I'm casually thinking of binge-uploading the rest of TS immediately, but you're welcome to tell me if that's a bad idea. This is one of my favorite chapters, by the way.

Prim forgives me for abandoning her. She so rarely holds anything against me, and in fact, I think she understands. However, she spends so much time prattling on about Peeta 'rescuing her' that I wish I had met her as planned just so I didn't have to hear that. I myself am avoiding Peeta.

And it's easy, because I am busier than I've ever been. I devote myself to hunting, keeping my promise to Gale. I realize just how much I rely on his help; feeding our two families on my own seems like an impossible task. I leave earlier and return later, weighed down with the day's catch, but it's all worth it when I stop by the Hawthornes' to give them their share.

Hazelle- Gale's mother- disregards the rabbit and bunch of dandelion greens I offer her and wraps me in a hug. I'm taken aback- I am not a hugger- but I slowly put an arm around her too. The dead rabbit thumps against her back awkwardly. I don't think she notices.

"Thank you so much," she cries. "I don't know what we'd do without you- without Gale…"

I hate the words 'without Gale'. "It's no trouble," I lie. It was really hard, actually. "He would have done the same for me."

"Of course he would have." Hazelle steps back from me and smiles through the tears. "He would have done anything for you."

I don't know if that's quite true, but the woman is grieving, I suppose, so I try to smile. I think it comes out more like a grimace.

"I'm just so worried for him," Hazelle continues. "I know he's tough, but some of those kids…and with Madge being there."

I swallow hard. Strangely, I feel that I can be honest with Hazelle. "I've been thinking the same thing. I so badly want him to come home."

"He will!" pipes up Vick, the younger of Gale's two brothers. He's ten, I think. "He'd do anything to come home to us. I know he would."

I want to agree with him. But I also wonder how much Gale would do to protect his girl.

"Ma, they're playing the Reaping again!" I hear a call from inside- Rory, the other brother.

"Oh, I'd better go," Hazelle murmurs. I understand- any glimpse of her son is a good one, at least for now. I hand her the rabbit and greens and mumble my goodbyes. I'm glad to have helped them. I will do this every day, for as long as I need to.

I trudge home, exhausted and deeply sad. Gale's only been gone a day, and I cannot imagine life without him. The possibility that he will never return seems more and more likely with every passing hour- it's been more than twenty years since someone from my district won. The odds are not in Gale's favor.

I've always known the Games are cruel- that's the whole point of them- but this is the first time I have personally known any of the tributes. I think that means this is the first time the cruelty hits me in its full effect. When it's exclusively strangers on the television, you can treat it like it's not real. Watching Gale- and Madge, to an extent- fight for his life will be painfully, horribly real.

Buttercup is the only one to greet me at the door, but I hear the television. I boot the hissing cat aside and poke my head into our tiny living room. There's Prim, sitting cross-legged on our singular threadbare loveseat, eating a slice of bread with blackberry jam.

"Come here!" she says urgently. "They're talking about the tributes!"

'They' means Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the commentators for the Hunger Games. All Capitol citizens make my stomach turn, but I have to admit these two are quite charismatic. Although they certainly do look ridiculous, Caesar with his hair and lips dyed lavender, and Claudius with his spherical mass of yellow curls.

"I'm not sure I want to hear," I say flatly.

She smacks the cushion next to her. I believe it's an indication I'm supposed to sit there. "You can't just pretend it's not happening, Katniss. Come here."

I'm not accustomed to taking orders from a twelve-year-old, although I do arguably love Primrose more than anything else in the world. Besides, that's not what I'm doing. I change the subject. "Where'd you get the bread?"

"Peeta brought it over," Prim tells me. There's a smudge of jam on her cheek. "I think he was hoping to see you."

I flinch. Although I don't know what kind of answer I was expecting. "You know, we could learn to bake. I'll start trading pelts for flour. We wouldn't need to rely on…anyone…anymore."

"I like things the way they are, Katniss. Come watch with me."

It's hard to say no to Prim. And, I suppose, part of me is curious about what people might be saying about Gale. Reluctantly, I sit down next to Prim and train my eyes on our small television. Prim offers me a bite of bread and jam, but I shake my head.

"Now, how about the tributes from Eleven?" Claudius booms. "Caesar, what would you wager is the size difference between the two of them?"

Caesar's laugh is more like a bark, but I guess that's part of his charm. "She can't be more than half his weight- if that! What are their names, Claudius?"

