Story: Gale's Hunger Games
By: Pigy190
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and all characters and words (including the ones copied for this story) belong to Suzanne Collins. No copy right infringement is intended. This story is purely for fun and fan fiction.
Summary: The Hunger Games (Book One) from Gale's Point of view. Follows the book and uses all of the same dialogue. *Non-Peeta bashing*
A/N: I've been reading a bunch of fan fiction, a while a few people have done something like this, most of them either didn't use the same dialogue, or skimmed over most of the book. I decided to go into detail. I've been re-reading the book while writing this story. Using Suzanna Collins's dialogue and descriptions.
Yes, I am Team Gale. While I like Peeta, I just don't see Katniss settling down with a guy trying to kill her every so often. Peeta's hijacking was the nail in the coffin for me.
I do not have a Beta for this, so all mistakes are my own. I am however, very much open to having a beta, I'm just wayy to lazy to find one right now (It's 4am. Last time I checked it was 2. Holy crap I need to sleep… My one month old daughter is not going to let me live this down tomorrow…) If you would like to beta for me, just message me.
A/N 2: I had this Beta'd through Project Team Beta and have re-written parts of it. Thank you wandofhawthorne and My-Heart-Of-Music for being awesome betas! I'm currently having the second chapter beta'd.
Sorry if you thought this was an update. I just watched the Hunger Games movie (LOVE) so I have more ideas to write. Chapter three should be done soon.
Chapter One
As soon as I wake up a feeling of dread takes over me. I'm expecting it, since it's reaping day, but it's worse than I remember from last year. This year, I know something bad is going to happen. I will have 42 tickets with my name on them ready to be picked by Effie Trinket, the manically upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the reaping. I shake off the feeling and get out of bed quietly, slipping on my boots. My mother, brothers and sister are still asleep. I glance outside and see that I'm up earlier than usual. I decide to go ahead and get a head start.
Outside my house, in our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, mine workers are usually getting ready to head towards the mine, but since its reaping day everyone is sleeping in, if they can. I live in the middle of the Seam, almost equidistant from the Square and the Meadow. I slip quietly through the streets. When I get to the Meadow, I glance around, looking for anyone who might be out. Of course, I am one of the few people up this early on reaping day, and one of two that would come to this area. I tilt my head, listening for the hum of the electric fence that separates the Meadow and the woods. The high chain-link fence is topped with barbed-wire loops and is supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day to keep out the predators that live in the woods—packs of wild dogs, lone cougars, bears—and used to threaten our streets. We're lucky to get three hours of electricity in the evenings, which means the fence is rarely electrified and usually safe to touch. Since it's silent, I squeeze through the two-foot stretch concealed by a clump of bushes that's been loose for years.
As soon as I'm in the woods, I grab my bow – the one I traded Katniss for my knowledge on snares all those years ago. I grin, remembering how I met her. I was out in the woods, checking my line, when I saw a thin, nearly starving girl checking out my one of my traps. I could tell from the dark hair that was braided down her back that she was from the Seam. I judged her to be no younger than 11 and no older than 14.
When she reached out to touch my snare I stepped out from where I was hiding and said, "That's dangerous." Her Seam grey eyes widened in fear and she drew back as I added the rabbit to my already full belt. "What's your name?"
"Catnip," the girl muttered.
"Well, Catnip, stealing is punishable by death," I told her. Of course, so is hunting and just being out in the woods, but I didn't mention that.
"Katniss," she said louder. "And I wasn't stealing. I was just looking at your snare, mine never catch anything."
"How'd you get that?" I asked, pointing at the squirrel she was holding.
"I shot it," she said, showing me her bow. My breath caught; I'd been wishing I had a weapon of some sort. All I had were snares and I'd figured those out by myself – I had no idea how to even make a bow; I was curious how such a tiny thing could make a weapon like that. I found out later her father had made it.
"Can I see that?" I asked. To my surprise she handed it over almost immediately. I was expecting her to scowl and say no.
"Just remember, stealing is punishable by death," she repeated my words from earlier, pulling a smile from me. A smile that took her months to return.
At that moment we decided to trade a bow for knowledge, though it took a long time before we stopped haggling over every trade and started helping each other. We slowly became best friends. Six months ago I realized I love her.
