Author's Note: Sorry, it's been a while. I promise I do not plan to abandon this story or any of my others. I unfortunately got caught up in life and work for a bit, but now I should be able to update more regularly.
Bold is Suzanne Collin's writing, of course.
"I'll read, Luna," Neville said. "Give your voice a break." Luna perched her back up straighter and her mood seemed to lighten considerably as she turned to Neville, who sat beside her, and placed the book in his hand.
"Thank you, Neville. That's very kind of you," said said as she lifted her legs to the cushions of the sofa and curled them to her side, facing Neville.
Neville gripped the book and sat it on his lap. Turning his head down, Neville opened the book to the proper page. Just as Neville was about to speak, Ron's voice blurted out, "More tea anyone?"
"Sure, Ron. Thanks, mate," said Neville.
"Sounds lovely," Luna said.
Ginny crossed her arms and shot him a glare and the faintest hint of a smile traced on his face before he turned away from her. Harry looked at his wife, then to Ron and lifted himself up.
"Cheers, mate. I'll help," Harry said. He bent down and gave Ginny a peck on her cheek, whose face softened a bit.
Harry trailed after Ron into the kitchen where he filled a kettle with water. Harry leaned casually against the counter and pointed his wand toward the stove. "Incendio," he muttered under his breath, and a small flame lit up a spot on the stove top. Ron placed the kettle there and stood in front of Harry.
Harry leaned in closer to Ron, and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "What did you do to her?"
Ron gave Harry a cheeky, closed-lip smile before answering. "Just a bit of payback."
"For...?"
"Last month, don't you remember?" Ron asked. Harry briefly recalled a memory of he and Ron de-gnoming the garden at the Burrow for his parents when a gnome Ron grabbed changed into a spider in his hand. Ron had chucked it far away from him and ran in the opposite direction when he saw Ginny laughing with George near the house. His ears were red from anger or embarrassment, Harry wasn't sure.
Harry did his best to hide his chuckle with a cough, but from the hardened look on Ron's face, he seemed to have heard. "Honestly, Ron I heard it was George's idea."
"All the same," Ron said as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"What did you do? She was not too pleased when she left this morning."
"Turned her Holly Harpie's team shirt to a Chudley Cannon one—don't worry, it'll change back soon. I'm not daft," he said when Harry's eyes bulged open wide and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.
"Better hope so," Harry said, "I can sense her conspiring against you from in here." If Ron was the least bit concerned by Harry's warning, he didn't show it. Turning toward to stove, where the water was boiling, he set the tea to brew. After a few more minutes he and Harry were returning to the sitting room, carefully hovering three tea cups each before themselves.
They re-positioned themselves on their seat, and indicated for Neville to read.
The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. I don't mean we're handcuffed or anything, but a group of Peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. Maybe tributes have tried to escape in the past. I've never seen that happen though.
Once inside, I'm conducted to a room and left alone. It's the richest place I've ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. I know velvet because my mother had a dress with a collar made of the stuff. When I sit on the couch, I can't help running my fingers over the fabric repeatedly. It helps to calm me as I try to prepare for the next hour. The time allotted for the tributes to say good-bye to their loved ones. I cannot afford to get upset, to leave this room with puffy eyes and a red nose. Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.
"Too bad she doesn't have magic," Neville said. "She could just apparate away."
"Rotten luck," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders.
"I think we'd have a very short book, then," said Ginny.
My sister and my mother come first. I reach out to Prim and she climbs on my lap, her arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. My mother sits beside me and wraps her arms around us. For a few minutes, we say nothing. Then I start telling them all the things they must remember to do, now that I will not be there to do them for them.
"I do hope that won't be the last time they are together," Luna said, placing her hands on her lap. "As a family. That would be dreadful."
"Too true, Luna," Hermione responded, wondering if her friend was thinking about her own mother.
