I manage to make it home from The Seam that night before the street lamps come on. I believe the Seam is not the most safe place at night, and I certainly don't want to investigate it for myself, so I hurry to retrace my steps homeward. I only get lost once and find my way by following the spire of the Justice building until I am in town.
The world I inhabit compared to Gale's is vastly different, and it strikes me the moment I step through my front door. My dining room table overflows with food, lavishly presented for our guests from the Capitol who probably will not eat a crumb of it. I sigh and walking upstairs, passing our visitors in the parlor who are glued to the television set which is tuned to Flickman's pre-game commentary without a second glance.
I hope to make it to my room and change from my clothes before seeing Daddy, but I run into him outside of his office on the second floor.
"What happened to you, Madge?" he asks, gaping at my disheveled appearance.
His worried shock is painted all over his face. I smile through a sigh and give him a kiss on the cheek, ignoring my muddy hem, my scabby knees and my wind blown hair in the hopes that he might do the same.
"I took a walk, Daddy. Can we-?" I pause, trying to assess how to best approach this situation with him, "Can we talk in your office?"
He reels for the briefest moment, sizing me up. He knows that it must be serious if it can't be said within earshot of our guests. Leaning away from me, he nods and turns the brass knob, putting a sweaty handprint on the freshly buffed metal. The heavy white wooden door swings open and he waves me in. I sit down in a red leather chair across the desk from him, picking at my finger nails nervously. My entire body stiffens, electrified by the nervous tension burning in my stomach. When my father takes his seat, I haul in a deep breath and look up.
"So, Margaret, what's wrong?" he begins, lacing his fingers together and placing them in his lap.
He must know how serious this is. I haven't heard him use my first name since he caught me at ten years old trying to turn our television off while the Hunger Games aired.
"Well, Daddy-" I begin.
But then I stop short as I realize that I have no idea how to continue. Do I start with Katniss? Do I tell him about mother's pin?
"There's this boy," I say simply, selling everyone and everything short.
He shoots me a pointed look and nods once. This is obviously not what he expected from me. I spend my days sitting with my mother, reading, and playing piano. Alone. A boy is the least of his worries.
"Ah."
I shake my head at him, knowing that he is misreading everything and begin my confession.
"I heard Haymitch yesterday saying that no one believes that Gale is Katniss' cousin," I blurt.
A look of comprehension rolls over his face, like a light being flicked on in a dark room.
"That boy," he says with a dry chuckle, "I should have seen this one coming."
I brush him away. Gale and I certainly are not a real thing. This is for Katniss.
"No, Daddy, Gale and I aren't-" I stammer and think of how to word it. Do I ask for permission or forgiveness?
"I want to help Katniss, Daddy. Gale wants to help Katniss. And I know you want to help Katniss. If Haymitch thinks this is necessary-"
I gulp and cease my rambling, almost certain that he understands my message.
"So I need your permission."
I clip my words and look up at him, hoping he will save me so I do not have to say it out loud. Even though it is a noble cause, even though Gale and I are doing this to help bring Katniss home, saying it out loud just cheapens it. I'm pretending to be in love with someone. It's to help save someone's life, yes, but I am still pretending to be in love nonetheless.
"You need my permission to pretend to date Katniss Everdeen's cousin?" he asks, his voice low and teeming with an emotion I cannot put my finger on. Fear? Curiosity? Disappointment?
His eyes look at me over his glasses as he tries to decipher me. He understands. Oh, thank the Capitol he understands.
"Yes, Daddy," I say, nodding at him, trying to beg with my eyes.
Daddy leans back in his chair and looks out of his window, which gives him view of the whole District, including the Seam. He takes a moment, surveying everything under his command.
"You shouldn't be doing this."
Perhaps he doesn't understand after all.
"But, Daddy-" I begin.
He holds a hand up, stopping my speech without so much as casting a glance in my direction.
"You should stay home. Watch the games with me and stay safe," he says with a tone of finality that exhausts all hope from my heart and all breath from my chest.
For a moment, I fear that my own father will turn me over to the nearest Peacekeeper for treason. I look at him helplessly, whispering the only thing I can think of.
"Katniss is my only friend. Gale needs my help to bring her home."
An uncountable moment passes between us in complete silence. My fingers clench the mud stained hem of my dress for dear life, but my eyes never leave Daddy. He is my father, yes, but he is Mayor first. He allows our citizens to poach and trade and run the Hob right under his nose. He will do anything to keep his people alive. He must want to bring Katniss back as much as I do. A real Victor in District Twelve again. Katniss could do it. She only needs a little help.
