Chapter 1
I volunteer for a small girl, one that I've seen roaming the halls of the Academy on days when there isn't much training to do. She's in Prims year, I think. Her hair is curly, her face hollow, her arms limp. She wouldn't stand a chance in the arena. Probably wouldn't outlast any of the other Careers from District 1, 2, or 4. Hell, probably wouldn't survive the first night.
She runs off to her parents after I offer to take her place, chanting her thanks as Peacekeepers drag her away from the stage. My eyes follow her for a moment. It turns out her dads the grocer, a man I've spoken to from time to time when I run into him in town. His wife is a thin woman who I've seen occasionally when she comes to visit my mother. They were friends, I think. Back in school when my mother was young and beautiful and not so damaged. They all smile at me, their eyes telling me things they can't say.
Good, I think as I march up the stairs towards an excited looking Effie Trinket who reaches her hand out as if I need help. If I die, at least I'll know my family will be eating. The Academy only helps so far. They provide enough for my family now but if I die, they'll probably give them a few coins for compensation, maybe a month supply of food. Then there on their own unless Prim decides The Academy is the type of schooling she wishes to take. But she won't. She's too delicate, too good-hearted for anything like this.
Being a Victor was always going to be me. The oldest Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen. The one who could work a bow like no other and took after her father's natural ability to survive. The one who had no problem killing animals, therefore no problem killing people because in the eyes of District 12, there was really no difference when it meant food for the starving children on the streets.
Me being chosen by the Academy didn't come as a shock but as I mount the stage, the crowd breathes a sigh of relief, cheering for me once I look out on all their faces. They believe in me.
"And what's your name, dear?" Effie Trinket asks, her sing song voice magnified over the loud speakers the Capitol has set up in honor of the Reaping.
"Katniss Everdeen."
Effie says something else, something about my selflessness and bravery but I don't hear it. Her words are deafened by the cheers of the people from District 12 and the pounding of my heart in my ears. I have been preparing for this for years now but my nerves still get the best of me. Luckily, I have perfected the art of remaining emotionless. I will give no one, especially the Capitol, the satisfaction of my tears today.
My eyes scan over to the roped off section to my right holding boys ages twelve to eighteen, all looking perfectly at ease. I try to pick out familiar faces, people I've seen at the Academy from time to time. There are too many of them to sort through; too many faces I know to narrow it down.
I hope my male tribute is worth something. The last thing I need is to be stuck in that arena with someone hopeless. I'll have to pair up with them regardless. The District would shun me if I fought alone and returned home. Probably make life for my mother and Prim hard even if I die. Either way, fighting in the Games alone didn't benefit anyone.
It turns out Peeta Mellark, the bakers son, is the male tribute. I didn't know before this moment, being boys and girls are kept separately at the Academy for safety reasons or so they tell us. I've spoken to him on few occasions, dinners where boys and girls are intermixed or the one rare time I actually attended something with my classmates. He's a nice boy just like his brothers and father. His mother is a witch but I don't think too much about her
Peeta going in with me puts me at ease, at least for the time being. I'm happy with it in a way. If we're going to be a team, I need someone strong, someone who will be of use to me in that arena. I don't know much about him but from what I've heard, he takes well after his brothers which can only mean good things. They were always fit, well trained and could throw knives like you'd never believe. They weren't chosen for the Games the years they were eligible but if they had been, I wouldn't doubt District 12 would've come home champions.
Peeta volunteers for a twelve year old boy who had no trouble giving up his place in the Hunger Games to him and the crowd erupts into bigger applause. Surely we'll win now, the two of us as a team. We're virtually unstoppable.
As we stand on the stage, cameras flashing in our faces, we interlink hands, raising them above our heads like all tributes do. At least the ones who wish to be presented as teams. I smile with ease and Peeta does the same, waving to the cameras and to the people of our District who chant our names in excitement as we're escorted inside the Justice Building to await our visitors.
I turn just as the doors begin to close, catching a quick glance of Prim, who sits atop my mother's shoulders with a smile on her face, waving her hands excitedly. People congratulate her and my mother, handing them pieces of what look like chocolate and those peppermint squares from the candy shop. Of course, it's all the Merchants—people from the Seam don't have enough for themselves let alone to spare. They also don't look at Volunteering for the Games as something to congratulate anyone for. They see it as a death sentence.
