If I were to tell myself in retrospect just how quickly three years would pass, I would never believe it. And to be honest, I wouldn't have registered that these three years had passed as unbelievably swift as they had. But they did, and Willow was now ten; Rye was seven. And it was time for their first day of fifth and second grade. 

It was a blur as Peeta and I walked them to school that humid and overcast August day.  All I could think of was when they were just babies; even when they were as young as the three Christmases ago. When they still needed help changing into outfits and tying their shoelaces. When they addressed Peeta and I 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' instead of the customary Mom and Dad. Maybe calling me mommy was a little juvenile, as they thought, though the ironic aspect about it was that they were  juveniles. Rye had stopped kissing me goodbye at school; suddenly becoming Mr. Cool. I was scared to think if he would even acknowledge me by the time he became a teenager. But at least I still had Willow to show me fondness.  

The woody, chlorine stench of elementary school filled my lungs as we all walked into the school. I had smelt that scent all of my childhood years, there at that same rusty shack of a school. Surprisingly, it hadn't crumbled down from termite infestation. The term 'renovation' was non-existent and forgotten; everything was set up the same, and it forever would be. Same old rusty water fountains. Same old scratched lockers. Same nicked up hallways. I didn't realize how much I missed it until every August when Peeta and I would drop the children off. 

"Dad, my classroom is over here." Rye said excitedly, pulling at Peeta's hands. "C'mon, my friends are waiting!"
We all followed Rye to the inner section of the wide complex.
Before we could walk past the classroom door, Rye's friends caught notice of him and rushed to our direction. A short chubby child ran up to Rye, embracing him in an epic bear-hug. "Hey, Rye!"
"Hey, Quinn!"
Then all the other boys flooded out to hug Rye. He definitely had Peeta's masterful capabilities in making friends.   

"You're so lucky!" One of Rye's friends exclaimed.
"Why?"
"You're sitting next to the prettiest girl in our class!"
"You mean Olympia?" Rye asked curiously. "I don't believe you."
"Come see for yourself." Quinn replied, gesturing towards the interior of the classroom. 
Rye then turned to us and waved a quick goodbye, then he rushed inside with the group of friends. Rye was already becoming girl crazy--great. 

Willow's classroom was next. It was the most familiar to Peeta and I. Once again nothing had changed. Immediately Peeta noticed the famous valley song poster in the very back of the classroom near the the shelves of old, ratty books. I smiled, breathing out a sigh. It had been so long, yet it felt not long enough. 
"Remember this, Katniss?" Peeta asked pointedly.
"The valley song," I replied, "I could never forget that song, or this poster."
Peeta nodded. "I remember when you sang it. And what you wore--"
"I had two braids instead of one. With a terribly baggy dress that drooped below my knees."
Peeta and I laughed; nostalgia could be a great thing. 

I turned around, automatically noticing the row of empty desks in front of us. Gale and I used to sit there. I could tell by the deeply etched star that Gale carved in both of the desks long ago during one of the many boring english lectures.
"I remember you sat next to Gale right there." Peeta said, leaning over me. 
"Yeah, I did." I rubbed my hands on the rough wooden surface, running a finger along the carved star that was very much misshapen. Gale was never an artist, then again neither was I. It was strange how familiar it all felt. "Gosh, I'm so old."
"Me too. It's crazy how--"
"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Mellark!" A high-pitched, yet raspy voice rang out with such elation.

"I'm Corin." She smiled widely. Her ginger red hair and deep green eyes sparked recognition in me; somehow the young girl reminded me of Annie Cresta.
"Hello." I smiled cordially. "I-is this your desk?" 
Before she could reply I took notice to the piece of paper that was pasted onto the desk: Corin Regner.  
"Oh--sorry about that." I chuckled and stood up, brushing my skirt off.
Corin seemed to be more starstruck than annoyed. "Don't worry! I'm honored. I read all about you and Mr. Mellark. I'm friends with Willow, and I think it's so cool how her parents are famous."
Yeah, famous for killing. 

"Thank you, Corin." Peeta acknowledged her kindly.  
"It was great meeting you! I can't wait to watch the videos of you two in the Hunger Games. Our history teacher has already mentioned how we'll be studying you for the year."
Suddenly I didn't feel well. My neck tensed thinking of that horrid sentence: I can't wait to watch the videos of you two in the Hunger Games. 
Willow would see it too. She--the whole class--would witness Peeta and I slaughtering others. How the hell would that be alright? And how the hell could anyone think that as honorable? The mind of the innocent might. But their minds wouldn't be innocent and naive for long; not after watching their classmate's mother kill.  
Without saying a word, I left the classroom. I left without saying goodbye to Willow. I could no longer handle it.