Prim is not to take any tesserae. They can get by, if they're careful, on selling Prim's goat milk and cheese and the small apothecary business my mother now runs for the people in the Seam. Gale will get her the herbs she doesn't grow herself, but she must be very careful to describe them because he's not as familiar with them as I am. He'll also bring them game—he and I made a pact about this a year or so ago—and will probably not ask for compensation, but they should thank him with some kind of trade, like milk or medicine.
Ron frowned at that as he wondered how different his life would be like if his family lived there. They would probably have starved by then, with all his siblings.
I don't bother suggesting Prim learn to hunt. I tried to teach her a couple of times and it was disastrous. The woods terrified her, and whenever I shot something, she'd get teary and talk about how we might be able to heal it if we got it home soon enough.
"Sounds like you, Hermione," Ron said, nudging her softly with his shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
"Honestly, Ron, the circumstances are completely different," she said.
But she makes out well with her goat, so I concentrate on that.
When I am done with instructions about food, and trading, and staying in school, I turn to my mother and grip her arm, hard. "Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" She nods, alarmed by my intensity. She must know what's coming. "You can't leave again," I say.
My mother's eyes find the floor. "I know. I won't. I couldn't help what-"
"Well, you have to help it this time. You can't clock out and leave Prim on her own. There's no me now to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" My voice had risen to a shout. In it is all the anger, all the fear I felt at her abandonment.
"Katniss would make a good mother," Luna said. She thought about how Katniss was very authorative but very protective of her younger sister. She was a natural mother, but didn't even know it because of the life she'd had to live.
"Except she doesn't ever want kids," Neville grumbled. "But I reckon she would if she had a normal life."
"I expect you'd be a wonderful father, Neville," Luna told him fondly. "I'm so pleased you're training to be a professor!"
Neville blushed, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "I-er..Hannah and I-we're not yet..." he trailed off. "uhm, thank you, Luna."
She beamed at him, and Neville composed himself before continuing reading.
She pulls her arm from my grasp, moved to anger herself now. "I was ill. I could have treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."
The part about her being ill might be true. I've seen her bring back people suffering from immobilizing sadness since. Perhaps it is a sickness, but it's one we can't afford.
"Then take it. And take care of her!" I say.
"I'll be all right, Katniss," says Prim, clasping my face in her hands. "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."
"She's the sweetest little sister," Ginny said.
"I agree," Ron said, directing it at her. Hermione slapped his arm, "Ron!" she whispered under her breath. Ginny pretended she hadn't heard him, unaffected by his statement.
I can't win. Prim must know that in her heart. The competition will be far beyond my abilities. Kids from wealthier districts, where winning is a huge honor, who've been trained their whole lives for this. Boys who are two to three times my size. Girls who know twenty different ways to kill you with a knife. Oh, there'll be people like me, too. People to weed out before the real fun begins.
"Aw, don't count yourself out yet," Harry said as if Katniss could hear him.
"How unfair. Some kids train their whole lives..." Ron said.
"So corrupt. Everything about it. I expect we'll read about the Capitol soon," Hermione added briskly.
"Maybe," I say, because I can hardly tell my mother to carry on if I've already given up myself.
"Good point," Neville said, looking up from the book.
Besides, it isn't in my nature to go down without a fight, even when things seem insurmountable. "Then we'd be rich as Haymitch."
"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?" asks Prim.
"She'll really, really try," Luna said defiantly with a nod of her head.
"Really, really try. I swear it," I say. And I know, because of Prim, I'll have to.
And then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is "I love you. I love you both." And they're saying it back and then the Peacekeeper orders them out and the door closes. I bury my head in one of the velvet pillows as if this can block the whole thing out.
Someone else enters the room, and when I look up, I'm surprised to see it's the baker, Peeta Mellark's father. I can't believe he's come to visit me.
"Nor can I," Harry said. "Wasn't expecting that."
After all, I'll be trying to kill his son soon.
"No, you won't," Ginny mumbled under her breath. She'd be honestly shocked if Katniss wound up killing Peeta herself. Even in the first chapters in the book, Ginny thought Katniss would not be able to forget Peeta helping her when she was starving.