I shake my head, focusing on the hunt; I'm hoping to get a few squirrels so I can trade them for some bread before Katniss gets out here. After ten minutes I've only shot one squirrel, but I stash my bow again and head towards town. The baker pays the best for squirrel, as long as his witch of a wife isn't around, so I head there first. I casually walk by the front and glance inside. He is inside without her there. He looks up and sees me; I nod at him and then at my bag. He nods back and heads towards the back of his shop. I walk around quickly and meet him there, my squirrel already in hand.
"I only shot one this morning; I was hoping I could get something small for Katniss," I tell him.
The baker nods, takes the squirrel and goes inside. Usually such an act would make me nervous, but I know I can trust him to pay up—always. He comes back with a warm loaf of bread – much more than I ever expected him to give me. The bread is soft and warm, almost the complete opposite of the hard dry bread we make with our rations in the Seam.
"Good luck," he says and disappears.
I stand still for a minute, shocked. A door banging inside jolts me into action. The witch is coming; I turn and run until I'm out of sight. The last time she caught the baker buying squirrels we weren't able to sell to him for months.
I rush to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. I spear the bread as a joke just as I hear Katniss' light tread behind me. I turn and face her, returning her smile. The only place she ever smiles is in the woods.
"Hey Catnip," I say. I still call her Catnip. After the misunderstanding that started our friendship a crazy lynx started following her around, sealing her nickname. She ended up shooting it because it was scaring off the game. I think she felt bad, but we got a decent price for its pelt so I never cared.
"Look what I shot." I hold up the bread.
Katniss laughs, a sweet sound I rarely get to hear. She takes the bread, pulls out the arrow and holds the puncture in the crush to her nose, inhaling. I grin, knowing my surprise made her happy on this awful day. "Mm, still warm," she says. "What did it cost you?"
"Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," I tell her. "Even wished me luck."
"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" she says. I can almost feel her rolling her eyes in her head. "Prim left us a cheese." She pulls it out and I feel my expression brighten. She's made my day almost as much as I made hers.
"Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast," I say. I remember the blackberries around us. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" I pluck a few berries. "And may the odds—" I say in Effie's silly capitol accent as I toss a berry in a high arc towards her.
She catches the berry in her mouth, a small smile gracing her face when the berry bursts in her mouth. "—be ever in your favor." The Capitol accent is so ridiculous almost anything sounds funny in it. It helps fight off the terror of reality to joke about it.
I pull out my knife and slice the bread; I can feel Katniss watching me. I know she is thinking of something she'd rather not share. She suddenly starts picking berries while I spread Prim's cheese on the bread slices and place a basil leaf on each. We settle into a nook in the rock. We just barely fit, side to side; the only time I get to touch Katniss. The view over the valley is amazing, but I'm busy watching her, trying to figure out what she's thinking of on such an awful day. When I look into the valley, with its blue sky and soft breeze, I think about running away again. Sure it would mean giving up things like bread from the baker, but I would rather be able to enjoy my time in the woods with Katniss, hunting for food without the Capitol hanging over our heads than have luxuries like soft bread.
"We could do it, you know," I voice out loud.
Katniss turns to me, confused. "What?" she asks.
"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it." I know immediately I've said the wrong thing. Katniss goes stiff, uncomfortable. "If we didn't have so many kids," I add quickly.
They're not our kids exactly, but they might as well be. My siblings and Prim plus our mothers – they couldn't survive without us either. Even with both of us hunting daily, there are still nights when game has to be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, nights when we go to bed with our stomachs growling.
"I never want to have kids," she says. I'm not surprised. She never wants to get married, and in District 12 you don't have kids unless you're married. I'm still hoping to change her mind one day.
"I might. If I didn't live here," I say. And if they were hers.
"But you do," she says, obviously irritated.
"Forget it," I snap back. I feel like kicking myself. The conversation went all wrong. Another missed opportunity.