My heart clenches for a moment knowing despite my overwhelming confidence about the team Peeta and I will make, I could very well not be coming home. I could step off my plate before the minute is up, or freeze to death, or the Gamemakers could get rid of me whenever the audience grows bored. I doubt any of this will happen but it is still a possibility. It is still possible this will be the last time I'll be addressing the people of District 12, my home, my family.
I try not to let the melancholy feeling consume me. The last angle I want to play in these games is pity. I don't want to be seen as the girl with the dead father for once in my life. I want to be seen as Katniss Everdeen, the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games. I was determined, hungry, and blood-thirsty even if I could convince myself of that. I would be seen as ruthless and Peeta would help me. We would win this thing not just for us but for all the hungry faces that looked up at me today.
I've never been inside the Justice Building but it's just as marvelous as everyone says. It's nothing really to be proud of in retrospect to the things the other Districts have, but here, in District 12 where something beautiful is a rare occurrence, we are proud of our Justice Building. The marble floors, the elevators that barley move but are nevertheless elevators, the crystal chandelier that lights the foyer. It's beautiful though I only get a few glances of things here and there. The Peacekeepers block my view, trapping my body between four of theirs. Back before the Academy, before their were volunteers, most children who were Reaped tried to run in fear. They never got very far but it was uncomfortable to watch on the replays in the Capitol so President Snow just decided to make sure every tribute was escorted from place to place the moment their name was called. It had been this way ever since my first Reaping four years ago.
I'm lead into a small room on the third floor. The room smells of rotted cheese and I fight the urge to throw up. It seems the Peacekeeper flanking me is too by the way he rushes from the room so quickly. The others follow him, whispering something about three minutes and guests and presents but I don't listen. I already know the rules. Instead, I take my few minutes solitude to stare out the one window in the room. The square is empty now, the cleanup crew from the Capitol already making sure all supplies borrowed from them is put on a hovercraft and transported back immediately like the people here would really want to risk stealing material things like microphones and stereos. What people here really need is food. If the Capitol paid any attention they would know that.
I feel the bitter feeling creeping inside of me as images of a malnourished Prim fill my mind. Winning will make sure that never happens again, I remind myself. By winning you'll make the Capitol pay attention.
My mother and Prim are my first guests, enveloping me in hugs, not saying much. We'd said all that needed to be said last night over dinner the academy had for us. Prim knew how to make money from her goat, mother knew where to get the herbs she needed for her medicine. Gale would bring them meat and whatever else he could find in the woods. I'd spoken quietly with Prim about how much I loved and cared for her and how she isn't to join the Academy no matter what happens. She cried and screamed until the weight of the day finally overtook her and she fell asleep in my mother's bed, her arms wrapped tightly around my middle. Then I spoke with my mother about Prim, about how she is to take care of her no matter how sad she may be or what she's feeling. That she cannot leave again the way she did when my father died. That Prim needs her and I may not be there anymore. She'd promised and that was all I needed from her.
"You'll win, right?" Prim whispers, barely audible to my ears. "You and Peeta?"
"Of course. We're coming home, okay? Then we'll live in Victors Village with Haymitch." The last part doesn't sound to appealing but Prim just giggles, refusing to let go of my waist even when the Peacekeeper enters, telling them silently my three minutes is up. He doesn't rush them though and I feel even he may feel a little sentimental. I hug my mother next, not for too long but just long enough. Long enough to tell her I've forgiven her in a way.
I watch as the last view of their shiny yellow hair disappears before letting out the shaky breath I had been holding in, listening to their soft retreating footsteps before the door opens once again, Gale Hawthorne standing before me.
Gale is my only friend apart from Madge whom I may never see again. Our fathers were friends long ago before I decided to join the Academy. We'd known each other since birth, grown on each other through the years, and in a way, became interlocked with each other after the deaths of our fathers who died in the same mine explosion all those years ago. We don't see each other much now. He started working in the mines shortly after graduating from the regular school, making money the only way boys from the Seam really could in District 12. I was busy with the Academy, training to become the killer I am now. We meet in the woods on Sundays though. Well, met.
Looking up at Gale, I'm reassured that what I'm doing is the right thing because if Peeta and I win, I'll make sure Gales family never goes hungry just as I'm sure in the weeks I'll be away, he'll do the same for mine.
