4

Katniss and I manage to overcome our shock and disgust and get him back to his compartment. We haul him in the bathtub and turn the water on him. Katniss seems to be a little hesitant, and I realize she probably doesn't want to clean up Haymitch. Then I realize I don't really want her to. This could be the perfect opportunity to explain to Haymitch my plan. Maybe then he'll take us seriously and sober up a bit when he realizes I'm not the average tribute.

"It's okay," I say to her, "I'll take it from here."

She looks very relieved, but her brows draw together, as though she's wondering after my motives. Probably thinks I'm trying to get in good with Haymitch and be his favorite. She wasn't far off.

"All right," she says, already taking a step back. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No." I say firmly. The last thing I wanted was an extra pair of ears and a mouth to regurgitate. "I don't want them."

She's gone in a flash. I don't blame her. The last thing I myself want to do is clean Haymitch up. When her footsteps had fully faded, I turned the water on icy cold. Haymitch jumps up and lashes out, sending flecks of vomit and water everywhere.

"Clean yourself up, Haymitch. I've got something I want to talk to you about."

He looks at me like he doesn't understand what I'm saying. I huff in irritation, and grab the soap and the brush and put them in Haymitch's hands, then turn the water back on warm. He blinks down at them blearily. Then he groans, and I know he understands what he's supposed to do. The curtain snaps shut. There's less a chance of Haymitch going back to sleep and drowning in his own vomit if I stay in the room, so that's what I do. He throws his clothes onto the floor, where they land with a splat!

I pass him a towel and a robe when he's turned the water off. He groans again, and slides the curtain back. Then he spots me, and looks at me like he can't quite register why I'm there.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

"I want to die."

Haymitch snorts, laughing his head off.

"You'll have a good chance of doing that, then."

"What I mean is I don't want to be the Victor. I want to keep Katniss alive. And to do that I have to die."

He looks at me in shock.

"You what?"

"I want Katniss to win. I want to keep her alive."

He still clearly can't register what I'm saying.

"I don't want to win!"

Haymitch rubs his face, blinks several times, then walks out of his bathroom. I follow him into his bedroom.

"Look, kid, quit bothering me. Let me sleep in peace."

"This isn't a joke!"

But he collapses on the bed, and starts snoring. Frustrated, I kick his bed, but he barely stirs. I suppose the only thing I can do to get him to pay attention is to sober him up enough to listen to what I have to say. And right now he's clearly too drunk to even remember I was there.

So I leave, and spend the night thinking of ways to get Haymitch interested enough to stay mostly sober.

Effie wakes me up in the morning, and I raid the drawers in my room for something to wear that isn't covered in puke. Simple pants and shoes. A collared shirt. I showered the night before, so I'm reasonably clean. I comb my hair.

Haymitch is the only one in the dining car. He's already drinking. I press my lips together.

"Was that you in my compartment last night, boy?" says Haymitch. I sit, and pick up a roll.

"Yes. You're welcome."

"Hm. You're a lot more feminine than I thought, then."

"What?" I say, completely baffled. He grins at a joke only he gets.

"Oh, wait, she was after you were pestering me."

I flush, understanding what he is saying. He chuckles.

Just then both Effie and Katniss walk in, Effie brushing past Katniss with a cup of coffee. Haymitch greets Katniss with an unusual enthusiasm. But then, he's not so drunk yet and he probably spent the night with a poor girl from the Capitol. I suppose as a Victor, even a consistently drunk one, it's not that hard to get women to sleep with you.

He gestures Katniss to sit down, and she's served a platter of food as soon as she does. She stares in wonder at it, her eyes lingering on the orange juice. She turned her nose up at the coffee. She stares at the hot chocolate like she doesn't know what it was. Then I realized she probably doesn't.

"It's hot chocolate," I explain. "It's good."

She hesitantly takes an experimental sip, then her eyes go wide, and she drains the rest of the cup. The corners of my mouth twitch in amusement. Then she starts stuffing herself again. I should do the same, because I realize if I don't eat and build up my strength then I'll wear down faster in the arena, but I just can't bring myself to do so. I'm just not that hungry.

Haymitch keeps pouring alcohol into his glass of cranberry juice, and it's all I can do not to knock it out of his hand. Katniss watches Haymitch with a disgust that matches my own when she's finished eating.

"So," she says, when she clearly can't stand it anymore, "you're supposed to give us advice."

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He bursts out laughing. Like this is some big joke. Like our lives aren't on the line. I realize he cares more about poisoning himself with alcohol than keeping two kids alive. No wonder District 12 hasn't had a victor since him. I suddenly can't stand it anymore.

"That's very funny," I say coldly, then I knock the glass out of his hand, where it falls to the floor and shatters. "Only not to us."

Haymitch sits for a moment, considering me. I wonder how much of last night he remembers. If he remembers my request. Then he punches me in the jaw.