I've been trying to find the right time to tell her I'm in love with her since I realized it 6 months ago. I know she could never leave Prim. No more than I could ever leave my family, but that doesn't mean I don't wish for a different life. A life where I don't have to worry about the woman I love and my siblings being taken away while I'm forced to watch them die on a screen. After today I no longer have to worry about being reaped myself. I'm 18, this is my last reaping. But Katniss still has two more years to go. Prim, Vick, Rory, and Posy are all 12 and under. I push the thoughts away, worrying will do me no good. Either we'll get chosen or we won't.
"What do you want to do?" she asks.
"Let's fish at the lake. We can leave our poles and gather in the woods. Get something nice for tonight," I say.
After the reaping, we're supposed to celebrate. Most people do, but not for the reasons the Capitol wants. They want us to celebrate the Games, the history of Panem, the victory over the rebels during the dark days. We celebrate out of relief that our loved ones have been spared. But at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.
We make out better than I thought we would. By late morning we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens, and a gallon of strawberries. The strawberry patch was Katniss', but I have the idea of stinging mesh nets around it to keep out the animals.
On our way home, we stop by the Hob, the black market of District 12 located in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal. When they started transporting the coal directly from the mine to the trains, the black market slowly took over the space. We trade six of the fish for good bread and the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the old woman who sells bowls of hot soup, trades a couple of chunks of paraffin for half of our greens. We could probably do better somewhere else, but Greasy Sae is the only person we can count on to consistently buy wild dog. We don't hunt wild dog, but when they attack, meat is meat. People from the Seam will buy it when they can afford it, but the Peacekeepers can afford to be choosier.
When we finish at the market, we head to the Mayor's back door. He has a fondness for strawberries and can afford our price. Instead of the Mayor, his daughter, Madge, answers the door. I'm slightly surprised, until I remember it's reaping day and he probably has plenty to do and people to entertain. Madge is in Katniss' year at school. I've seen her around Katniss a bit in school, but being two years apart, Katniss and I don't really see each other much. Her usual drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress with pink ribbons in her hair. Her reaping clothes. Katniss and I won't be able to afford anything half as nice.
"Pretty dress," I say.
Madge looks at me, unsure if it was a genuine compliment or not. It was since it is a very pretty dress and she looks nice it in it. It wasn't because the dress probably cost more than anything Katniss and I will ever be able to buy. She finally presses her lips together and smiles.
"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" she says.
I stare at her stunned. It's my turn to be unsure of the situation. I'm pretty sure she's messing with me though.
"You won't be going to the Capitol," I say coolly. My eyes catch on a small golden pin on her dress. A pin that could feed a family for months. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."
"That's not her fault," Katniss says. I glance over to her and see she is unhappy with this conversation. Madge is the only other person I've seen her with besides Prim.
"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," I say trying to sound nicer.
Madge's face has become closed off and I know I've failed. I don't really care. She knows she won't get chosen and I most likely will. It may not be her fault, but she would never do anything to change it either. She gives Katniss the money for the berries. "Good luck, Katniss."
"You too," Katniss says and the door closes.
I try to shake off my anger as we walk back to the Seam in silence. I know Katniss is unhappy with the dig I took at Madge, but I couldn't help it. The reaping system is unfair and the poor get the worst of it. It all starts the day you turn twelve and become eligible. That year, your name is entered into the contest. Every year following you add one more entry. At age eighteen, the final year of eligibility, your name goes in the pool seven times. This goes for every citizen in the districts.
And to make things worse, there's a catch. If you're poor and starving you can opt to add your name on extra time for each member of your family to get tresserae. Each tresserae is worth a "year's" supply of grain and oil for one person. So at the age of twelve I entered my name six times, once as was mandatory and once for myself, my mom, Rory, Vick, and Posy. And because the entries are cumulative, my name will be in the pool forty-two times. Katniss will be in the pool twenty times. We have forbidden our younger siblings from taking tresserae. Though I know the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts or any wealthy person's family, it's hard not to resent those that have never had to take out tresserae.
I rant about it all the time to Katniss while we're in the woods. She's the only person I can talk to and the woods are the only place safe from the Capitol. I know my rage seems pointless to her, but Katniss isn't one to waste energy on something she deems pointless and yelling about the Capitol in the woods doesn't change anything. But she lets me do it anyway. Another reason I love her.
At our splitting point we divide what we have left, leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money for each.
"See you in the square," she says. The feeling of dread gets stronger.