We don't talk for a long time, the shock evident on his face as he takes me in. As his eyes take in the dress the Academy had gotten me, one of blue cloth that fits perfectly that I certainly hadn't had before this day. My family had known for weeks about my plans to volunteer—about the honor of being chose to volunteer but the one person I couldn't tell was Gale. The rules are strict. Only the board and your immediate family are to know about the decision. I thought about telling them he was my cousin. He could be. The way his eyes are sunken in his face just like mine, his olive skin and dark hair. But I didn't, knowing what would happen to him if I did. The board takes these things very seriously. It wouldn't surprise me if they locked him in the underground cells below the Academy that I've only seen once one night when I couldn't sleep. I didn't tell him for his own safety and he will understand that.
"Are you okay?" He asks after a while, his voice shaky and unlike anything I had ever heard. I just nod. "How long have you known?"
"A little while," I reply, my voice failing to sound strong when I need it to most. Its okay. If I can fall apart in front of anyone, it will be him. "I'm going to win Gale. I can do this. Peeta can do this. We'll win together."
He takes in my words, nodding along and warring within himself as he so commonly does. He's wasting time not saying anything but I don't want to rush him. These could be our last few moments, the thought doesn't escape me and it surely doesn't escape him. Whatever is said I want to be thought out and meaningful, something I'll be able to hold onto in the arena when things get hard or something he'll be able to hold close if I don't make it back.
"I'll watch them. Make sure their taken care of while you're away, I promise."
I don't hesitate before running into his arms which are already open to me. There is nothing romantic between Gale and I but the feeling of human closeness sends a shock through me and I pray the moment doesn't end any time soon. It does though, and reluctantly I pull away from Gales body as the Peacekeeper grabs him by the arm. It's just for safety precautions but I can see the fire in his eyes, the one that is so easily started.
"I'll see you soon, Catnip," he calls over his shoulder as the door closes with a soft thud, leaving me alone to the sound of my own thoughts.
I don't have any more visitors but I hadn't expected any. Instead, I'm greeted by Effie Trinket who is just stirring with excitement as she rounds up Peeta and I, explaining to us how honored she is to be overseeing our stay at the Capitol. Her accent is comical and I think to myself if this is how all people in the Capital will be. I've only caught snippets here and there on the television inside my bunker when District 12 is spared the two to three hours of electricity we have every night.
I've heard it's glorious.
I don't say a word the entire ride to the train station, letting Peeta and Effie small talk. At times the conversation grows quiet and the air grows tense but Peeta seems to be good at relieving it. I decide, silent within myself, that it will be Peeta who will handle whatever press we may need to do. I certainly am not good with people and won't be much of a help with sponsors. So he will do the talking and I will do the killing. It seems like a good plan.
But when I look up from my lap, I'm staring into his eyes directly. There red and puffy, not doubt he's cried at some point today. Maybe with his father or brothers. I'm certain it wasn't his mother who brought out the emotion.
My eyes give him a silent message. Pull it together. There will be cameras at the station; many more than there were at the Reaping. We need to look strong. We need to start playing this game now.
We arrive at the train station, ordered by Effie to stand side by side in the doorway of the train which will either be delivering us to our destiny or to our deaths. We smile for the cameras. Like I had expected, there are at least fifty, all screaming our names and begging for our attention. Peeta's waving at the small children who have come to see us off and I speak with a few reporters for the Capitol who ask us questions. We answer them all with ease, both having the same generic answers and it seems that I was not the only one educated on proper way to speak to people in the Capitol.
"We must get going," Effie sings, shoving only lightly enough that we would be able to tell. With one last longing smile the doors to the train close and the show faces Peeta and I had put on both soften. He lets out a heavy sigh and I let out one of my own, turning towards Effie whose smile hasn't been replaced.
"Well it is so nice to finally meet the two of you," she sings, clapping her hands together. She touches Peetas face then my hair, a look of genuine pleasure on her features. "We are just going to have the best time, aren't we?"
The chef at the Academy, Sae, had warned me that Effie could be quite the headache but she hadn't warned me for the over use of words and hand expressions. Thinking of Sae, I decide I should write to her when I find my car on the train, thank her for the company she's given me. Of course, this will all be given to her if I don't come back. If I return, she'll be the first one at the Academy I go to see, to thank.
"Where is Haymitch," Peeta asks then, his eyes wandering past Effie and towards the rest of the train which seems to be bustling with life. Oh yes, our mentor. I'd almost forgotten.
Haymitch is the only other Victor District 12 has had. He won it singlehandedly in the second Quarter Quell after his partner, Maysilee, had died at the hands of mutated hummingbirds which picked at her neck until all signs of life had been gone. I don't remember his Games but he is somewhat of a legend being he is the only winner and he won the Games before District 12 was considered a "Career District". He did it with all natural ability and skill.
