Training is difficult.
Haymitch has warned us that we are too not show off our strengths, and give away what our true abilities are. That being said, we don't want to be known as the weaklings of the Games. Prim contradicts this, bringing up Johanna Mason, who won her games by pretending to not have a strong bone in her body. I don't say anything, but I'm impressed. Even though Prim has barely said a word the entire training, it's obvious that she's been listening.
We meet the other tributes down in the Training Area. We'd seen one another from afar, but had never had a chance to properly meet and speak. I doubted any of them had given the slightest consideration to a meet and greet, but that didn't mean I didn't want to get to know them. I kept one ear on the speaker, who was addressing the group with a speech on training, and focused my eyes on my competitors.
The first person to catch my eye was the tall, blonde boy from District 2. Haymitch had referred to them as the 'Careers'; the boys and girls who had been training for years, all leading up to this very moment. They had been born to fight in the Hunger Games arena. I feel a flicker of anger at the thought that they are more prepared than the rest of us. And even though I know it isn't fair, that it has been thrust upon them, their attitude and behaviour does nothing to quell my anger.
The beautiful blonde girl next to him calls him Cato, and I commit it to memory. Cato. Cato. Cato. I quickly learn that the group surrounding him are made up of District 1 and 2, and strain to hear their names. Glimmer, Marvel, Clove and Cato. I eye Glimmer's mane of blonde curls, which she has refused to tie back from her face. It hangs in a satiny curtain on either side of her face, and she tosses it over her shoulder and laughs occasionally. She's very bubbly and assured of herself for someone who is almost certainly going to be dead within a week.
When the speaker dismisses us and ushers us to begin training, I take Prim's hand and lead her towards the knot-tying station, which is devoid of other Tributes. Most of them have headed straight towards the knives and armoury. "How are you doing, Prim?"
Prim watches the instructor as he shows us how to make a complicated-looking knot. She speaks out of the corner of her mouth, trying to not be rude. "I'm okay. How are you, Katniss?"
I breathe evenly. "Fine. Is there any station you especially want to learn? Any particular skill?"
Prim considers this. "I know you can't teach me archery, because it'll show how good you are. I don't really know what my strengths would be."
I ruffle her hair, and we watch in silence for a few more seconds before she adds, "I know what my weaknesses are."
"You don't have any weakness, little duck," I answer, even though we both know it isn't true. "And you have strengths. Look at everything you do at home with mother."
"We both have the same weakness, Katniss. Our hearts," she answers, gesturing around her. "Look at the rest of the tributes. Half of them wouldn't even blink before cutting our throats. We'd hesitate." We walk away from the station. "And in that split second we hesitate, we would die."
I know she's right, but I can't bring myself to acknowledge it. "Well, then you know what you need to work on, I guess."
She gives me a sad little smile and heads off for another station, and I'm left standing there, wondering when my little sister grew up. It hits me that she hasn't cried in a couple of days, whereas she'd normally breakdown at the slightest mention of combat. I turn on my heel and stride towards Peeta, who's painting his arm. He holds it up to the light for me to see, admiring his own handiwork.
"Very beautiful," I say dryly. "But I don't think you can paint a person to death."
"But you can hide," he says, putting his arm against the fake tree inside the room. It instantly melts into the background, and I'm impressed. I clear my throat and raise my eyebrows. "I learnt to do it when I would frost the cakes in the bakery. I like colours, and creating I guess. I like beautiful things."
I can't help but feel the comment is directed at more than frosting, but I brush it off. "I need to talk to you," I ask abruptly.
"We're talking right now," he points out, still painting his hand.
I glance at the two young girls who are standing near me, the Tributes from District 5 and 7. One has a sly, pointed face, and I know that she's listening to every word we say. I take an immediately dislike to her, and place my hand on Peeta's untouched one. "Not here."
He allows me to tug him away, until we're pressed against a wall. "If you don't mind me asking," he says, "I'd like to know why you want to speak to me all of a sudden. I mean, we've talked, sure, but for the last couple of days, you've been treating me as if I'm invisible."
I instantly bristle. "I guess I've had other things on my mind," I say, shooting a pointed look at Prim, who is standing near the Careers and watching them, fascinated. "In case you've forgotten, I have a lot more at stake in this game than my own life."