"Wear something pretty," I say flatly. She takes off without another word.
At home I find my mother and siblings nearly ready to go. Rory is in my first reaping outfit while the others are in other old outfits of mine and Rory's. Posy is wearing a dress I seem to remember seeing on Prim years ago.
My mother has a tub of warm water waiting for me. I get in and quickly scrub off the woods, sweat, and sweet smell of Katniss. My mother has laid out one of my father's old dress outfits. I swallow hard, thinking of him. He taught me everything I know about snares. We used to spend time in the woods hunting together.
My mother is already cooking the fish and greens in a stew and put the bread and strawberries out of reach of my siblings. Those will be for the celebratory dinner tonight after the reaping. A dinner I most likely won't attend. For lunch we have some left over rabbit and hard Seam bread.
Lunch is fairly silent. Posy prattles on about what she and her friends did on their day off. They are too young to understand the horrors of what is really going on.
Rory looks like he's going to be sick. "Eat something," I tell him. "If you don't, it'll just be worse."
One o'clock comes faster than I'm ready for and we head out for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are dying. Peacekeepers will be checking each house later tonight to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned.
People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good way for the Capitol to keep an updated census as well. Twelve-through-eighteen-year-olds are herded into a roped off areas marked by ages—oldest in the front, youngest in the back. Everyone else lines the perimeter, holding tightly to one another. Those that have nothing to lose, or no longer care, slip in among the crowd, taking bets on who will be chosen.
As the square fills up and gets tighter, I glance around. Cameras and screens are mounted everywhere to optimize the experience. Eventually the square is full and people are directed into adjacent streets where they can watch the reaping live as it's broadcasted to the entire country.
I nod at the other eighteen year olds around me before focusing on the stage set up in front of the Justice building. On it there are three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls. One for the boy's; one for the girl's. One has "Katniss Everdeen" written on twenty slips and one has "Gale Hawthorne" written on forty-two slips.
Two of the three chairs hold Mayor Undersee, a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, straight from the Capitol, sporting a freakishly white grin, pinkish hair, and a bright green suit. I can just imagine how much Posy loves her hair. They murmur to each other and look with concern at the empty seat.
When the clock strikes two, Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and begins to read the same story he does every year. I'm surprised he hasn't memorized it. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was one called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed with thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.
The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last standing tribute wins.
Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch—this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion. Whatever words they use, the real message is clear: "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen."
To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others. The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of us battle starvation.
"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.
Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only on is still alive, Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers on to the stage, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. The crowd responds with token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.
The mayor looks distressed. As usual, Haymitch has made District 12 the laughing stock of Panem—not that District 12 needs much help in that way. We are the poorest, dirtiest district of Panem—and he knows it. HaymitchHe tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.
Bright and bubbly as ever—I swear that woman doesn't know how to be anything but—Effie trots to the podium and give her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She goes on a bit about how honored she is to be here though we all know she wants to get bumped up to a district with proper victors, not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation and knock your wig askew. I fight back a laugh at the sight of her pink curls now off-center state.
I look through the crowd and find Katniss. She's wearing a pretty blue dress she must have gotten from her mother; it is a merchant dress. Her hair is done up in an elaborate braid that almost must have come from her mother. Mrs. Everdeen is from a merchant family. When she married Mr. Everdeen, a miner from the Seam, she gave up everything to live with him. The Apothecary where she once worked with her parents no longer exists. Instead we bring all our injured to the Everdeen residence in the Seam.
Katniss turns and catches my eye. I can see that she is worried and the amusement I felt at Haymitch and Effie's encounter slips away. Despite everything, she still has twenty slips and I still have forty-two. Hers are average for a Seam kid, mine out-weigh everyone's. The odds are not in my favor. I turn away and can almost hear her saying "But there are still thousands of slips." I try to shake the feeling of dread that is steadily getting heavier.
"Ladies first!" Effie trills, as she always does. She crosses to the ball with the girl's names and reaches in, digging around a bit before pulling out a piece of paper. The square is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My heart is pounding as I keep thinking and hoping that it's not Katniss. I glance over at her again and know she is chanting the same thing in her head.
