"Yes," I say, and I don't know why this feels so terribly wrong, but it does. "My answer is yes."
"Good," he says, and he relaxes noticeably.
I can see the tension in his muscles dissipate as he unclenches his fists, but he doesn't stop staring at me. It's unnerving. Was he resisting the urge to kill me if I were to have said no? I'm already becoming paranoid. This isn't a good sign.
"So um what's the plan?" I ask, avoiding his gaze, as an awkward silence falls over us.
It's a dumb question, but I'm the last one to join the group, and I want to know what they've discussed so far.
"Take over the Cornucopia," he shrugs. "Hunt the others."
So there isn't any elaborate plan. This is exactly what the Careers do in the Games.
I nod in assent, but my heart is pumping super fast, and I'm afraid he will hear it and know my fear. I'm terrified of fighting in the bloodbath. Haymitch's original strategy was for me to run away and find a source of water. That was simple enough. Staying in the Cornucopia though could mean my immediate death, even if I have teamed up with the Careers. Simply put, if there isn't a bow and arrow, I'm doomed. And for some reason, I can't picture Clove or the girl from District 1 coming to my rescue when one of the other tributes cuts me down. No one puts their own life at risk to save their ally, no matter how strong the alliance, unless it's for revenge. Even then, there's another self-benefiting purpose, namely taking out your competition. And vengeance won't help me much if I'm dead.
"Well, I'll see you at the interviews," I say, wanting to break off this awkward conversation.
"Might as well walk back together," he says. So much for ending the conversation.
This time, I opt for the elevator, but he still has enough time to ask me.
"So how'd you get that eleven?" he says, watching me curiously, as we wait for the elevator to arrive.
I debate playing down the event, but decide to tell him the truth. I don't see any benefit in lying. He'll end up seeing my talents in the arena anyway, or at least I hope he will.
"The game makers ordered a whole pig and, me being the last person, they were eating and talking instead of paying attention. So I shot an arrow through the apple in the pig's mouth," I say.
He furrows his brow in surprise, obviously not anticipating my answer, and surveys my face to see if I'm joking.
"That's...pretty bold," he admits. He tries to hide it, but I can tell he's impressed, though I'm not sure why. "So you must be quite skilled at archery. That complements my swordsmanship."
Great, so what can't this boy do? He doesn't mention his ability to throw a spear from a long distance, and quite accurately might I add, which means my skills only put me on par with him. It doesn't make sense for him to hide his strengths. There's no chance I'll be underestimating him.
The elevator doors open, and we step in. He presses the number twelve for me, and I'm relieved I don't have to ask. I notice he doesn't press the number to his floor, and then I realize it's somewhat absurd for him to take an elevator to the second floor. He's only walked with me to talk, and I can't fathom why. He already knows my strength and how I got that eleven. If he's looking for weaknesses, I won't reveal any. If he's trying to get close to me, it won't work. I don't get close to anyone, and if I've learned it from the nice baker's son, I certainly won't make the same mistake with this monstrous boy.
Or maybe he's waiting for an explanation.
"I have a lot of experience hunting," I say to back up my claim.
I know this boy has never hunted in his life coming from District 2. They don't go without food like we do. My experience as a hunter should prove to him that I'm useful in other areas, like finding food, and not just killing people. Well, in actuality I have only ever killed animals, but he doesn't need to know that. I don't reveal my breadth of knowledge in finding edible plants, but that will come out in the arena, so long as I survive the fight in the Cornucopia. I want to keep him on his toes.
"Isn't that illegal?" he raises an eyebrow.
To him, I seem to be full of surprises. That's good because I don't want him to think I'm predictable, and I certainly want him to keep believing that we're evenly matched. It will keep those huge hands and muscled arms away from my neck.
"Yeah, but there's no electricity running through the fence, and the Peacekeepers don't care because we sell our game to them in the Hob. It's our black market," I say.
"We?" he asks curiously.
I don't normally dish out personal details, but I suppose to build some sort of camaraderie I might as well. He may trust me more, though he's not naive enough to fully trust me.