Since we became a "Career District" we haven't had much luck. It seems all the tributes we put into the games are to slow, to weak. Either that or they don't have enough brains to do simple tasks like avoid the bloodbath at the Cornucopia or not start a fire in the dead of the night. The pair last year were complete idiots, both slaughtered the first night after the female tribute—whose name I don't even remember—fell into a pot hole, breaking her leg and then screaming for dear life. The male tribute would have been smart to run then. She was no good with a broken leg and I'm sure if her family reaped the benefits from his winning, she would have forgiven him for leaving. But being as noble as ever, he stayed, tried to carry her to a hidden space but was caught by one of the Tributes from District 3 who was quite handy when yielding a spear. Needless to say, they were done for and District 12 became a laughing stock as far as Career Districts go.
A lot of people blamed Haymitch for their incompetence. He was supposed to be working at the Academy with the rest of the instructors, teaching us on how to survive in the arena being he is the only one who has actually survived the arena. But seeing him was rare and even when he did bless us with his presence, he was always under the influence of heavy spirits that altered his sense of reality and overall wellbeing.
Everyone had long ago given up on the hope he would be any real help just like I had the moment I'd discovered I would be the one volunteering on this fateful July day. Peeta hadn't though and as we make our way into the main cart, the one filled with so much food I almost faint at the sight, he's eager to speak to him. "To start our training," he tells me with a hopeful look on his face.
He's handsome and I can't deny that. His blue eyes and blonde hair complement each other well, his stocky frame giving him an appearance that no one can ignore. This will be, yet another, advantage for the bakers son. The Hunger Games were in no way a beauty contest but the more attractive a tribute was, the more they were liked, the more people wanted to sponsor them. I hoped in the days following my prep team could transform me to give the appearance Peeta does, make me seem desirable and attractive. But we are a team and it only takes one of us, I suppose.
Effie suggests we sit down for our meal and wait for Haymitch who, according to Effie, is just in the shower "freshening up a bit". Peeta and I both share a look, one that says we know what that means. Haymitch is drunk. Is this surprising? No. Is this infuriating? Yes.
Avoxes bring us the finest foods the Capitol has to offer. Duck, and lamb, and these pieces of chicken roasted in what appears to be a mushroom sauce. The only thought I have as I inhale the food is how much Prim would love it and how much Gale would hate it.
I stop after a moment, realizing Effie has barely touched her first plate and I'm on my fourth, Peeta on his sixth. We get fed better than most of the District in the Academy but it is still nothing in comparison to this. Nothing in comparison to the rich meat and fancy breads and sauces I hadn't even known existed. I don't feel bad for eating so much. They had told us in our final training the first thing we were to do upon getting on the train was gain weight, at least ten pounds or so that is what they recommended. At this rate it seemed I would be doing just that in one sitting.
Midway through dessert Haymitch arrives, a flask in his hand, pajamas on his body. He reeks of alcohol, not bothering to speak to Peeta and I as he pour himself a drink, something dark. Effie purses her lips, shaking her head as she excuses herself from the table, leaving the three of us alone to bask in the warmth of each other's company. Great. Just his presence angers me.
Peeta stands first, tapping Haymitch on the shoulder who responds with bringing his fist up. Peeta dodges the attack so easily it's almost pathetic, holding onto Haymitches fist and lowering it before taking a few steps back. "I didn't mean to scare you," Peeta whispers, hands up in defense as to tell Haymitch he meant nothing wrong by it. Of course he didn't. Any sane person would know that he was simply trying to get his attention.
"Lesson number one: always be on the defense." It seems like logical advice though by the time he's done saying the words, he's laughing so hard he has to double over a cradle his stomach. I've never been fond of Haymitch but in this moment I'm sure I hate him like I've never hated anyone before.
"I don't find that funny," I say through gritted teeth, driving the knife I had once used to cut my chicken, into the table, leaving marks as I make patterns.
Haymitch looks at me then, a thin hand running through his hair which is caked and greasy. I can't hide my disgust. "Oh look at you two," he comments then, taking a seat opposite me. Peeta takes this as a cue to sit down as well. "Do I actually have fighters this year?" It's only a joke but it pinches a nerve and before I have a moment to think, I send the knife I was holding swirling past his head. It misses him only by a millimeter, cutting a lock of hair that falls onto his now cold plate of dinner. The knife lodges itself in the wall.
I've always been handy with a bow but it seemed I had some talents with knives as well.
