finest for me, before heading off to the mines for the day.

So as I leave the house with my bag holding only a journal of poems and songs I've written down over the past two months, I head to Haymitch's house. When he answers the door, I ask if he'd like to walk to the school with me. It's an odd request, but it feels fitting. While he wasn't the best, most sober mentor ever, he kept us alive. In an ironic way, he's the closest thing I have left to family. He must sense the importance behind the invite, because he actually agrees.

I debate taking Sweetheart with me, but decide against it. Though I'm sure the children would love to see and pet her, she'd likely only be a distraction and I doubt a school yard is the best place for her to spend the day grazing.

Haymitch and I walk silently a few paces apart, but his presence helps calm my first day jitters. I'm still dubious about the idea of teaching, but the mere fact that Haymitch hasn't poked fun at my decision since I made it suggests it could be a worthwhile use of my time. For once, I can try to be a little less selfish and help mold this world into a place where I would want to raise a child of my own.

When we reach the school yard, we depart with a nod each. But as I reach to open the front door of the recently reconstructed school house, I hear Haymitch grunt a good luck. Coming from him, it speaks volumes. With a thank you of my own, I duck my head and push inside.

It's nothing like I remember. Of course, my school was burnt to the ground. They weren't able to salvage a single bit of rubble and were forced to rebuild the school from scratch. It was smaller than the one I remembered, but perhaps that was just a matter of perspective. I'm taller now, and the children bustling through the narrow corridor seem smaller than I could have ever been.

I poke my head into the first room I reach, unsure of where to go. The woman standing at the blackboard in the front of the room hushes the school children when she sees me and ushers me in. "We have a very special guest today," she announces to the class, waving me further into the depths of the room as I hesitate. "Miss Katniss Everdeen is here to teach us some music today."

Dozens of pairs of eyes turn to stare at me. Each face wears a familiar look of awe and amazement. An excited chatter fills the room. It takes the teacher a moment to calm everyone back down. "We will be on our best behavior today," she tells rather than asks. "And you will listen to what Miss Everdeen has to say."

As I reach the head of the room, my eyes lock onto a young girl seated in the front row of small desks. Her dark blond hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, but strands of it stick out in every direction, pulled free from the ribbon fighting to hold on. Her shoes are dirty, and a smudge of dirt streaks her cheek, probably from recess in the yard. But what causes my throat to seize is the way her shirt hangs half tucked in and half pulled out of her pants. At first glance, she reminds me so much of Prim that it's physically painful. At second glance, I realize it was a huge mistake to agree to do this. I'm not ready to immerse myself into the world again. I've been in the room less than five minutes, and already my chest aches from the memory of my sister.

I don't realize I spoke aloud until the teacher corrects me. "Her name is Sarah, actually," she says, motioning to the girl seated in front of me. Only then do I know I whispered my sister's name. Desperately, I want to flee from the room. To crawl back into my bed and start the day over again. But there's no hiding away anymore. Though Prim didn't look like she was from the Seam, she definitely belonged to our district. I see snapshots of her in people I pass in the street or who come into the bakery. She will always linger here and hiding won't change the ghosts.

It's a struggle, but I make it through the lesson. It takes all my strength to pull myself together, but I muster the strength. The girl who looks like Prim, Sarah, has such a sweet, soft voice that my heart aches. But there's happiness too there, in the deepest part of my chest. If I can see parts of my sister in others, it will help her memories and her legacy live on. Her legacy isn't a bad thing at all, I remind myself as I flip the page in my notebook and recite the first stance of the next song for the class to repeat.