"My friend and I," I say, purposely leaving out Gale's name. I don't want him snitching on Gale. Before he has a chance to ask, the elevator doors slide open. "Well, see you tomorrow."
"Sweet dreams, girl on fire," he smirks before pushing the button and closing the doors.
"Kill her. Go on, kill her."
I don't know where I am. I'm nowhere. Darkness surrounds me, except for one small ball of light. I follow it and hear the cries of a girl. The light grows until I happen upon the girl, who is curled up in a ball.
"Kill her. Kill her."
I kneel in front of her. There is blood pooled beneath her, but I cannot locate the source. I reach down, my heart racing, and I gently touch her shoulder.
Suddenly the boy from District 2 is there, next to the girl, whispering to me.
"Kill her, girl on fire."
She lifts her head, and I see her. I recognize her. It's Rue.
I gasp, and nearly fling myself out of bed, startled by my dream. I instinctively touch my face and find that I am drenched in sweat. I feel disturbed, even if it was only a dream, and I crave a cold bath.
It doesn't take long to run a bath in my highly sophisticated powder room, as Effie calls it. I submerge myself in the water and my body shudders involuntarily. I try to rid myself of the image of Rue dying, but I can't.
I don't believe in premonitions, yet a part of me is afraid of my dream. No, not the dream. I'm afraid of what the dream shows – what I could become in the arena. I'm having nightmares because I've joined the Careers, a group of vicious, bloodthirsty killers, and I don't want to become one.
But I have to win – for Prim, for my mother.
And yet when I look at Rue, I see Prim.
I'm not a killer. I can't do it. Or at least, I don't think I can do it. Nor do I want to find out. The boy from District 2, he has it in him. He was made for this. I could never hurt Rue, and when the time comes, hopefully I won't have to.
After breakfast, I have my interview preparation session with Haymitch.
To say it goes badly is an understatement. Haymitch drinks until he's drunk, gives up and tells me to try not to let the audience see how openly I despise them before storming off and abandoning me. And then, to top things off, Effie comes back in a panicked state, saying that the order of interviews has been reversed this year, and that we're going from last to first.
"What?" Peeta asks, surprised.
I'm also surprised because we've never seen this happen in the history of the Hunger Games, not that I've watched every one.
Haymitch, of course, reacts by laughing loudly.
"I don't see what's funny about this!" Effie says in her offended tone. Most things we do and say offend her and if this were about anything else, I would find her behavior amusing.
"Oh, but it is funny," Haymitch says. "There seems to be some demand in the Capitol to see Katniss's interview first, but little do they know how hopeless it's going to be. They love her now, but once Katniss opens that mouth of hers, that'll change real quick."
I scowl at Haymitch. His pessimism, though expected, is not helping with my nerves.
"I'm sure you'll do fine," Peeta says, but I don't really care what he thinks. According to Haymitch, Peeta has a natural self-deprecating humor, so he's going to fare a lot better than me.
Thankfully, Cinna comes to my rescue.
Though I am more like Haymitch, blunt and difficult to work with, I prefer interacting with Cinna. His calm, encouraging attitude is exactly what I need, especially now in my frenzied state. I show my stress through my downtrodden, unhelpful mood, yet my pessimism-laced answers don't deter Cinna. He understands what I mean to say, even if I don't say it particularly nicely, though I try much harder to be pleasant around him. Cinna comes up with actual solutions, instead of criticizing me like Haymitch does. He tells me to act like I'm talking to Gale and to say whatever pops in my head, even if it's terrible. I'm not entirely convinced that this will work, but a plan is better than nothing. By the end of our session, I am reminded through Cinna that there are still some decent people in the Capitol. Or maybe he's the only one.
Haymitch's last words before I step onto the stage are that at least I'm the first one to be interviewed, so I can set the standard. He doesn't say it, but I can tell he means that I'll set a low bar. Well, I'll prove him wrong.
And I do.
I'm a little rocky at the start, giving curt, clipped responses, when I realize Caesar and the audience want to hear more. And though I'm not comfortable talking about how I felt at the reaping or what I said to Prim to these strangers, who, as Haymitch points out, I openly despise, I do what Cinna says and pretend that I'm talking to Gale. It works.