Effie crosses back to the podium where the microphone is, smoothes out the paper, and reads out the name. I breathe in relief that it's not Katniss, then my heart clenches because it might as well be.
Effie Trinket has just read out Primrose Everdeen.
I look over at Katniss. She's in complete shock, struggling to breathe. I can see her mind whirling as she tries to figure out what she's done wrong. Prim had one slip in thousands. The odds were in her favor, yet she was chosen.
The crowd murmurs unhappily as they always do when a twelve year old gets chosen, because no one thinks this is fair. It's not fair. No twelve year old can go up against an eighteen year old and win. The twelve year olds usually don't make it past the first day. And this time it's not just any twelve year old: It's Prim Everdeen, the small blonde Seam girl that sells her goat's milk and cheese at a price Seam folk can occasionally afford. The girl that helps her mother mend our wounded back to health. Everyone loves Prim.
Prim passed through my field of vision, white as a sheet and hands clenched as she takes small, stiff steps towards the stage—towards her death. She leaves my vision and I see Katniss' eyes focus. I know what's coming, possibly before she does.
"Prim!" The strangled cry comes from her as she begins to move towards her sister. "Prim!" The other kids make a path, letting her get to her sister as soon as possible. She reaches Prim right before she can mount the steps, sweeping her behind herself. I force myself to move towards them, knowing what's coming.
"I volunteer!" Katniss gasps. Her words are like an arrow to my heart. "I volunteer as tribute!"
There's some confusion on the stage. District twelve hasn't had a volunteer in so long the protocol has become rusty. The official rule states that once a tribute's name has been pulled another eligible boy or girl can step forward to take the corresponding gender's place. In some districts winning is an honor and volunteering is complicated. But here in District 12, tribute might as well mean corpse, so volunteers are all but extinct.
"Lovely!" says Effie. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, not sure what happens then.
"What does it matter?" the mayor asks. He has a pained expression on his face. He doesn't know Katniss, but I'm sure he remembers her as the girl that sold him strawberries regularly. Maybe even as the girl his daughter occasionally talks about. Possibly even as the girl that, five years ago, he presented with a medal of valor since she was the oldest. A medal for her father who was vaporized in the mines with my father. "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."
Prim starts screaming hysterically. She's wrapped her arms around her older sister. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"
"Prim, let go," I hear her say harshly. I've almost reached them. I know Katniss is fighting tears. Katniss does not cry, but Prim brings out emotions in her that no one else can. "Let go!"
Finally reaching them, I pull Prim off Katniss and lift her up so she's thrashing in my arms. I swallow hard. "Up you go, Catnip," I say, my voice less steady that I would have hoped. I take a deep breath and carry Prim off toward her mother. Behind me I hear Katniss mounting the steps.
"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie. "That's the spirit of the games!" She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," Katniss says. I've almost reached Mrs. Everdeen, who is standing at the ropes shell-shocked. I'm not surprised. After her husband died she all but slipped away, leaving eleven year old Katniss to take care of her little sister. She's not a strong person, and almost losing her youngest, only to have her oldest volunteer, is pushing her back towards that place. I vow to keep an extra eye on Prim, just in case.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills Effie. I want to punch her. Steal all the glory? More like wants to keep her alive. I pass Prim over to her mother and turn around.
No one is clapping. No one is cheering. Not even the ones holding betting slips are making a sound. Everyone knows Katniss. Whether they know her from the Hob, or knew her father, or know Prim, or have gone to see her mother, everyone knows her. She stands there, slightly uncomfortable as we all take part in the boldest form of dissent we can: Silence. Silence says we do not agree. We do not condone. This is wrong.
Without thinking I touch my three middle fingers to my lips and hold them out to her. Prim and her mother copy me. Then, one after another, the entire district follow suit. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.
I can see Katniss is extremely close to crying. I know she wouldn't have expected it. She never seems to realize how important she is to people. Before the tears get too close to spilling over, Haymitch staggers across the stage to congratulate her.
"Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulders. I flinch, hating that he would dare touch my Catnip in such a familiar way. "I like her! Lots of..." while he thinks of a word a Peacekeeper prods me towards the eighteen year olds where I'm going to have to stand and most likely be called. "Spunk!" Haymitch says triumphantly. "More than you!" He lets go of Katniss and heads to the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing at the cameras.