I go flying, my jaw throbbing. I've been hit plenty of times before, by my mother. So Haymitch hitting me doesn't really bother me. The only difference between him and my mom are Haymitch is a lot stronger. By the time I've recovered enough to turn around, I find Katniss has driven a knife an inch think in the table, between Haymitch's hand and his bottle. She's snarling, and I can't help but feel some admiration towards her.

Haymitch stares between us, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, what's this?" he says, smirking slightly and looking at us with a newfound appreciation. Katniss has done my job for me. He's actually paying attention now. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I get a handful of ice from the table and start to place it on my jaw, but Haymitch stops me, telling me to let it show. The audience will think I've fought with another tribute. It's all about the show. Nevermind about the rules. He turns to Katniss.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Katniss sets her face in a determined expression, her eyes lighting up. She unsticks the knife, throws it, and lodges it firmly in the seam between two panels.

If I was admiring her before, I'm in awe now. Beautiful and deadly.

She's the clear winner.

Haymitch looks impressed. He has us stand in the middle of the room. He circles, examining us. I stand up straight, determined to make a good impression. He declares us not entirely hopeless. Well, that's comforting. But it is an improvement over a drunk Haymitch, so I'll take what I can get.

"Alright," says Haymitch, "I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say."

Good enough for me, if he keeps his end of the bargain.

"Fine," I say. Katniss immediately launches into asking questions.

"One thing at a time," says Haymitch, stopping her and picking up his bottle again. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station, and you'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do, but don't resist."

"But—" starts Katniss.

"No buts," says Haymitch, walking towards the door, "Don't resist."

The door shuts behind him, and we're encased in darkness. I realize we've entered a tunnel. Katniss has frozen. The longer the tunnel goes on, the more strangled her breathing becomes, her face filled with fear and loathing. I think this might have something to do with the way her father died, trapped deep underground in the mines. I want to say something to her, to ease her fear, but realize if I did I wouldn't be helping anyway. She wouldn't like that I had noticed the way she was feeling.

When finally the train starts to slow and the tunnel ends, I'm blinded by the brightness of the sun. I'm genuinely curious when I rush to the window with Katniss at my side. I want to see what I've seen only on television. The Capitol. It's incredible, of course, with the shiny buildings, and so many different colors that are too bright to be natural. The people are bizarre-looking, like multicolored ugly birds. People begin to point at us when they recognize what they're looking at. A tribute train. Fresh blood. They're like vultures.

Katniss withdrawals from the window, looking disgusted. But I stay put. There's sponsors in that crowd. If I play the people right, it might be enough to keep Katniss alive. I want the people to like me. That's what it'll take. I have to do this right.

I wave my hand and smile, trying to look as likable as possible. Some in the crowd acknowledge what I'm doing and wave back, but most gawk. This doesn't really dishearten me at all by the time we pull into the station and are blocked from view. I immediately stop waving, then turn to Katniss, who's watching me with an expression close to disbelief. I shrug, suddenly more self-conscious than if the whole crowd had laughed at me.

"Who knows?" I say. "One of them may be rich."

Then she looks at me as if she sees me in a whole new light, and her expression becomes hard. I know what's on her mind. I'd be thinking the same thing if I were in her shoes. She thinks I'm fighting to kill her.

If she only knew how mistaken she was.

5

My style team has scrubbed me down until I'm raw, trimmed my hair, waxed my eyebrows, which is probably more painful than a hundred punches from both Haymitch and my mother, and put a foul-smelling cream on my face to soak for half an hour while they scrub and trim my nails. When they take the cream off, they explain it will stop my facial hair from growing for months, or until they put another cream on to reverse the effect.

I'm annoyed with this, but I take Haymitch's advice, and don't argue with them. Besides, I can't complain. It means I don't have to shave.

When my stylist, Portia, arrives, I'm a bit taken aback by how normal she looks. My prep team had looked like green, pink, and orange stalks of candy with different colored hair, only stranger. She's dark-skinned, her teeth are unnaturally white, with matching white-blonde hair, and she's wearing too much dark eyeliner, but aside from that she looks pretty normal. At least she's not purple.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm your stylist, Portia."

"Hello," I say. She gives me a bit of a smile in return and instructs me to remove my robe. She doesn't touch me, but examines every bit of me with her eyes, until she's done and has me put my robe back on.

"So," she says, as food arrives. It's pretty extravagant for a simple meal. "My partner, Cinna, and I are thinking of dressing you in identical costumes. It has to reflect the district, of course. But we think the whole coal-miner's thing is so overdone it's time for a change."

"So what am I going to be wearing?" I ask curiously. She smiles. I know I'm probably not going to like what she's going to say.

"Fire."