I resolve to go behind his back and do it anyway if he says no.
"You know, your mother and I began dating after her sister's games. And your mother turned out the best thing to ever happen to me."
This comment surprises me. I have never seen Daddy and mother spend more than five minutes together, much less show each other affection. I always attribute this to my mother's near constant bed ridden state. But my lips tug upward as he continues to stare outward from his window.
"You will start seeing this Gale boy. Tomorrow. When he brings the strawberries, we'll put on a show for our visitors," he says.
Another thing that surprises me. Not only does he give me permission, but he encourages this escapade. I feel my smile grow as I stand. One thing I learn as a politician's daughter: one you receive the answer you want, you stop the conversation.
"Thank you, Daddy," I say, trying to convey in those few words how much it means to me.
But as my hand wraps around the cool door handle, I freeze when he speaks again.
"And Madge?"
When I turn around, he still gazes out at District Twelve through his window. The greenest of trees splash themselves against the bluest of skies as the steel stacks of the mines blow grey coal dust through the air. This is home. And my father stares out as though it can give him the secrets of the universe.
"Yes, sir?" I ask, hoping to snap him out of his reverie.
My words do not shake him. His eyes are just as glazed over as they were the moment before.
"Be careful," he says before taking in a deep breath, "Be very careful."
I say nothing; I just turn the brass knob and leave his office. I get the feeling that there is some deeper meaning behind his words, but I cannot for the life of me understand what they are.
The night is young still, so I find my mother's door toward the end of the well-lit corridor and pop it open so just my body can fit through. Our guests are not allowed to see her. Daddy's rule.
Ever since I can remember, she and Daddy have slept in separate rooms. Her room is the room of an invalid, and it's sterility makes me stiffen as soon as the door swings shut behind me. The windows are closed, in spite of how stuffy our house gets this time of year, and the stillness in the air locks in the smell of lilac perfume and morphling, the only two smells I ever associate with my mother.
A small television set sits in a table in the corner of her room, and it is on, its muffled sound filling the still room. My mother is a glutton for punishment. The more she watches the games, the less she wants to live. But if the games are on, she cannot ignore them. She is drawn to them, as though if she watches them for long enough, eventually Aunt Maysilee might come out a victor. The Games are killing my mother and she has never even been threatened by them.
My eyes finally swing toward the woman lying in the bed. I breathe out a pitiful sigh. The only mother I will ever have is sprawled out there, fitfully fighting the mountain of thick, white blankets covering her as though they are some sort of enemy, and I see the fading afternoon light reflect off of the tear tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes are closed and she mumbles, but I understand none of what she says. Her last dose of morphling must be wearing off, I think.
My gaze sweeps to the collection of small glass vials at her bedside table, but I push the idea from my mind before it can become a reality. Disposing of the bottles will destroy my mother, and giving her another dose will keep her from reality- from me, if I'm thinking selfishly- for a few more hours. Either way, I lose. Unable to look at the struggling woman any longer, I turn on my heel and- careful to shut the door behind me- leave my mother's bedroom.
When I wake the next morning, sunlight pours onto my face, peeking through my eyelids. I sigh in relief, glad to know that hopefully the mud in the streets is dried up in the heat of the sun. But then nerves flutter around in my stomach when I remember today's business: Mine and Gale's first official day as an imaginary couple. I set to work, throwing my white quilt off and jumping from the bed.
Over the next hour, I take painstaking care of my body. If the Capitol wants a show, if they want to see the Mayor's daughter, then that is what they will get.
I begin with a shower, using the sweetest smelling salts and soaps in our wash cupboard to clean my body from my hair to my toes. Then, I scrub the dirt from under my fingernails using a coarse brush. Ladies do not have dirty hands, I remember the Capitol women saying. Then, I slip into my robe and sit before the mirror, brushing out my wet, blonde hair. Twisting my tresses back, I use pins to sweep them up and out of my face.
As I look in the mirror, I allow myself one brief selfish moment to resent my mother wasting her life away in her bedroom with needles in her arm. I imagine that any other girl would have her mother get her ready for her first date.
I laugh and scold myself mentally when I realize that this is not a date. This is helping Katniss. And my mother's condition is not her fault. Thinking no more of dates and mothers, I slip into a light blue dress and my favorite pair of shoes. Then comes my simple brass chain. It once held a pin, but now my best friend holds that.