Back in my place, I wonder if he's addressing the audience or if he's actually crazy enough to be taunting the Capitol. We never find out because as he opens his mouth to continue, he plummets off the stage and knocks himself out.
Everyone is watching him, but I'm watching Katniss. I see her body shudder once, her mouth open just a bit. I can almost hear the choking sound she must have made. Then she puts her hands behind her back and stares into the distance.
As Haymitch is taken away on a stretcher, Effie tries to get everything in order again.
"What an exciting day!" she warbles, trying to straighten out her wig. If Katniss wasn't the one standing on that stage I might have laughed inwardly at her state: the wig has twisted severely to the right. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She places one hand on her head, probably to keep her wig from falling off, and crosses to the glass ball containing the boys names. Her fingers close around a slip and I just know my name is on it. I'm going to have to go into the arena with my best friend and most likely watch her die. I'm not sure how I'm standing anymore, or functioning at all. I wish Katniss had agreed to run away with me this morning, but I know she would have never forgiven herself if it had caused Prim to die, for no one else would have volunteered.
Effie crosses back to the podium faster than I've ever seen her move. I close my eyes and try and prepare myself to stand on the stage next to Katniss.
"Peeta Mellark," Effie reads. My eyes fly open. Not me. I can't believe it. I, with forty-two slips, have survived the reaping. Prim, with one, was chosen. My eyes are once again trained on Katniss. She looks distressed. I wonder why she would be so upset that this Peeta Mellark was chosen. Does she know him? Are they friends? If so, why haven't I ever seen them together? Why has she never mentioned him to me? Jealousy surges through me as I take in the kid. Medium height, stocky build, ashy blond hair. The baker's youngest son. I take a deep breath. She must have met him a few times trading at the bakery. But why would she look so upset with him being chosen? Does she like him?
Effie asks for volunteers and I briefly contemplate speaking up, but I know I can't. I could try to protect Katniss in the arena, but the likely hood of one of us surviving would be slim to none. Our families can't afford to lose both their providers. Katniss might be able to survive if she gets a bow—and if she had a decent mentor. A tributes mentor gets them sponsors, which in turn gets them money for gifts to survive the arena and put them ahead. District 12 never seems to have any sponsors, but then, who would want to work with Haymitch? Even if he was trying?
The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point—it's required. I don't listen but instead stare at Katniss trying to figure out why Peeta Mellark means so much to her. A memory pulls at me, a story she told me once, years ago, when she finally decided to trust me and I remember. Peeta Mellark is the boy who gave her hope again when all hope was lost. The boy who saved her from dying of starvation in his back yard under an apple tree. She owes him her life. In the Seam, owing someone is a big deal. Debt is always paid off, no matter how hard it is or how long it takes and Katniss is still in Peeta's debt. I curse to myself, hoping with every fiber of my being she doesn't decide to pay him back by helping him survive the arena. It's selfish and horrible of me to wish death upon a boy I barely know, but I can't stand the thought of Katniss dying and never coming home to me. I know she stands a chance, as long as she doesn't let this boy get in her way. I make a mental note to get Prim to promise her she'll come home. Katniss would never break a promise to Prim or deny her anything. If she promises Prim she'll come home, she'll do everything in her power to come home. Her love for Prim outweighs any debt she might own some merchant kid. I breathe slightly easier.
The mayor finishes the treaty and motions for Katniss and Peeta to shake hands. They look each other in the eye and shake hands then turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.
The anthem ends and Katniss and Peeta are taken into custody. Though they are not handcuffed, they might as well be. Peacekeepers escort them into the Justice Building where they will have an hour to say good-bye to family and friends. I reach the building just as Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are about to enter Katniss' room.
"Prim!" I say. She turns to me. "You have to make Katniss promise to come home. She wouldn't dare break a promise to you."
Prim looks up at me, her blue eyes swimming with tears. "Of course I'm going to," she says, giving me a look that clearly says I'm crazy. She follows her mother into the room. I stand outside, waiting. I try not to think about the last time I was in this building, receiving my medal of valor for my father's death.