Claudius consults his clipboard. "The girl is Rue, and the boy is Thresh."

Pictures of the tributes appear on the screen. I bite my tongue when I see Rue. It's rare for twelve-year-olds to be reaped, but she can't be any older. She's tiny- smaller than Prim- but her eyes are just as kind.

"Little Rue made quite a splash at the Reaping, didn't she?" Caesar comments.

Claudius nods. His dandelion-colored wig- I hope it's a wig- bobbles. "Many were sad to see her go. Lots of tears in District Eleven- but who knows! Maybe our smallest tribute will take the crown this year."

"I don't know about that, Claudius. What about our tributes from Twelve?" Caesar asks. Pictures of Gale and Madge pop up where Rue and Thresh had been. "I know Twelve is typically the underdog, but don't these two look scrappy? Can't you just see that boy going ape with a pickaxe?"

He says it so casually, but I shudder anyway.

"They're underdogs for a reason," Claudius says dismissively. "But his name is Gale Hawthorne, for the record."

"Gale?" Caesar repeats. "Isn't that a girl's name?"

Both of them chuckle about that, and then they go on to talk about potential interview questions and who's the favorite to win. It hardly matters now- the real betting won't start until the training scores are released, two days before the Games begin. Everything until then is speculation.

"And make sure to tune in tonight, for the tribute parade!" Claudius orders. "I've spoken with some of the stylists- we're expecting quite a show!"

I've been lost since 'they're underdogs for a reason'. I mean, it's true. Compared to the rest of the districts, Twelve has a terrible track record for winning the Hunger Games. We're poor. We're underfed. We stay in school until eighteen, so we have no experience in our trade- coal mining- during the time in which we could be reaped. Of course we don't win very often.

But Gale is different, isn't he?

I need to believe he has what it takes.

Prim switches off the TV. "You know, it doesn't matter what Claudius Templesmith says. I believe in Gale."

I swear, that girl can read my mind.

"Thanks, Prim," I say, although I feel completely numb. I stand up quickly. "I'm- I'm going hunting!"

"Haven't you already been out today?" Prim asks rhetorically. I know she knows I've been out. My sleeves are bloody from cleaning the rabbits.

"Yes. I'll be back by dinnertime. Tell Mom!"

And I run.

§

Another round in the woods fails to clear my head. In fact, I'm so jumbled up and out of control that I end up scaring away every bit of prey I come across. All I have to show for my time is a couple handfuls of mint leaves, since plants cannot run away from me.

I drop half the mint leaves at the Hawthornes'- it's only fair- and return home. The sun is almost set- I hurry. The tribute parade will begin soon, and it turns out I am desperate for a glimpse of Gale. My emotions make no more sense to me than they did a few hours, but that one thought rings in my head clearly.

Mother and Prim are in the middle of dinner, but there is a place set for me. I sit down quietly and spoon some of the dandelion salad onto my plate, hoping neither of them will say anything, but of course they do.

"You were out late, Katniss," observes Mother.

As usual, I struggle to meet her eyes, but I find that she looks not angry, but concerned. Still, I'm not going to talk about it. Not the way she probably wants me to. "I have to do twice the hunting now. I can't let anyone go hungry."

"That's a big job for one person."

Sure, but whose fault is it that I became head of household at age eleven? I figure I shouldn't go there. I just say "mm" and go on feeding myself.

As always, Prim to the rescue. She begins a debate our family has had several times: breeding Lady, her dairy goat. I usually vote no. We'd have to pay a substantial fee to get her bred in the first place, and then we'd be unable to milk her until the hypothetical kids were weaned. Prim consistently votes yes. She is very excited about baby animals. Mother's vote depends on the day.

We discuss the merits of additional goats for a while, and I offer to take care of the dishes to get a moment to myself. Turns out Goats Or No Goats is not a sufficient distraction from everything with Gale. Will wonders never cease?

I wonder if he's thought of me at all.

I would understand if he hasn't. Maybe he's blocking out thoughts of home entirely, focusing only the dark path ahead of him. Or maybe his strategy is to focus on home, letting District Twelve be his motivation to get through the Hunger Games.

I like to think I know Gale very well, but even I can't guess at what his strategy might be. He's an enigma. When it comes to strategies and plans and snares, he's always one step ahead of me. No one can really know what's going on in his head.