Today is the first day of the Games, and I will be watching with Gale and his family. School is cancelled, as is tradition for the Bloodbath. I tremble a bit at the thought of meeting his mother, but the feeling dissolves as I turn my focus to meticulously applying makeup. It is not much make up, and I am not practiced at putting it on. A Capitol primping team member taught me how to apply it two years ago, instructing Daddy that I "simply must have make-up" if I would ever make anything of myself. Daddy placed the order to appease the woman, but today is the first time the plastic seals are ever broken.
When I step back in the mirror, I take myself by surprise. My clean hair shines in the sunlight bleeding through the windows, the rays bouncing gloriously. My eyes look bright and even bigger from the black liner. My cheeks are filled with color and my lips are the color of the strawberries Gale is supposed to deliver this morning. I swallow, and check that the pins in my hair are secure before turning from my own reflection. I pass my mother's room without a second glance and head down the stairs, ready to spend some time getting focus in the parlor.
Unfortunately, I do not get the peaceful and quiet parlor I hoped for. The members of the capitol scurry about like bees in a hive, prattling on in their ridiculous accents. After picking up a sweet bun- courtesy of The Mellark bakery-from the kitchen counter, I find my place on my favorite chair and curl up in it. It faces the road Gale will take to our back porch. I check the clock on the wall above the mantle. Fifteen minutes until his arrival. My primping took longer than I anticipated, then. I huff to myself and nibble absent-mindedly on breakfast. Over the din of the Capitol teams rushing this way and that, I hear the resounding of the clock, ticking and ticking back and forth. Every few minutes, my chair makes its way closer to the window. By the time the clocks chimes noon, the large, blue-backed seat is edged all the way to the window sill, and my nose is mere inches away from the glass.
"Do you have make-up on?"
It takes a moment before I realize that the thick Capitol accent is speaking to me. I turn to see a man with white and red striped hair glowering down at me.
"Yes," I say simply, my wide eyes struggling to find an appropriate place to look at him.
His eyes have been died blue, and his suit is made of some sharply tailored creme material that I can't place. It must be the height of fashion in the Capitol, but I know nothing about that.
"You should let me do some touch-ups. You drastically under did it."
I am not offended. If he thinks I under did it, then I have just enough on. I don't want to end up going on my date with Gale looking like Effie Trinket.
"No, thank you, Karma," I say, managing a small smile.
He shrugs and tromps off to his next task. My eyes flick to the clock and then back to my window. Gale is late.
"Who are you waiting for, pigeon?"
My father comes up behind me, kissing me on the back of the head. I tense for the briefest moment; I am unused to physical contact. But I recover with a 100 volt smile, knowing that we have to convince our visitors of this little scene.
"Gale, Daddy," I smile, looking up at him as though he knows that.
He purses his lips and furrows his brow, feigning consideration.
"Gale Hawthorne? Katniss Everdeen's cousin?" he asks, as though he is confirming the identity of my suitor.
The movement in the room stops. The flurry of activity halts around me as though someone pulled the power on a conveyor belt. The decorating and primping teams cease their argument about where the portrait of President Snow will get the best light. The interview team stops applying their seventh layer of camera makeup. The security detail ends their meeting, looking up from their maps laid out over my closed piano. The cleaning crew presses the 'off' button on the dusting drones. The room is silent for the first time since before the Reaping.
"Yes, Daddy. You know that," I say, with false admonishment. We play the part of the innocent daughter and the protective father incredibly well.
Then, the room slowly moves back into action again, but the air retains its tense, predatory tone. They are listening, and though they try to keep us from noticing, we now know that we have their attention.
"We're going for a walk. Is that alright?" I ask, my voice tentative and my eyes wide.
My father nods at me once, giving it some thought.
"Seems harmless enough. But be on time for the meeting in the Town Square today."
Such a tame way of saying "Be on time for watching the Bloodbath and the almost certain death of your only friend."
I nod at him with a smile.
"Of course, Daddy."
He smiles at me, his eyes glistening. He knows that we have them right where we want them. Then, a knock sounds on the front door, and my heart stops.
And there it is! Chapter three! I know there is little Gale, but don't worry, he is all over the next few chapters. I have to thank my Beta, Ooyeteri, my Zen master who took this chapter and made it what it is.
Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! Please drop me a review with your comments and critiques! Favorite parts? Lines? Any insight or ideas about what comes next? Let me know!