Mr. Mellark comes out of Peeta's room and faces Katniss' door.
"I'll help you keep the little girl fed," he says.
"Thank you," I say. I never knew he cared so much about Prim.
"Do you mind if I go first?" he asks. I shake my head. The Peacekeepers bring out Prim and Mrs. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark enters.
Prim comes over and gives me a hug. "She swore she would try her hardest to win."
I hug her back. "She'll come back to us," I say. Mrs. Everdeen takes her hand and leads her out the door. To my surprise, Madge Undersee comes rushing in.
"I have to see her. Just a second," she says to me, breathless. "I promise I won't be long." I nod. Both relieved and upset. The more people that go in before me the less time I have with Katniss, but I'm not ready to say good-bye yet. I have no idea what I'm going to say. I only know this may be my last chance to tell her how I feel and I can't wimp out now.
Mr. Mellark comes out and Madge rushes in. She comes out within minutes. Her eyes catch mine and I'm surprised to see she's crying. Maybe I underestimated her after all. She seems genuinely upset over Katniss leaving.
Finally it's my turn. I walk in and open my arms to her. Thankfully she doesn't hesitate and I wrap my arms around her. She feels just as wonderful as I imagined—more so. She smells of soap, but underneath I can pick up the smell of woods and Katniss herself. I feel her heart beating against mine and press my face into her hair for a split second. I'm wasting time.
"Listen," I say. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance." Why am I talking strategies? I have more important things to tell her. Now is not the time to listen to my nerves. There is no later.
"They don't always have bows," she says. That's true. One year they had these horrible spiked maces that tributes had to bludgeon one another to death with.
"Then make one," I say. "Even a weak bow is better than no bow at all."
"I don't even know if there'll be wood," she says. I try not to show my frustration. How dare she be giving up already?
"There's almost always wood," I say. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that."
That was a horrible year. We could hardly see them because they were just huddled into balls with no fires or torches or anything. It was considered very anticlimactic in the Capitol, all those quiet, bloodless deaths.
"Yes, there's usually some," she says. Finally, a bit of hope.
"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," I say.
"It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think," she says. I want to yell at her, shake her, force her to stop giving up and fight. Instead I force myself to stay calm.
"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," I say. "You know how to kill."
"Not people," she says. I grit my teeth.
"How different can it be, really?" I say grimly.
The Peacekeepers come back. I ask for more time, but since they're not Darius, who we know from the Hob, or the Head Peacekeeper, Cray, who we sell wild turkeys to, but strange peacekeepers from the Capitol, they deny me. I try to hold onto Katniss, committing the feel of her in my arms to my memory. She starts to panic. "Don't let them starve!" she cries, clinging to my hand.
"I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I—" they yank me away and slam the door shut. "—love you!" I shout at the now closed door. I slump against it. "I love you. I'll be waiting for you. I believe in you." I whisper against the door, knowing she won't hear me. Knowing I probably just missed my last chance. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The Peacekeepers lead me back outside where my mom finally finds me. She warps her arms around me, crying tears of both joy and sorrow. I know she's ecstatic that I have survived the Hunger Games reapings and that Rory has survived his first reaping, but Katniss is family to us. Tonight there will be three families with their windows drawn shut and their doors locked.
The screens are back on. Katniss and Peeta are at the train station, ready to depart. This is the last time we will see them until the opening ceremonies. This is the last time I will see Katniss looking like my Catnip, before the stylists get a hold of her and turn her into someone from the Capitol. The doors shut and the trains leave. I'm still fighting for my breath and forcing the tears back.
Posy takes my hand and leads me home. I sit down on the couch, trying to come to terms with what has happened. She crawls into my lap and hugs me.
"It's okay, Gale," she says. "Katniss will come home." I hold onto Posy and cry for the first time since my father died. There are twenty-four tributes, only one comes out. I know the likely hood of Katniss coming home is next to nothing.
There is a knock on the door; my mother opens the door to Prim and Mrs. Everdeen. They are carrying a stew, the bread and the strawberries. My mother lets them in without a word. We are all family tonight. Prim puts the bread and strawberries on the table along with some goat cheese and joins me and Posy on the couch.
"She'll come home, Gale," Prim says. "She has to."