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

I Don't Know What I Expected From My First Meeting With Peeta After The Announcement. A Few Hugs And Kisses. A Little Comfort Maybe. Not This. I Turn To Haymitch. "don't Worry, I'll Get You More Liquor.

Of Course You Are. The Tributes Were Necessary To The Games, Too. Until They Weren't," I Say. "and Then We Were Very Disposable - Right, Plutarch?

Hey, Look At This!" He Holds Up A Glistening, Perfect Pearl About The Size Of A Pea. "you Know, If You Put Enough Pressure On Coal It Turns To Pearls," He Says Earnestly To Finnick. "no, It Doesn't," Says Finnick Dismissively. But I Crack Up, Remembering That's How A Clueless Effie Trinket Presented Us To The People Of The Capitol Last Year, Before Anyone Knew Us. As Coal Pressured Into Pearls By Our Weighty Existence. Beauty That Arose Out Of Pain.

I’m Stopped By The Sight Of Finnick Kissing Peeta.

I Start To Crack At Four Hundred To One.