The Problem Is, I Can’t Tell What’s

I Start To Crack At Four Hundred To One.

She Genuinely Likes People. All People, Not Just A Select Few She's Spent Years Making Up Her Mind About.

She Reaches In, Digs Her Hand Deep Into The Ball, And Pulls 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 Slip Of Paper, And Reads Out The Name In A Clear Voice. And It's Not Me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

I'm Trying To Think Of A Witty Comeback, When Boggs Says Brusquely, “well, Don't Expect Us To Be Too Impressed. We Just Saw Finnick Odair In His Underwear.” I Decide To Go Ahead And Like Boggs.

So What I'd Really Like Is To Try And Conceal Him Somewhere Safe, Then Go Hunt, And Come Back And Collect Him. But I Have A Feeling His Ego Isn't Going To Go For That Suggestion.