Someone Else

It's time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and draws out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me.

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the piece of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not me.

Instead, it's Delly Cartwright. She's a merchant's daughter, in my class at school. Not someone I've ever paid much attention to. She's small and plump with pretty blonde curls, and she is shaking like a leaf as she eases her way free of our pen and climbs the stage. Effie Trinket helps her up. Beams at her.

"Congratulations, Delly!" she says enthusiastically, shaking Delly's hand and leading her to the podium. It's unfair of me, really, but I don't listen as she asks Delly a few questions, who she is, does she have any family. I'm too busy drowning in relief. It wasn't me. It wasn't Prim.

We are safe for another year.

And then Effie has drawn the boy's slip and is making her way back to the podium and that horrible gut-wrenching fear is back. Not Gale. Not Gale. Not Gale. Not Gale.

"Edwood Mellark."

It's not Gale, either. It's the baker's eldest son. He's eighteen, tall and broad and handsome. He keeps his face inscrutable as he mounts the stage, something I applaud him mentally for. Effie twitters at him for a minute so. Then she grabs Delly's left hand and Edwood's right and raises them above her heads. Delly looks afraid. Edwood is still wearing a poker face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause please for this year's District Twelve tributes!" she giggles enthusiastically.

Nobody claps. Instead, I stare at Edwood. Try to convey with my eyes my admiration of his stoicism. I like to think I would be strong in his position, but I hope to God I'll never know. The anthem plays, Effie takes the tributes offstage, and we wait to be filed out of the pens.

Gale catches my eye as we leave the square. He's still in his pen, but he holds up two fingers. Two hours, they mean. Meet me in the woods in two hours. I nod briefly, and go to find Prim.

She is weeping quietly, in a small gaggle of twelve-year-old girls who are all in a similar state. She's too big for me to pick up, much as I would like to do so and balance her on my hip. Instead, I kiss her head, mutter, "You're safe now, Prim," and go to find my mother. Prim takes her hand, too, and we make our way back home through the thronged streets. I catch a glimpse of the Mellark and Cartwright families hurrying home, and they both seem shell-shocked. Mrs Mellark is crying openly, and when I hear Delly's four-year-old sister ask what will happen to Delly, Mr Cartwright stifles a sob.

Back at our house, my mother helps Prim out of her dress in the living room. I am in the bedroom, in front of the mirror, trying to work out how to undo mine, when she comes in and helps me as well. She smiles at me in the mirrror and I try to smile back. I think of the fact that Prim is safe, and am able to.

"Thank you for the dress," I say. I am so glad to be back, that everything is as close to fine as it can be when two teenagers are on their way to die, that it seems appropriate. She simply smiles again, and helps me with the fasteners. When she touches my hair, for some reason I place my hand over hers at the back of my head and tell her no, I want to keep it.

As she leaves, she pauses in the doorway. I'm yanking my shirt over my head when she says it. "I love you, Katniss." And then she's gone, back to teaching Prim about herbs, back to the mother who is a dependent of her own child. I don't know what to make of it. She has not told me that in years, not since before my father died and she retreated so far into herself. Is it just the sheer relief that Prim and I are safe? Or is she pleased that I let her help me with the dress? Or is it another sign that we may be regaining the capable woman of before my father's death?