Trying to subdue my nerves as much as possible, I tap into the same instinct that overcame me at the opening ceremonies. Maybe it's only because of the scale of these events - beyond the blinding lights, which hide the roaring crowd, I am sure there are thousands of people - that I can, for a few moments at least, be someone else - who they want me to be.
I twirl around in the spectacular dress Cinna has created for me; flames, glittering red yellow and orange, seem to lick at my feet, and I am the girl on fire. He is truly an artist. Somehow the crowd roars even louder, and I don't need any more assurance that these people love me. Oh how wrong Haymitch was. My interview has only further fueled their obsession. And yet they haven't the faintest clue how much I detest them and their society, how the very sound of their cheering voices makes me want to vomit because they are essentially eagerly awaiting the violent death of me and the others. The Capitol is an absurd world full of absurd people, and I wish more than anything to return to my district, where no one is cheering this.
"Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen," Caesar finishes our interview, and I am glad to leave.
When I go back to my seat, I can see Clove and the girl from District 1 glaring daggers at me. I'm not even sure if the boy from District 2 can keep those two in line. Girls have a way of stabbing each other behind the back, and in the Games I mean that both figuratively and literally.
Speaking of Mr. District 2, we briefly make eye contact, and, after glancing at me up and down, he gives me a wink. I turn red, and I hope the crowd hasn't noticed our interaction. I know it's his way of unnerving me, and I'm sure those tactics would work on other girls. Even I would describe him as handsome to someone else, but I bear no attraction to him. How could I, when he could potentially be my killer?
Right before I reach my seat, I see Rue, and the image of her dying pops back in my head. She gives me a small smile, and I return it as best I can. I really hope we don't meet each other in the arena.
"Nice dress," Peeta whispers to me when I sit down next to him. "Haymitch was wrong."
"Thanks," I reply.
And then it's Peeta's turn. I smile when the cameras face us and wish Peeta good luck as he stands up and walks to the stage. Haymitch told us to put on a unified front, even though Peeta has chosen to train separately. For some twisted reason, the crowd loves it. But then again, these people have sadistic tastes.
Peeta's interview goes well, which isn't much of a surprise. He's an amiable, sociable person, and he and Caesar hit it off. The crowd genuinely seems to like him, though they're not nearly as crazy as they were with me. I do hope he wins over some sponsors because he will need it more than me.
And then Caesar brings up the subject of girls, piquing my attention. I don't usually care about these matters; I never gossiped back home, but I also didn't have many girlfriends. There's just a good chance I'll know whoever Peeta likes, since our district is fairly small. Though, now that I think about it, I can't recall ever seeing Peeta with another girl. Then again, I'm not in his circle of friends.
Peeta asks Caesar for advice on how to win over this girl he has had a crush on his entire life, and Caesar of course tells him to win the Games because what girl could turn down a victor? I, however, don't believe there is any such girl, since I would have seen him with her at some point, but I suppose it's a smart angle to play. Anything to get some sponsors.
"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning….won't help in my case," Peeta says, hesitating.
"Why ever not?" says Caesar, and I, too, am mystified.
"Because…because she came here with me," Peeta says.
I blink as the words replay in my head.
She came here with me.
I don't believe it.
Peeta is talking about me? I look up in horror to see my face on the screens, magnified so that all can tell that I am just as surprised as they are. But I can't reveal my emotions, not now, even though I'm furious at Peeta for putting me on the spot like that. What is he playing at?
I try to be as stone-faced as possible and keep my eyes trained on the floor. I'm positive that the cameras are still focused on Peeta and me; even the other tributes, who normally could care less about the interviews, are staring at us.
Peeta and Caesar exchange a few more remarks, and I am glad that the focus is back on them, at least momentarily. I can tell that, while Caesar is great at putting on a show, he is actually pained by this revelation. I'll give it to Peeta. The crowd is shocked and saddened, crushed even, and several people cry out in agony. How strange that this is where they draw the line. Sending teenagers to fight to the death is pure entertainment for them, but if they're in love, all of a sudden it's sad. As if we don't all have people we care about and who care about our wellbeing. Yet even their pity right now is worthless to me. These Capitol people aren't going to do anything, except watch our tragic end in anticipation.
