Chapter 4

For a few moments, Katniss and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to get up out of his own vomit. The reek of it mixed with raw spirits makes me feel like my dinner might make a reappearance. We exchange a glance and come to a silent agreement. Haymitch may not be much, but Effie Trinket is right, he's all we've got once we're in the arena. With that, Katniss and I each take one of Haymitch's arms and help him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room. Clean you up a bit." I tell him.

We half-lead, half-carry him back to his compartment and since we can't exactly set him down on the bed without messing it up with vomit, we haul him to the bathtub and turn the shower on him. I don't think he really notices. I turn to Katniss. "It's okay. I'll take it from here." She looks relieved at not having to face giving Haymitch a shower, which would probably be even more awkward for her than it is for me.

"All right." She says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No. I don't want them." Right now, I've seen enough people from the Capitol and I don't want to be around anymore of them, to have to stand the sight of them. She backs quietly out of the room at my answer. I spend the next half hour cleaning all the vomit off of Haymitch's face and chest. When that's done, I help him over to his bed and leave him there where he starts snoring within seconds.

I walk back to my compartment and sit on the edge of my bed. I look out the window and stare out at the blur of the passing landscape. Once we stop for fuel. Then we're on our way again. After awhile I begin to think about my family back home. How they would've had more business than usual after the reapings. I wonder if they would've closed their shutters the way most families whose children are reaped do after they closed up. Maybe they closed up early. I doubt it. I don't doubt that my family loves me, in the way a family cares for one another, but I know that they will eventually move on once I'm dead. Watching my death will be painful, but once it happens (and we all know it will), they'll bury me, mourn for awhile, and then move on. Not like Katniss's family. They need her, and her death will not be something they will completely heal from. For a moment, I think of her family. How they will have closed their shutters, maybe even not been able to eat supper that night from the fear of losing her. This is why I want her to win. I know she can, and anyone who's seen her, who knows her, knows she can.

I take a deep breath and lay back onto the bed. I guess now could be the appropriate time to cry out without anyone knowing. To say my own goodbyes to my family, to my life in District 12, but I don't cry. So I end up just staring at the ceiling, letting myself drift off to sleep.

I wake to the grayish light of early dawn and Effie Trinket's voice outside my door telling me to wake up and that today is going to be a "Big, big, big day!". Before I leave the room, I change out of my old clothes and put on the first things my hands touch in the drawers. I end up in a pair of pants and a dark blue shirt. When I reach the dining room, Haymitch is at the table, his eyes bloodshot from a night of drinking. Effie comes in, takes in the sight of Haymitch and mumbles something about needing a coffee. As she gets her cup, she mumbles obscenities under her breath, which only makes Haymitch laugh. Katniss comes into the car a moment later, wearing what she wore yesterday, the gold pin still clasped to her shirt. The color suits her and makes me think of how she sneaks into the forest outside of twelve. It makes me wonder what she's like in the forest; with the light filtering greenly through the leaves of the trees and glinting off her dark hair. Maybe she smiles, something she never does in school, in the District. It's definitely the best place I can imagine her in.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch says to her as I take a roll from the basket that's been placed on the table. After the Capitol attendants place the food and drinks in front of us, Katniss begins to take in everything. I notice her eyeing the hot chocolate, which seems to be as new to her as it is to me.

"They call it hot chocolate." I tell her. "It's good." She takes a sip of it and seems to like it. We eat in silence after that.

After breakfast, Katniss speaks up. "So you're supposed to give us advice." She says to Haymitch. The look in her eyes says that she despises him.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He answers and then bursts out laughing. I can see why she despises him, and I realize I hate him too. He's part of the reason that District 12 never gets very far in the Games. He's part of the reason our chances are so low. Katniss looks at me for a moment, but then her eyes quickly dart away.

"That's very funny." I say to Haymitch, trying to control my anger. I slap the drink from his hands and it shatters to the floor. "Only not to us."

Haymitch considers this for a moment, and then punches me in the jaw, knocking me out of my chair. As he turns to reach for the spirits, I hear a clatter and see that Katniss has driven a knife between the spaces in his fingers, barely missing him. Haymitch leans back and squints at us. "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" he says. I rise from the floor and scoop up a handful of ice from the tureen of fruit to put on the place where Haymitch punched me, but he stops me. "No, let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed with another tribute before you've made it to the arena." He says.

"That's against the rules."

"Only if they catch you. The bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" As an answer, she pulls the knife out of the table, gets a grip on the blade and throws it at the wall across the room. The blade sticks, going in about a quarter of the way into the wall.

"Stand over there, both of you." He orders us. We obey and he circles us, prodding at us, checking our muscles, examining our faces. Finally he speaks. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." Neither of us questions it. The Hunger Games aren't exactly a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always pull in the most sponsors.

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

It's not much, but still something better than what we had ten minutes ago when we had no guide at all. I still hate him though, and I don't trust him. "Fine." I answer.

"So help us." Says Katniss. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist." Says Haymitch, cutting her off.

"But-" she begins.

"No buts. Don't resist," he says. He takes his bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights on inside, but outside its pitch black. We must be in the tunnel that runs through the mountains to the Capitol. We've learned in history class that the mountains form a barrier from the Capitol and the eastern districts. This barrier was a major factor in the districts losing the war that made us tributes today, since the rebels had to scale the mountain and were vulnerable to the Capitol's air forces.

Katniss and I stand in silence as the train speeds on. Finally, the train begins to slow and sunlight suddenly floods into the compartment. We both run to the window to see the Capitol, something we've only seen on television. The cameras haven't lied about its grandeur. If anything, they didn't quite capture it exactly. The glistening buildings in a rainbow of color that tower above, the glittering cars that roll down the wide streets, the strangely dressed people with their faces painted. The colors are vibrant, but artificial-looking. It all paints the picture of the extravagant, rich ruling city of Panem.

The people begin to point at us eagerly as they see our train rolling in. Katniss steps away, looking disgusted at the crowds, but I stay by the window, smiling and waving at the gawking people. I only stop when the train pulls into the station, blocking them from view. I feel Katniss staring at me, so I shrug, trying to show my intentions as harmless. "Who knows?" I say. "One of them may be rich."

Instead of reassuring her, my comment makes her gray eyes harden into steel. She doesn't trust me and she knows that one of us will have to die. And she won't let it be her. Already, she's fighting to kill me.