"That'd be a twisted ending if she does," Ron said. "I bet he'll die from her."
"I'll take you on that, Ron," Ginny said.
"What are we betting?" Ron asked. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees as he eyed Ginny suspiciously.
Ginny looked at Hermione, who stifled her laugh with her hand, and smirked. "Only your dignity."
But we do know each other a bit, and he knows Prim even better. When she sells her goat cheeses at the Hob, she puts two of them aside for him and he gives her a generous amount of bread in return. We always wait to trade with him when his witch of a wife isn't around because he's so much nicer. I feel certain he would never have hit his son the way she did over the burned bread. But why has he come to see me?
"Any guesses?" Neville asked as he looked up from the book. He extended his shoulders and neck back, stretching them before letting his torso fall back into the cushions. "I think he'll tell her something about Peeta," Neville added, bending his left knee to rest atop the left, which reached the floor.
"Maybe he'll ask a favor?" Ginny said. "Ask to look out after his son as long as possible?"
"Maybe reveal a bit of information he's always wanted to tell her," Hermione shrugged. "He is awfully generous with the trades."
"Maybe he just doesn't want to see kids starve, like the good bloke he is," Ron said.
"Perhaps he doesn't want to see those two in particular starve," Luna added, whose face was happy of amusement. She was sitting so close to the edge of the sofa, she looked like she might fall off it, but she didn't seem to pay that any mind.
The baker sits awkwardly on the edge of one of the plush chairs. He's a big, broad-shouldered man with burn scars from years at the ovens. He must have just said good-bye to his son.
He pulls a white paper package from his jacket pocket and holds it out to me. I open it and find cookies. These are a luxury we can never afford.
Ron looked at Hermione, who was nestled in her chair, one hand on her tummy, one hand on top of Ron's. "What's a cookie again?" he asked.
Hermione pursed her lips together for a second, as if surfacing the information to her brain. "I believe the American equivalent to a biscuit."
"Is there anything you don't know, Hermione?" Harry asked, a smile tracing his lips.
"Quite a bit. I really should study more American literature," she said. "I hear the Salem Witch Institute has an amazing library collection." Hermione's perked up in her seat at the thought.
"I'll make sure to find out more from Kingsley when I go into work. See if there's a floo network connected or something," Ron said to her.
Hermione beamed at him, and thanked him with a lingering kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you," I say. The baker's not a very talkative man in the best of times, and today he has no words at all. "I had some of your bread this morning. My friend Gale gave you a squirrel for it." He nods, as if remembering the squirrel. "Not your best trade," I say. He shrugs as if it couldn't possibly matter.
Then I can't think of anything else, so we sit in silence until a Peacekeeper summons him. He rises and coughs to clear his throat. "I'll keep and eye on the little girl. Make sure she's eating."
"He is fond of them," Ginny cooed.
I feel some of the pressure in my chest lighten at his words. People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim. Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.
My next guest is also unexpected. Madge walks straight to me. She is not weepy or evasive, instead there's an urgency about her tone that surprises me. "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?" She holds out a circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier. I hadn't paid much attention to it before, but now I see it's a small bird in flight.
"Your pin?" I say. Wearing a token from my district is about the last thing on my mind.
"What's so important about a gold pin?" Harry asked to no one in particular.
"No idea. It's from her district," Ron said.
"Yeah, but the girl, Madge, is it? She's adamant that Katniss take it, like it's urgent."
"Maybe it is then," Ginny said.
"Here, I'll put it on your dress, all right?" Madge doesn't wait for an answer, she just leans in and fixes the bird to my dress. "Promise you'll wear it into the arena, Katniss?" she asks. "Promise?"
"It certainly seems important...or the girl just knows there isn't much time," Hermione said.
"Yes," I say. Cookies. A pin. I'm getting all kinds of gifts today. Madge gives me one more. A kiss on the cheek. Then she's gone and I'm left thinking that maybe Madge really had been my friend all along.