And then the audience is screaming again for me to come back on stage, but Caesar tells them that rules are rules, and my time has been spent. Thank goodness because I don't know what I would say. I would probably kill the crowd's energy and excitement with my more than lackluster feelings. This isn't the place for romance. We're about to fight to the death. Peeta has only made me appear weak.
"Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours," Caesar says, ending his interview with Peeta.
I avoid eye contact with Peeta when he returns to his seat because I'm afraid of revealing my emotions and looking vulnerable. Though it's time for District 11's interviews, the camera keeps panning over us. We are the center of attention, the obsession of the Capitol. Our interviews certainly exceeded expectations. I only wanted to get my interview over with so I could relax, but with Peeta's little stunt, that's not going to happen. Instead, I try to act like I am paying close attention to the other interviews. Maybe then the cameras will leave me alone.
I do listen attentively to Rue's interview, and I admire her courage. Rue points out that it will be difficult for others to catch her, and Caesar agrees encouragingly.
Her male counterpart, Thresh, however, is the complete opposite of her, both physically and personality-wise. He broods silently and is as unsociable as it gets. In fact, that's probably why I've forgotten about him. He always keeps to himself. But in all honesty, I think Thresh is the one who will win. I wonder why he isn't part of our alliance, when he's the biggest person here. I'll be sure to ask later.
The other interviews are not nearly as interesting. The fox-faced girl from District 5 plays the cleverness card; her strength is her intelligence, which allows her to be sly and elusive. I don't think she'll gain any sponsors, though. That's only useful if you can remain hidden, and she's not nearly as small as Rue. If there is any kind of confrontation, she won't make it.
And then District 2 is up, and I finally learn his name. Cato.
His angle, of course, is that he's a ruthless killing machine. He will undoubtedly receive the most sponsors out of all of us because he is the most capable fighter and, unlike Thresh, he is also personable. He and I are the only ones who volunteered to be in the Games, but for very different reasons. He has trained his entire life for this, and he wants to be here.
But then Caesar poses the same question as he did to Peeta, asking if he has a girl back home. I'm sure the audience is dying to know.
"No, but I have gotten close to someone here," Cato says.
"Oh really, and who might that be?" Caesar asks, leaning in curiously.
Cato stares straight at me and addresses Peeta.
"I know you may have liked her for a long time, but I've gotten to know Katniss these past few weeks, and I want you to know that I'm going to do whatever it takes to be with her," Cato says with the kind of finality that sends chills down my spine.
I'm not even sure what he means by being with me because it's not like there's any future between me and, well, any other tribute. Only one of us is coming out. It goes without saying that this is not the most ideal place to strike up a romance, and yet two tributes have professed their "love" for me within the past hour. It's making me look like a damsel in distress, and I hate it.
But the crowd loves it, and I can hear their screams and cries. Some are shouting Peeta's name, while others yell Cato's. It takes me a moment to understand what they mean, and by then Caesar is already speaking into the microphone again.
"A love triangle!" he exclaims, and the crowd gasps with him. This must be the most drama they have seen in the Hunger Games and definitely more than they had expected. It's too much for me to handle, and I revert back to my pressed lips and downcast eyes. "I don't think we have ever had one in the history of the Hunger Games. But tell me Cato - Peeta is from the same district as Katniss and has known her his entire life. Do you really think you have a chance with her, and is it wise to develop such feelings now?"
"I can't help how I feel," Cato says solemnly, and Caesar nods in agreement. "And I know we don't have much time together."
Some people in the crowd moan in despair. And then I realize what Cato is about to say, and I'm screaming at him inside my head.
Don't say it!
Not here, not in front of the cameras, not in front of Peeta.
"But I definitely have a chance because we're going in this together," Cato continues, staring at me. "Katniss is fighting with me."