Rue is a small yellow flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue. Primrose.
I don’t know if this is why everything has worked so well and I’m not sure I’d recommend this kind of thinking to anyone else, but I’ve always known I’d be successful in acting. I have certainly worked for it.
I don’t think I will ever truly be happy until I have one of those secret bookshelf doors where you have to pull out a certain book to open the door.
And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become untucked and hangs out over her skirt.
It’s this detail, the untucked blouse forming a ducktail, that brings me back to myself.
“Prim!” The strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. “Prim!” I don’t need to shove through the crowd.
The other kids make way immediately allowing me a straight path to the stage. I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps. With one sweep of my arm, I push her behind me.
“I volunteer!” I gasp. “I volunteer as tribute!”