"She is your friend," Luna said. "Unfortunate she didn't realize that sooner." Luna looked around the room and was inflated with gratitude. She hoped she would never have to part with her friends again, not knowing if she would see them again.
Ginny, who was her first friend. She had been so kind when everyone else wouldn't speak to her. Harry was the first person to really understand her. She had found Ron funny and amusing since they first met. Hermione took more time to warm up to her since they were so different, but Luna always admired the girl's intelligence. Finally, Neville, who Luna became closest to since the war. Luna thought his loyalty and kindness rare and he always listened to her stories about creatures she believed existed in the world, even if she might be the only one to believe it.
Finally, Gale is here and maybe there is nothing romantic between us, but when he opens his arms I don't hesitate to go into them. His body is familiar to me—the way it moves, the smell of wood smoke, even the sound of his heart beating I know from quiet moment on a hunt—but this is the first time I really feel it, lean and hard-muscled against my own.
"There could be some romance between them if she goes home," Ginny said.
"I think they're just really close friends," Hermione responded.
"Did you just hear that passage?" Ginny asked with a laugh. "She's nearly feeling him up!"
"It's more of memorizing him because he's so familiar to her," Hermione said defiantly. "I think it's perfectly acceptable to do when she thinks she'll never see her friend again."
"You know this isn't you and Harry, right?" Ginny said.
"Well aware, Ginny," Hermione said. They both stared at one another, with serious looks on their faces. The faintest trace of a smile was hinted on Ginny's face and suddenly both girls began laughing softly.
Harry and Ron looked at one another, amused smiles and gently shaking their heads. Ron mouthed to him what looked like "women."
"Listen," he says. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."
"They don't always have bows," I say, thinking of a year there were only horrible spiked maces that the tributes had to bludgeon one another to death with.
"That," Hermione said, her voice full of venom, "is barbaric."
"Then make one," says Gale. "Even a weak bow is better than now bow at all."
I have tried copying my father's bows with poor results. It's not that easy. Even he had to scrap his own work sometimes.
"I don't even know if there'll be wood," I say. Another year, they tossed everybody into a landscape of nothing but boulders and sand and scruffy bushes. I particularly hated that year. Many contestants were bitten my venomous snakes or went insane from thirst.
"That's cheerful," Neville said, scowling at the book before he continued.
"There's almost always wood," Gale says. "Since that year half of them died of cold. Not much entertainment in that."
"What a shame," Harry said, his voice dripping of sarcasm.
It's true. We spent one Hunger Games watching the players freeze to death at night. You could hardly see them because they were just huddled in balls and had no wood for fires or torches or anything. It was considered very anticlimactic in the Capitol, all those quiet, bloodless deaths. Since then there's usually been wood to make fires.
"It's all the worse that it's seen as entertainment," Ginny said.
"Yes, there's usually some," I say.
"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," says Gale.
"It not just hunting. They're armed. They think," I say.
"So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," he says. "You know how to kill."
"Not people," I say.
"Do you think she'll have to kill?" Neville asked.
Hermione hesitated. "I don't think she can avoid it if she wants to get get home."
"Kill or be killed, I suppose," Ron said.
"I think only if she's threatened first," Luna responded.
"How different can it be, really?" says Gale grimly.
"Loads different," Harry said in a grim tone.
The awful thing is that if I can forget they're people, it will be no different at all.
"How you feel after will be," Ron said.
The Peacekeepers are back too soon and Gale asks for more time, but they're taking him away and I start to panic. "Don't let them starve!" I cry out, clinging to his hand.
"I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I-" he says, and they yank us apart and slam the door and I'll never know what it was he wanted me to remember.
"What do you reckon he was saying?" Neville asked.
"I love you?" Ginny offered with a wide grin.
"I would bet on you," Harry said.
"I..er consider them family," Ron said in a tone that sounded more like a question than an answer.
"I think he wanted to say that he would see her soon," Luna said as she crossed her legs in front of her.
It's a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station. I've never been in a car before. Rarely even ridden in wagons. In the Seam, we travel on foot.