"Don't worry," she says a few hours later, when I'm dressed in a too-tight black unitard with boots and a fluttering cape of red, orange and yellow. She seems positively giddy about setting me on fire. How lovely. "It's synthetic. You won't get burnt."

Why do I find it hard to believe her? Oh, because she's completely crazy.

Katniss looks relieved to see me. She looks very pretty in minimal makeup. Her face looks like herself. But it stops there. She looks just as ridiculous as I do in a matching costume. Everyone besides us and Cinna are incredibly giddy and excited. Cinna seems a lot more normal than Portia, but they balanced each other out. I don't doubt they make good partners. They both seem very creative.

Maybe a little too creative, considering I'm about to be set on fire.

"What do you think?" says Katniss to me in a whisper when Cinna and Portia have arranged us and our costumes on the chariot pulled by four coal-black horses. "About the fire?"

What do I think? I think this is more suicide than going into the area. But instead I say through gritted teeth, "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," she says, her face set. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Speaking of Haymitch, I haven't seen him since we left the train. I really hope he hasn't forgotten about us. But he wouldn't, would he? We're a pair of fighters, right?

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" I voice out loud. "Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."

We both burst out laughing. We're both probably so nervous that the only way to release some of that is to joke about it.

The music starts, the doors open, and the snow-white horses pulling the tributes from District 1 pull out, and the crowd roars for them. One by one the chariots file out, until we're almost to the door. District 11 is rolling out when Cinna lights us on fire.

Katniss gasps, but there's nothing to panic about, because we're not getting burned to a crisp. There's only a tickling sensation. I look behind us and see the flickering flames. Cinna climbs up and lights our headdresses.

"It works," he says, sighing in relief. He tucks a hand under Katniss's chin, rising her head up. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

Cinna jumps off and he's shouting something, but the music's so loud I can't hear him. Then he shouts again and gestures. I understand what he wants us to do, but I can't figure out why.

"What's he saying?" says Katniss, clearly dazzled as she looks at me on fire. She looks absolutely incredible. Maybe Cinna and Portia are onto something.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I say, intertwining her right hand in my left. A thrill runs through me. Her fingers are calloused, slightly rough from years of hunting in the woods and trying to put food on the table. But her palm is soft and her hand is cool. Cinna gives us the thumbs up, and we enter the city.

"District Twelve!" the voice cries over the loudspeaker. The entire crowd gasps when they see us. We're drawing attention away from the tributes ahead of us. I raise my hand only a second sooner than Katniss, smiling broadly and waving, my head held high. Katniss's grip grows painfully tight, but I don't mind. It calms my nerves.

Katniss starts to blow kisses when we're a bit farther into our journey to the training center. She's shaking. She's giddy. I realize Cinna and Portia really have given us a great advantage.

"Katniss! Peeta! Twelve, Twelve!" the crowd chants. Start to feel a bit giddy myself. Maybe this is enough to keep Katniss alive.

Katniss is thrown a red rose, which she catches and sniffs delicately. She blows a kiss to the crowd, and a hundred hands go up while their owners scream, increasing the din in the streets.

The coal-black horses trot into the city circle. Katniss's grip loosens on my hand, but I don't want to let go of her. She's the only thing keeping me steady.

I look at her, properly for the first time. She's stunning in her flames. She takes my breath away. I gulp and find my voice.

"No, don't let go of me," I say. "Please," then I realize I should add a joke, so I don't sound so desperate. "I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she says, tightening her grip on my hand again. There's a slight bit of sadness in her eyes that I don't understand.

The chariots come to a halt right in front of President Snow's mansion. The music ends and silence fills the circle except for the snorting of the horses and the flickering of the synthetic flames in my ears. President Snow steps up to the balcony and starts his speech. The screen cuts away from him during his speech to the tributes. We're getting a lot of screen time, Katniss and I. As it gets darker, we become the most noticeable thing on the screen. Even in the aerial shots, the flames are the first thing your eyes are drawn to. I find myself watching the screen and feeling a jolt in my stomach every time the camera zooms in on Katniss.

When finally the anthem plays and the chariots start moving again, all I can think about is Katniss.

In no time we pull into the training center and Portia and Cinna are removing our capes and extinguishing them while the other tributes shoot us dirty looks. I'm in conflict about whether or not this is a good thing and what it means for when we're in the arena. What it will mean for Katniss's chances.

Katniss's fingers force open stiffly. I let go of her hand and both massage out the stiffness.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," I say to Katniss. "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," she says politely. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I say before I can stop myself. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."

I smile at her shyly. She blushes and blinks several times. Suddenly her face becomes hard. And then she stands on tiptoe, and kisses me on the cheek, right on my bruise. My cheek tingles as she pulls away. She smiles brightly at me, throwing me for a complete loop.

She then flaunts away towards Cinna, leaving me there with my mouth open, wondering at the strange ways which girl's brains worked.