I can't go to bed. I bet the whole district can't sleep. I know I'm not the only one, I can see Peeta's lamp light a couple houses down. He's pacing the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. The Reaping is tomorrow.
I cross over to my window and wait until Peeta sees me.
'Are you alright?' I gesture with my hands in sign language. When we were little during class, our teacher taught us sign language. We used to use it while we were young, so I'm not sure if he still understands it. Answering my suspicion he makes out:
'Worried about potato'
I snicker at him.
'You mean 'tomorrow'?' I ask him.
In response he smiles and giggles a little. I get yet another mob of butterflies in my stomach. I'm blushing but he doesn't seem to notice. He gives me a sympathetic glance, yawns, and holds up a hand and waves goodbye. I mouth goodnight and he does too, then he closes his curtains. I go back to my bed and lay down with my eyes open. I just hope no one I know will be chosen. Thats cruel, really. I take it back. I wish that some day, some how, there won't be any Hunger Games. No Reaping. No deaths. A peaceful country where you don't worry about going hungry all the time... Where everybody is equal. But I can't imagine anything changing from how it is now. I switch my light off hoping to get some sleep.
***