Neither Peeta nor Haymitch nor I move, not surprised by my outburst or scared of it. We all just stare at each other. "So you can throw knives, huh?" He asks though the question is rhetorical. He knows the answer by the lock of hair sitting in his lap. "Katniss Everdeen, right?" I don't move but that's all the confirmation I need. "I've been hearing about you for weeks." He turns to Peeta then, his eyebrows shooting up. "And Peeta Mellark." He laughs humorlessly.
"What's funny?" Peeta asks through gritted teeth, losing the composure that he's known for. I don't blame him. I lost mine before we even stepped on this train.
"I knew I would get one of the Mellark boys but I never imagined it would be young Peeta," he says, raising the glass to his lips. My eyes flicker over to Peeta, knowing if the words had been directed to me, Haymitch would have gotten another knife thrown his way. That one directed at his heart. I wonder how it feels to constantly be compared to your brothers. They were never in the Games but they were just as equally known as Haymitch. They should've been in the Games. But now Peeta was and I'm beginning to wander if it's because he has the skill to be or because of the pressure from the District to have a Mellark in the running. "But I've heard good things about you. You too," he says pointing my way. "I just don't care for your attitude."
"Yeah, most people don't," I reply.
"We'll have you ever thought about changing it?"
"No. I figure it got me this far."
Effie reenters the car then, clapping her hands in excitement, and whispering something about the Reaping's being played on the TV. I don't hear her entirely because my eyes are still at war with Haymitch but when he offers me a smirk, I take that as a sign of relinquish.
Effie mumbles something about the knife in the wall but no one says a thing.
It turns out Peeta and I are ranked among the top, just below District 1. The commentators speak about our build, our willingness, and the way we show no fear as we present ourselves among the crowds. They say maybe our Academy finally figured out the system. They say we'll be the pair to watch.
I'm surprised to find the tributes from District 3, 5, 8, and 9 aren't presenting themselves as a pair. Their individuals which could quite possibly be the stupidest thing tributes could do.
Being presented as a pair meant that you and your District partner could win together. You could both come home. In all the years I've watched the games, the few who chose to take on the arena alone are the ones who die the quickest. The ones with no one watching their backs. Sometimes the tributes that chose this route change their mind in the middle of the Games once they discover this but the arenas are big and finding one person before someone else finds you can be risky business. Presenting yourself as a pair is really the only choice you have if you hope of winning. In fact, I think Haymitch may have been the last Victor to win alone but that was not even his intention.
Nevertheless, I count eight tributes out already. There's no need to worry about those who travel alone. It won't be hard to take them out with another person and it's not likely they'll kill you with another pair of eyes looking out. Peeta agrees when I mention this. Haymitch just scoffs and Effie whispers something about not being so barbaric.
Barbaric? She's the one escorting me to my death. I say nothing though, knowing she meant nothing by it.
They show the Reapings without any commentary one last time before the screen fades to black and the four of us are left in silence. Peeta, Haymitch, Effie, and myself, dysfunctional but nevertheless a team. I figure in this moment, even with Peetas help, any chance we have getting out alive depends slightly on these two. I'm sure there will come a point where we need food, or water, or even weapons that we won't be able to get for ourselves. That's when they'll come in and I pray that for a moment, Haymitch is sober enough to do it.
Peeta excuses himself and I do the same, following him as he trails towards the back of our train to our sleeping compartments. "What a day," he comments when the air becomes tight.
"Tell me about it," I say. "Did you know I was the female tribute?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I'm happy you are. I'm sure you'll save my ass out there at least once."
I nod my head. It's not likely well get out of the arena alive without a few bumps along the way. "Well save each other," I tell him.
I get to my compartment before he gets to his. I know it's mine by the colorful outlining of my name. When I press my thumb to the keypad, it unlocks. "I guess this is me."
Peeta has already unlocked his own door which is right next to mine. "And this is me."
We bid each other goodnight and when I close the door, I feel more at home than I have in days. With the day passed, I feel a weight off of my shoulders but a new one forming.
I sleep then, Effies soft voice on the other side of the door reminding me tomorrow is a "big, big, big day!".
I sigh. I don't doubt it.
Peeta and I are escorted to the training center upon our arrival like I knew we would be. The board had long ago went into detail with the two of us on what to expect once we got to the Capitol leading up into the moments we entered the arena.
I don't have any time to check my surrounding before I'm pushed into a small awaiting car, Peacekeepers blocking Peeta and I from view as we fight out way through a large crowd of Capitol citizens, all chanting our names in their accents. Peeta holds on tightly to my hand, not for show but out of comfort. He must see the obvious distress I am with thousands of peoples attentions being focused on me.