I've been right not to cry. The station is swarming with reporters with their insectlike cameras trained directly on my face. But I've had a lot of practice at wiping my face clean of emotions and I do this now. I catch a glimpse of myself on the television screen on the wall that's airing my arrival live and feel gratified that I appear almost bored.
Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, has obviously been crying and interestingly enough does not seem to be trying to cover it up. I immediately wonder if this will be his strategy in the Games. To appear weak and frightened, to reassure the other tributes that he is no competition at all, and then come out fighting.
"I doubt that," Neville spoke with his face still hidden behind the book.
This worked well for a girl, Johanna Mason, from District 7 a few years back. She seemed like such a sniveling, cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until there were only a handful of contestant left. It turned out she could kill viciously. Pretty clever, the way she played it. But this seems an odd strategy for Peeta Mellark because he's a baker's son. All those years of having enough to eat and hauling bread trays around have made him broad-shouldered and strong. It will take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.
"That is quite clever of a strategy, though I don't believe that's what he is doing," Hermione said, bringing her cup of tea to her lips and sipping it.
We have to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobble up our images, then we're allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train begins to move at once.
The speed initially takes my breath away. Of course, I've never been on a train, as travel between the districts is forbidden except officially sanctioned duties. For us, that's mainly transporting coal. But this is no ordinary coal train. It's one of the high-speed Capitol models that average 250 miles per hour. Our journey to the Capitol will take less than a day.
"Wow," Hermione said, agasht.
"That's an incredible speed," Harry breathed, wondering if trains would actually be that fast in the future.
"Is that very fast?" Ginny asked, looking to Ron, Luna and Neville who wore confused faces.
"At that speed, we could probably take the Hogwarts Express and be at Hogwarts in less than an hour," Hermione informed them.
"Brilliant!" Ron said.
"Wicked," said Neville.
"I quite enjoyed the long rides," Luna said with nostalgia.
In school, they tell us the Capitol was built in a place once called the Rockies. District 12 was in a region known is Appalachia. Even hundreds of years ago, they mined coal here. Which is why our miners have to dig so deep.
Somehow it all comes back to coal at school. Besides basic reading and math most of our instruction is coal-related. Except for the weekly lecture on the history of Panem. It's mostly a lot of blather about what we owe the Capitol. I know there must be more than they're telling us, an actual account of what happened during the rebellion. But I don't spend much time thinking about it. Whatever the truth is, I don't see how it will help me get food on the table.
"Sounds like toad face could have worked there," Ron said in distaste.
The tribute train is fancier than even the room in the Justice Building. We are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, unless we boil it.
There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my mother's blue dress and take a hot shower. I've never had a shower before.
Luna frowned at that and her eyes sunk as she released a small sigh. "It's quite sad how poor she grew up."
It's like being in a summer rain, only warmer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants.
At the last minute, I remember Madge's little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It's as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wing tips. I suddenly recognize it. A mockingjay.
They're funny birds and something of a slap in the face to the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol bred a series of genetically altered animals as weapons. The common term for them was muttations, or sometimes mutts for short. One was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to memorize and repeat whole human conversations. They were homing birds, exclusively male, that were released into regions where the Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they'd fly back to centers to be recorded. It took people awhile to realize what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centers were shut down and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.
Only they didn't die off. Instead, the jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds creating a whole new species that could replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They had lost the ability to enunciate words but could still mimic a range of human vocal sounds, from a child's high-pitched warble to a man's deep tones. And they could re-create songs. Not just a few notes, but whole songs with multiple verses, if you had the patience to sing them and if they liked your voice.
Luna's eyes lit up at the description. "They sound magical!" she said in excitement. "Imagine if they existed..."
"This is a muggle fictional book, Luna," Hermione said in a soft voice.
"Yes," she mused, "but that doesn't mean that some creature similar in nature doesn't exist in the world."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it instantly. Though she doubted such a creature existed, it wasn't an altogether impossibility. Many things she always believed were impossible, including magic, had proved to be real. "That's a possibility, Luna. I'd be happy to help you research."