§

"I'm not wearing this," Gale declares, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

Haymitch snorts. Effie tsk-tsks. Madge sighs deeply, and luckily, the stylists are not around to hear any of this.

"What's funny?" Gale demands, turning his anger on his mentor. "I'm not. It's ridiculous!"

"Your other option is to go naked," Haymitch informs him. The alcohol on his breath is so strong it's a shock he's still standing. Truly, a remarkable man.

"Come on, Gale, why not?" Madge huffs. She's wearing her parade outfit too, and she has not complained once.

"It's too-" He pulls the thin fabric away from his skin and lets it snap back. "-tight. It's indecent!"

"I've seen some of the other things they make tributes wear, and this is borderline tasteful!"

"I don't want everyone in the country to see exactly how my butt is shaped!"

"You know…" Effie ventures cautiously. "…it's actually fairly flattering. As far as skintight costumes go."

Gale glares at her. "I'd like to see you get up in front of everybody dressed like this!"

Haymitch wolf-whistles. "Good lord. So would I."

Effie breaches etiquette by smacking Haymitch, who doesn't seem surprised. Or really discouraged at all by it. "You two need to get in your chariot," Haymitch tells Madge and Gale. "No more arguing. Boy, put your hood on."

Madge has had her hood on this whole time. She has not complained once.

§

Prim and I curl up on the loveseat. Her nearby presence is comforting to me. Mother hovers behind us, looking but not looking. She doesn't like watching the Games. Neither do I, but it's Gale- I cannot look away. And the tribute parade will probably be the least harmful thing I'll have to see. It's more of a fashion show than anything else.

The tributes' outfits are based on their district's specialty, and this is the seventy-fourth tribute parade, so some of the interpretations are pretty creative. District One- luxury- looks ridiculous. Both are outfitted in bright pink fur, and the girl wears a headdress that reminds me of a bedazzled turkey.

"Wow, she's so pretty," Prim sighs.

"Pretty doesn't matter in the Hunger Games."

"I bet she'll get lots of sponsors."

She probably will. District One is one of the three "Career" districts, aka the citizens aren't starved and some of the children even train for the purpose of entering the games. Like, intentionally, for the potential glory of it. It makes no sense to me, but one of the Careers almost always wins the Games in the end.

I shudder at District Two's tributes. Their costumes are neat, sure- since their specialty is metalwork, they wear tunics made out of tiny bronze scales, and winged headdresses- but the boy is enormously muscled, and the girl has a deadly glare that warns me she'll be dangerous in the arena.

"Cato and Clove," says Prim. "They both volunteered."

"Do you know that, or are you just guessing?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

It is. And I'm glad when District Two's chariot fades out of view.

District Three is dressed all in silver. The tributes from Four are dressed in so much noisy fabric that they spook the chariot horses, something I had previously thought was impossible. The cameras follow the potential wreck instead of the tributes, so Prim and I get no glimpse of Districts Five through Ten.

District Eleven is wearing overalls, which makes sense because their trade is farming. I'm not sure what their silver foil headdresses are supposed to represent. Maybe it's an inside joke.

"That boy is huge," I observe. I remember his name from this afternoon. Thresh.

"They're right; the girl is half his size," Prim murmurs. "She's my age, Katniss. That could have been me."

My gut wrenches of its own accord. Yes, it could have been Prim. And that thought is a nice reminder that as horrible as it is to see Gale in the parade, things could have been worse.

Gale. When Twelve's chariot first appears onscreen, I about jump out of my seat, even though I can't really see him. Gale and Madge are dressed as pieces of coal. They're in form-fitting black head to toe; even their faces are fully covered by black hoods. I think they look ridiculous, but lots of people are clapping and cheering, which I suppose is a good thing.

"The audience seems to like it," I comment. In general, I do not care what anyone from the Capitol thinks, but these people could end up sponsoring Gale in the Games. A wealthy sponsor could mean the difference between life and death.

Prim snorts. "It's dumb. They look like socks."

I squint. They do kind of look like socks. I hesitate. "Well…let's just focus on the applause, okay?"

Inspo for Gale & Madge's costumes: story/heres-reportedly-why-kim-kardashian-covered-her-face-at-the-met-gala-2021

Fun Fact: in my first draft (the one I wrote in 2014) Katniss's dad was alive and the family dynamic was totally different. Still don't remember why I thought that was necessary, but it changed Katniss's personality too much and eventually I went back to dead dad.