Her Name's Prim. She's Just Twelve. And

I Pull The Sleeping Bag Up To His Chin And Kiss His Forehead, Not For The Audience, But For Me. Because I'm So Grateful That He's Here, Not Dead By The Stream As I'd Thought. So Glad I Don't Have To Face Cato Alone.

The Problem Is, I Can’t Tell What’s Real Anymore, And What’s Made Up.

"although Who Knows? Maybe This Will Be It, Katniss." "what?" I Ask. "the Time It Sticks. Maybe We Are Witnessing The Evolution Of The Human Race. Think About That." And Then He Asks Me If I'd Like To Perform On A New Singing Program He's Launching In A Few Weeks. Something Upbeat Would Be Good. He'll Send The Crew To My House.

One Night, I Was Lying In Bed, And I Was Channel Surfing Between Reality Tv Programs And Actual War Coverage. On One Channel, There's A Group Of Young People Competing For I Don't Even Know; And On The Next, There's A Group Of Young People Fighting In An Actual War. I Was Really Tired, And The Lines Between These Stories Started To Blur In A Very Unsettling Way. That's The Moment When Katniss's Story Came To Me.

So At Least Half The Victors Have Instructed Their Mentors To Request You As An Ally. I Know It Can't Be Your Sunny Personality.” “they Saw Her Shoot,” Says Peeta With A Smile. “actually, I Saw Her Shoot, For Real, For The First Time. I'm About To Put In A Formal Request Myself.” “you're That Good?” Haymitch Asks Me.