"Thank you, Hermione," she said.
My father was particularly fond of mockingjays. When we went hunting, he would whistle or sing complicated songs to them and, after a polite pause, they'd always sing back. Not everyone is treated with such respect. But whenever my father sang, all the birds in the area would fall silent and listen. His voice was that beautiful, high and clear and so filled with life it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. I could never bring myself to continue the practice after he was gone. Still, there's something comforting about the little bird. It's like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me. I fasten the pin onto my shirt, and with the dark green fabric as a background, I can almost imagine the mockingjay flying through the trees.
Effie Trinket comes to collect me for supper. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. Peeta Mellark sits waiting for us, the chair next to him empty.
"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie Trinket brightly.
"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," says Peeta.
"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie Trinket. I think she's relieved by Haymitch's absence, and who can blame her?
"I reckon he might be a laugh," Ron said.
The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Effie Trinket keeps reminding us to save space because there's more to come. But I'm stuffing myself because I've never had food like this, so good and so much, and because probably the best thing I can do between now and the Games is put on a few pounds.
"That's how I felt when I went to Hogwarts," Harry said with fondness. "I ate until I felt sick."
"No different from Ron on a daily basis," Hermione said. Small chuckles were heard through the room, and a loud, high-pitched laugh came from Luna, who seemed to have found the joke highly amusing. Hermione smiled at her and faced Ron whose ears were the slightest shade of pink.
"At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."
The pair last year were two kids from the Seam who'd never, not one day of their lives, had enough to eat. And when they did have food, table manners were surely the last thing on their minds. Peeta's a baker's son. My mother taught Prim and I to eat properly, so yes, I can handle a fork and knife. But I hate Effie Trinket's comment so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers. Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth. This makes her purse her lips tightly together.
"She's got fire, this one," Neville chortled.
"I like her," Ginny said.
"I'm sure you do," Harry said, "I can imagine you doing the same if you were feeling particularly cheeky."
Now that the meal's over, I'm fighting to keep the food down. I can see Peeta's looking a little green, too. Neither of our stomachs is used to such rich fare. But if I can hold down Greasy Sae's concoction of mice meat, pig entrails, and tree bark — a winter specialty — I'm determined to hang on to this.
We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that, since none of them have to attend reapings themselves.
One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, (the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be our competition. A few stand out in my mind. A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she's very like Prim in size and demeanor. Only when she mounts the stage and they ask for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There's no one willing to take her place.
"That's sad," Harry sighed.
Last of all, they show District 12. Prim being called, me running forward to volunteer. You can't miss the desperation in my voice as I shove Prim behind me, as if I'm afraid no one will hear and they'll take Prim away. But, of course, they do hear. I see Gale pulling her off me and watch myself mount the stage. The commentators are not sure what to say about the crowd's refusal to applaud. The silent salute. One says that District 12 has always been a bit backward but that local customs can be charming. As if on cue, Haymitch falls off the stage, and they groan comically. Peeta's name is drawn, and he quietly takes his place. We shake hands. They cut to the anthem again, and the program ends.
Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in.
"I think everyone was," Ron said with a laugh.
"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."
Peeta unexpectedly laughs. "He was drunk," says Peeta. "He's drunk every year."
"Every day," I add. I can't help smirking a little. Effie Trinket makes it sound like Haymitch just has somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few tips from her.
"They're getting along," Ginny said.
"Yeah, over their drunken mentor," Ron responded.
"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"
"That's a scary thought," Harry said.
Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he says in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess.
"Yuck!" Ginny said, sticking her tongue out.
"Disgusting," Hermione said as she scrunched her nose up as if she could smell the vomit.
"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room.
"I do hope he'll sober up," Luna said in a serious tone. "I believe he could be quite clever."
"He seems like a drunken mess to me," Ron retorted.
"There could be many reasons he might be that way," Luna said.
"Besides," Hermione said, nodding her head in agreement with Luna, "there's a reason he's a victor, isn't there?"