This is nothing like District 12.
The air is clear and freed from smog. It doesn't smell of disease or coal. It smells of something much more extravagant than that and I wonder if I can afford to smell the air. The buildings are all made so that they touch the edge of the sky or so it seems, the top floors definitely shielded among the clouds. I wonder what it's like to be that high, to see what birds see as they make their decent from place to place but I doubt the people here in Capitol think of it that way. This is the life they were born into like I was born into poverty and sickness. It was nothing out of the ordinary for them.
Peeta and I are separated at once. He's escorted down a lone hallway and I am pushed inside the immediate door to my right, a room that holds all kind of torture devices that are going to be used to make me look decent. My prep team stands in the corner, all looking mangled and like Capitol property.
The man, whose name I learn in Flavius of all things, brushes through my hair and paints my face with simple makeup. "Cinna wants you to be recognizable," he tells me. I don't know why and I don't know who Cinna is but I can only assume he's the head stylist. I've never heard his name before. Most of the stylist that work for the Games have been around for years, much longer then I have been alive. Some were around before my parents. He must be new. Their constantly trying to find new fresh faces throughout the years so they have something new to report on when things get dull, boring.
My prep team consists of two others apart from Cinna and Flavius. A woman named Venia who will be in charge of waxing my body. They removed most of my hair about a week ago at the Academy to save the District from embarrassment because all the other Career Districts will have been doing this for years to keep up the appearances. It was painful but quick so now Venia has little to no work to do. She doesn't seem too disappointed by it. I suppose being from District 12 she expected some disgusting animal, much like the stray cats that roam the streets in the Seam looking for a home and eating the entrails of all the dead animals. But luckily all she has to do is run a razor over my legs and underarms, taking away the stubble that's starting to grow there. She plucks a few hairs from my eyebrows which went untouched back home.
Octavia is the last member of my team, a plump woman who appears to be one of the women who dye her skin here in the Capitol. I've never seen it in person, just in the Capitol magazines they place under our doors at the end of each month. Her skin in green, much like the color Prims face took once she ate the apples that had gone bad. She works with my nails, sawing and cutting and shaping until there square and then she paints them red, glossing them over once before putting them under a bright light to dry.
"This color looks perfect with your skin-tone, dear," she compliments. I don't say anything, just smile in her direction.
The man of the hour arrives moments later though I don't initially know it is the Cinna I've been hearing so much about. He looks normal, someone I may see running through the town square in District 12. No. His shirt is much to fine for District 12, the silk used to stitch it together nothing not even the richest merchants would be able to afford but nevertheless, I would think nothing of him if I passed him on the streets. Not the way I would think about Flavius, Octavia, or Venia. The only thing that seems to be manipulated by the Capitol is the gold eyeliner he wears on his top lid.
"Hello," he greets softly, nodding to each member of my team before quietly asking them to leave. They shuffle away with no complaints, bidding me farewell before we're left alone. Just Cinna and I. I try to remember what I was supposed to say. Something I had rehearsed many times before the Reaping but in the face of everything, I forget all I've learned. I hope this isn't the case in the arena. I may not need all the mannerism but I do need that.
"Katniss Everdeen. District 12 tribute." I say once I remember, reaching my hand out towards him. His hands are calloused, a lot like Gales. Just another thing about Cinna that gives me an uneasy longing for home.
"You don't need to be so formal around me," he laughs, shaking my hand but looking uneasy about it.
"I'm sorry. I was just directed too-"
"I get it. You're a Career District. I was told things would be this way but I hope they don't have to be. I look forward to working with you and hope we can be friends." Friends? What good would making friends with Cinna do for me? He couldn't get me sponsors therefore couldn't do anything to help with my survival. "I'm here to make people remember you," he tells me, his hand finding my knee in a way of showing comfort. It reminds me of my father.
"People won't remember me," I say. "At least not for all this fluff. They'll remember me because Peeta and I will be the next Victors."
"Awfully confident, Ms. Everdeen." He's not saying it to be mean, just observing a lot like me most of the time. I appreciate his honesty. Maybe we can be friends.
"We've trained for this," I tell him. "A lot."
Training technically wasn't allowed but the Capitol overlooked it. They just wanted a good show and that's what all the Career Districts gave them. Without us, the Games would be a joke. Nothing but scrawny adolescents dying from dehydration and poor kids looking to end their own lives before someone else does. It wouldn't be the big circus it is now.