He's ashamed. "I'm sorry. I know you do. I guess I'm a little taken aback that you're talking to me." He allows a small smile. "I'm very happy you are, by any means."
I choose to ignore him. "You know Prim. You've been watching her for the last couple of days. Help me out. What are her strengths?"
"You know her strengths."
I shake my head. "I'm too close to her. I can't make an objective decision. I see so much good in her, so much potential. You've seen how the Capitol has embraced her. They're calling her 'The Girl on Fire'. They think she's a sweet, beautiful girl who doesn't deserve what is inevitably coming to her. I want her to have a fighting chance. I'm not going to be able to look out for her the whole time we're in that arena. She needs to be able to take care of herself when... when..." I can't finish my sentence, but he knows that I'm talking about my own death.
He looks at her, frowning. "Katniss, think about what you're good at."
"I can hunt," I volunteer. "I can identify plants and herbs and I can run."
He nods approvingly. "Now what does she normally do at home? When you're out all day doing the running and the hunting and the identifying and whatnot?"
"She helps mother," I answer dully. Prim has stepped up to the station where the Careers have been examining the artillery. She hesitantly reaches out to touch some of the things. "She can heal."
"She can heal," he agrees. "She's bound to be just like your mother when she's older."
"But Peeta, how is that going to help her?" I argue. "What use is her being able to heal when she'll be dead before she can manage to treat that knife in her skull?"
"Well, I guess the skills that come from healing are precision, and the ability to pinpoint exactly what is needed," he muses. A little dark girl from District 11 wanders past, flanked by the brutish male from the same district. The way he watches her reminds me of the way I sometimes watch over Prim while she sleeps. The girl casts me an uncertain smile, and I muster one in return.
"So what? She's precise?" I snap. "You know what? Don't bother. I don't know why I even asked. I'll figure something out, I guess. If I'm not dead before I even leave the Cornucopia."
Peeta calls to me retreating back, but I don't turn. I know I'm being stupid. All he's doing is trying to help me, patiently smiling and trying to make me feel better, and I'm being snappy and angry. I pass the District 11 Tributes, who I learn are called Thresh and Rue, and make my way towards Prim. She's holding a vial of something, which contains a blackish liquid inside. She holds it gingerly, and straps it to the knife she's holding with some stringy bark. I watch her from a short distance as she takes a deep breath and clenches it in her fist. The Careers are watching her; Glimmer is laughing with her head thrown back, and Clove is eyeing the knives in Prim's hand. I know that Clove considers herself to be the knife-throwing expert amongst the Tributes, and after seeing her skill, she has every reason to think so. Prim pulls her hand back and releases the knife, aiming for the archery target.
It isn't a strong throw, but it's okay. It hits just below the bullseye, and lodges tightly in the cork. The vial shatters on impact, and I can hear Cato make a remark about easy pickings.
They turn away when a sizzling noise suddenly draws their attention back. The vial is oozing the blackish liquid, which is dripping down the board and onto the floor. As it runs, I can see it is burning holes right into the cork. My mouth hangs open as I look back at Prim, who is smiling proudly. I realise that she has made the burning concoction herself out of the supplies at the edible and dangerous plants section. She has two more vials next to her, one a clear, sunny yellow, and the other a murky pea-green mash. Every Tribute in the room is eyeing the vials, wondering what danger they present.
Peeta is suddenly at my side, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. His hot breath tickles my ear. "I guess you didn't even have to worry," he murmurs, and I feel myself nodding. "She figured it out for herself."
I look towards the Careers. Cato is frowning, looking back and forth at Prim and myself. Suddenly, I want Prim to stop, to look weak, to not have any strengths. I don't want them to pick her off first. I want them to ignore her until it's too late, and she's on top of them, stabbing into their eyes.
Peeta speaks again. "You two will make a good team," he continues. "If she can make up those kind of lethal dosings, and you can administer them, imagine how simple it could be. You'd be unstoppable." He smiles at me, and I wonder how Peeta Mellark manages to see the good in people all the time. How he's determined to look on the bright side of everything. These kinds of thoughts are going to make it even more difficult for me to kill him.
Prim fires another knife at the target. The sunny yellow liquid bursts over the new board, and immediately, an acrid mixture of smoke and soot leaps into the air. Peeta cocks his head to one side, and opens his mouth hesitantly. I can tell he's been weighing up whether to say his next thought.
"If they don't kill her first."
