Dinner is a quiet affair. Both me and my father feel shocked. It didn't even cross my mind that Katniss would volunteer, and my father's that the district would show affection towards her. We watch reruns of the other district's reapings while we eat. Most of the faces blend together, but a few stand out. A hulking boy from 2 who lunges forward eagerly to volunteer. A slim, fox-looking girl with red hair from 5. The district that stands out the most in my mind is 11, though. The two dark-skinned tributes couldn't be any more different. A buff, angry looking 18 year old stomps his way up to the podium, while the wind blows silent when a young, tiny girl glides her way to death. Rue. Her name sparks an image in my mind: a light purple flower that grows in the meadow east of my house. So innocent. Just like Prim. Last of all, they show us. District 12. The commentators from the Capitol, complete with their extravagant outfits and funny accents, have a hard time keeping serious when Haymitch falls off the stage. They completely lose it when Katniss volunteers for Prim, dabbing their eyes with rich cloths. Then, they show the salute, and say how 12 has always been a bit backwards. They clearly don't know what it means.

I know I won't be able to sleep. Usually after reapings, I sleep better, knowing I'll be safe for another year. But that's hardly the case today. I feel like I'll never be normal again.

I slip on my worn shoes and pad down the hallway. The door to my mother's door is ajar, and a faint light from the TV glows. I push open the door cautiously, and to my surprise I see my mother sitting up with pillows behind her head, watching yet another rerun of the reapings. A half-empty bottle of pills sits on her night stand.

"She was your friend, wasn't she?" my mother inquires faintly.

"More of an acquaintance really," I say curtly. I mean, I sit with Katniss at school most days, and she sells me strawberries, but we really aren't known as friends. Still, she's the closest thing I have to a friend.

"You must feel terrible," she says, "I remember...." My mother trails off.

"Remember what?" I ask, curious. I don't talk to her very much. She gets these awful headaches, so she usually stays in bed all day with the lights off. She hasn't gone out of the house in years.

"When I... when I was around your age, my twin- your aunt - was reaped. It was the Quarter Quell." She sounds pained to even say that much.

"I have an aunt?"

"Yes. Her name is.... was.... Maysilee. I never -- I never liked her much. She was too perfect. So beautiful. Until...."

I could hear the pain, the sadness, in her voice.

"That must have been horrible," I said faintly. I felt disembodied, floating above our conversation.

"It was. It was. That bird-" she broke into tears- "right through her neck." I grimaced. I couldn't imagine something like that happening to Katniss.

But now, I could. The reality came crashing down on me, causing my head to spin.

"I have to go," I said harshly. I regretted my tone of voice immediately, but it didn't matter. The damage was already done. My mother collapsed into fetal position, bawling her very eyes out. I left, closing the door softly behind me.

---

"Don't worry, sweetie. It'll be fine." Mrs. Everdeen's words sound stiff and unsure, as if she herself is doubting them.

"And you guys are sure you'll be alright?" I ask. I offered to help them with money and food and other essential things, because Katniss is the main breadwinner in their household.

"Yes, dear, we'll manage," she reassures me, "the Hawthorne's are helping us, especially that boy Gale." My face hardens at the mention of his name. Mrs. Everdeen doesn't seem to notice. A dreamy look crosses her face; she's probably caught up in Gale's good looks, the same as everyone else in town. Eww, gross. She's twice his age!

"Alright. Well, I guess I'll be going then." I stand up from the rickety chair and make my way to the door.

"Wait!" Mrs. Everdeen says. "If you want, you can watch the games with us. Cheer Katniss on."

"I'd love to," I say. I'm being truthful. I'd much rather watch them with the Everdeens than with my father, who every year wishes we lived in a better district; like 1 or 2.

Prim lets out a faint noise of approval. She looks so young, sitting there in the corner. Katniss going into the arena was terrible, but I can't imagine if Prim was. I should probably pay them a visit tomorrow, I think. They could use the company, and so could I if I'm being honest.

I quietly open the door just as the television screen comes to life. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our tributes exiting the train. Katniss looks steely at first glance, but when you look closer, you can see her eyes are sorrowed, tired. Peeta, on the other hand, waves at the cameras and the crowd gathered, and whispers something to Katniss. For a moment, she breaks from her hardness and rolls her eyes. I wonder what she's thinking. I hope Peeta and her become allies; their strengths would compliment each other.

And, them being allies would be better than Peeta trying -- and probably failing -- to kill Katniss, like a career. 

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