"On to the outfits, as the opening ceremonies are approaching this evening we have to wear an outfit that reflects your District and its character."
It's a tradition. Every District wears something that represents whatever their District represents. Agriculture. Luxury gifts. Fishing. Things easy to form into extravagant outfits around. Things that actually make an impression.
Coming from District 12 is coal which leaves little to the imagination. Peeta and I will make no impression. We'll be overlooked, leaving us to work harder for support when we get into the arena. I pray someone starts doing their job because as it's looking now, the two of us are going in with nothing.
"So you're painting my body black and putting a head lamp on my head?" It's a fair assumption. It's the only thing I've ever seen the tributes dressed in.
Cinna laughs, shaking his head from side to side. "You see that's overdone. I don't want to do that and neither does Portia." Portia must be Peetas stylist. I've never heard the name before. Suppose they decided to completely go away with the old stylist and prep teams.
"Then what?"
"What does coal make? Fire."
I'm stuffed into a black leather suit, one that is constricting and conforms to every inch of my body, not giving me any room to hide. I might as well be stark naked and painted black.
The cape that is attached to my neck chokes me, the only piece of my assemble that has a little color. Some gold here and red there. Cinna tells me it's to give the audience something to work with if the flames don't work. I silently hope they don't. I'm okay with being overlooked, at least at this point in the competition.
When Peeta arrives his outfit is identical to mine, though the long sleeves have been ripped from his outfit, showing off his bulging biceps. He looks strong but no stronger than some of the other tributes in the room, all whom I'm seeing for the first time up close and not behind the screen of a television. I wonder who will die first.
Peeta grabs my hand upon arrival, turning his face away from Cinna and Portia who are deep in conversation. "Are you sure about this? The whole concept is giving me an uneasy feeling," he admits. I nod my head in agreement; glad Peeta is on the same page I am.
"Are they real flames? Cinna tried to explain them to me but I couldn't grasp the concept." It seemed the consequences of my years of not going to actual school were starting to catch up to me.
"I don't think there real." He pauses a moment before adding, "At least I hope not."
But before we have time to think of a logical plan of how to avoid the scenario altogether, the tributes are being told to mount their carriages. Ours are led by black horses who, upon hearing the voices on the loud speaker, move to line up without having to be told. Cinna and Portia help steady us in the carriage, making sure we don't fall to our deaths before the time comes. How courteous.
"If I start to burn to death promise to at least try and put me out?" It's a joke but it falls flat and my heart picks up once Cinna comes into view, a match lit that could only mean the inevitable has come.
I close my eyes, missing the beginning of the parade though I hear the roar of the crowd, clapping loudly for the District 1 tributes. I believe their names are Marvel and Glimmer, or something ridiculous of that sort. I try desperately to remember in hopes that I'm not completely shaking by the time Cinna has lit us. That the burns the flames cause don't tear me to shreds in front of all of Panems watchful gaze. I find myself funny, almost. The way I'm on the verge of tears about flames that are not even real but the thought of going into an arena to kill in a weeks' time does nothing to me. Funny how the mind works.
When I feel Peetas hand wrap around my own, I know the worst of it is over. Either that or the flames didn't light, the suits didn't work and we'll go in the long list of names of District 12 tributes dressed in black.
But when I open my eyes it's the opposite.
District 11's carriage just disappears from my view when I finally chance a glance at Peeta who is on fire. Just his black suit and the silly headdress that sits atop his blonde curls. He's radiant. No, we're radiant.
I don't realize we've moved until the roar from the Capitol citizens deafens the voice in my head that's praising the ground Cinna walks on. A catch a glance of Peeta and I on the big screen, obviously stealing the shine from the remaining tributes still making their ride into the square.
I've never seen anything so beautiful. I've never seen two people look so beautiful and as I look out onto the faces of those who praise us, I know they feel the same way. They chant our names, not just a handful of them but all of them. Throwing roses at our passing chariot, blowing me kisses which I catch with one hand, throwing them back into the audience when I do. I don't have to pretend to smile because I'm actually smiling, grateful that for one, I haven't burned to death, and two, Peeta and I will be the only thing these Capitol people remember. That for once we won't be overlooked.
I chance a glance ahead of me, noticing the way the tributes from 11 have turned, curious by the show going on behind them. The girl whose name I believe to be Rue, smiles at me but the boy whose name I think is Thresh nods. They can applaud our performances here. Everything that happens during the opening days is not our work but the work of our teams. Nothing we do really matters, at least not to the other tributes. Just to the Capitol.
Too soon the parade ends, our horses carrying the carriage one, two, three more times around the circle in front of the training center where we first appeared before disappearing into the familiar space. As soon as the doors close behind us and the screams are faded until there's nothing but a fair buzz, the fire on our outfits extinguish on command. Cinna did a good job.
"Good work, Katniss," Peeta comments, giving his hand to me as I jump from the carriage. In heels I stand just as tall as he does and when he looks at me, I can't help the little jump my stomach does. I look away then, not shying away from the hugs my prep team gives me. I even manage to smile towards Effie who is going on and on about being the talk of the town. "Let them talk, then," Peeta jokes, laughing with Venia as she shoves his shoulder, whispering something neither of us can understand in her accent. I look at him then, wondering how in the world Peeta could quite possibly already have my own prep team wrapped around his finger. It isn't surprising though. He's a nice guy, a good guy. I've heard girls at school talk about him. Even though I tend to shy away from interaction outside of what is necessary, I can say he has always been nice in the few passing words he spoke. Maybe this is going to be his edge. Being the good guy who will simply be overlooked until it comes down to the few of us. But being linked with me will put a target on his back because being nice is not the angle I'm playing. Good thing I'm good with a bow and from what I've heard, he's good with a knife.
"Well, well, well," Haymitch says, peaking around Effies corner, dressed sharply. He appears to be bathed and he doesn't smell so bad. I know Effie had something to do with this but I say nothing.
"Where have you been? Aren't mentors supposed to help with this type of thing," I ask, my voice unamused. I want him to know I'm not happy by his presence. I want him to know I don't trust him. I think I get my point across but the expression on his face tells me he thinks the same thing.
"It's not safe for me to be around open flame, sweetheart," he say. My prep team laughs thinking he's made a joke. The rest of us know the comment is true. "But good job. Of course it was none of your doing but I must say the kisses were a nice touch."
I give him a tight lipped smile.
"You might want to consider doing that a little more before the Games start. Selling a strong minded, defiant, mean spirited girl isn't working well in my favor." My face heats up under his scrutiny; mostly because I know what he's saying is true. I try to make myself believe I don't care. Like I said, Peeta will be the likeable one. I'll be the lethal one. "I can sell the cutesy, naïve girl thing though."
He grabs a lock of my hair then and it takes all I have not to break his wrist the moment he comes in contact with me. "Well to bad that isn't what you're getting, isn't it?"
Peeta, sensing that we're both on the verge of making a scene, steps between the two of us, giving me a pleading look. "I worked up quite an appetite, what about you Katniss? Portia? Cinna? You'll join us as well, won't you? It's the least we can do to thank you for all the hard work."
Peeta is so good at this and I've never been more thankful for him than I am in this moment.
"Starved, Peeta," I announce, following Peetas retreating figure as he makes his way to the elevator all the other tributes have already escaped too. I hadn't noticed but it appears everyone else has filtered out, gone to their rooms for dinner and training and drinking—whatever you do here. I don't know. Everything about what happens in the Training Center is kept so secretive that the board couldn't prepare me on what to expect. I'm on my own for that one.
I do know that tomorrow we'll start the training. The four days of training that will end in all the tributes getting scored on a scale of 1-12. The higher you rank, the easier sponsors come, the bigger target on your back. Peeta and I need twelve's. It's never happened before but Peeta and I will be firsts. I'm sure of it.
I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I don't realize I've stopped dead in my tracks. Peeta is the only one who waited for me. When I finally look up, I give a small smile.
I don't pull away when he reaches for my hand.
In fact, I only hold on tighter.
Please let me know if anything is confusing or it isn't explained well. The idea was a loose one but I felt this chapter and the next chapter that i've already written have come out nicely.
I actually thought about this story while watching the movie, wondering how different would be is from the beginning two tributes from the same District we're allowed to win. I wondered how different the relationship between Peeta and Katniss would be if they knew the only way they could win was together.
I also liked the idea of District 12 being a Career District. I feel it's a possibility that hasn't been completely explored and I wanted the opportunity to try and explore it. I want to know how different things would be if Peeta was more brave and confident about his fighting abilities and if Katniss was a little more arrogant, a little more confident in her own skills. I wanted to know how to the kids of District 12 would hold up if they actually had a shot.
Please let leave a review. Tell me if you love it, hate it, anything! I'm welcome to any and all ideas, criticism, whatever.
Hope everyone had great holidays.
-savingprivatewriter