Chapter 4

They usher us into the high speed Capitol train which takes off immediately. As we walk the length of the train, Effie explains how it averages 250 miles per hour and that we'll be in the Capitol, which is on the other side of the country, in less than a day.

She seems delighted to be leaving District 12. I don't blame her, no one would ever call 12 a resort district or claim that it is receptive to Capitol people. We don't try hard to hide our disgust. She shows us our quarters where we each have a bedroom, a dressing room, and our own private bath.

In District 12, my family is considered well off. We have more than enough to eat and a few of the bits and pieces that make life easier, but that is nothing compared to the extravagance of the train. Even those in my district who are considered rich are poor in comparison. It's the richest place I have ever seen, with chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and long stretches of ornately curtained windows.

After the tour, I head back to my bedroom to take a shower and change. The shower itself is a luxury. We have a detachable showerhead that can be hooked up to the faucet at home, but that is nothing like the shower here with its chrome fixtures and lighted showerhead built into the ceiling. I let perfectly hot water beat down on my head, rinsing away the events of the day. I almost feel relaxed. Almost.

When I'm clean, I look through the drawers that they have filled with fancy clothes that put my reaping day outfit to shame. I put on a pair of dark pants and a white shirt I find, wondering how they could have my size on such short notice. Do they have a stock of different sized clothes somewhere on the train? I'm not sure, but the clothes fit well.

I pull the little bag of cookies my out of the pocket of my blue pants. They've been somewhat squished. I don't know what to do with them. I can't eat them, this last gift from my father. I put the little baggy in one of the empty drawers. I'll figure it out later. It's then that Effie calls me to supper. She leads me to the dining table and goes to find Katniss.

While I wait, I look at the plates on the table. They're a fine china, etched with roses around the edges. The flatware is sterling silver. Everything on the train is plush and lavishly decorated, even more so than the Justice Building. It's a cold, alien beauty that doesn't feel completely real.

After a few moments they both come to the dining table. Katniss has taken a shower as well. Her intricately braided hair looks wet and she has on a green top and pants now. There's some kind of gold pin on the shirt, a circle with something in the center. I'm trying to figure out what it is when Effie Trinket asks me a question.

"Where's Haymitch," she chimes.

The man sat beside me on the car ride to the train, looking blearily out the window. Someone had poured enough coffee down his throat to bring him back to consciousness, but he didn't look happy to be going to the Capitol.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I tell her.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day." She sounds relieved he isn't here.

They serve us a five course dinner. There's so much food I barely have time to try one thing before they're bringing out the next course. After the exotic fruit and cheese I don't think I can eat anymore, but then they bring out the most beautiful chocolate cake I have ever seen.

Chocolate is expensive and even though we use in in a dessert or two, I've rarely had it before, only when it's stale beyond tasting. My father locks away the few squares we receive each month and measures it out with exact precision for each recipe.

The attendant cuts the cake to reveal ten perfectly even layers intersperse with icing. He serves each of us a slice, leaving the rest of the cake on the table. The fork melts through the moist layers. It is delicious and there is something more than chocolate in the icing. Is it lavender?

I swipe a little more of the icing off the top of the cake with my finger, which earns me a glare from Effie. I shrug, Katniss has eaten half her meal with her fingers. She's doing it to spite Effie because of a comment she made about the last two tribute's lack of table manners. I lick the icing from my finger. There's definitely lavender mixed into the chocolate icing. My father would love this cake. My father.

The thought pulls me up short. I wonder if my family will eat the cake I frosted with rosettes tonight, or will it go to waste? Left untouched on the countertop. No, my mother would never let food be wasted. It'll be eaten by the family or sold in the window—the last cake of Peeta Mellark.

That thought and the richness of the food makes me queasy. I look at Katniss, she looks a little sick as well. Sick, but determined to keep everything down. I'm quickly learning that Katniss Everdeen is a very determined young woman.

Effie herds us into another section of the train to watch the recap of all twelve reapings. It's not something I'm looking forward to watching. I don't want to see the children who will have to die with us in the arena or try to guess which one out of the twenty-four will become victor. Instead, I watch Katniss watching the reapings. She rolls her eyes as the overzealous tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4 bound forward to volunteer. Unlike, Katniss, they weren't trying to save anyone. They've trained for this and delight in going to the Games, in District 12 we call them the Career Tributes.

Sadness crosses her face when a disabled boy limps his way to the stage in District 10 and a small 12-year-old girl, with luminous dark eyes is reaped from District 11.

I do watch our reaping. I see what I missed: Effie Trinket's confusion over how to handle volunteers, Haymitch drunkenly falling off the stage, and the selection of my own name from the glass bowl.

Part of me hoped that this was all some mistake and it wasn't my name after all. But it is. In all the excitement, Effie plucked out the first slip her hand landed on. It just so happened to be one of the five slips of paper with my name written in neat black ink. Without the distraction of Katniss volunteering, would it have still been me or would there be someone else sitting here, some other boy?

And that's it, I'm the last tribute, Effie Trinket clicks off the television. She isn't impressed with our district's performance.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior," Effie says.

I look at her to see if she's serious. She makes it sound like Haymitch has some kind of image problem. He doesn't, he has a drinking problem. I let out a laugh.

"He was drunk. He's drunk every year," I say. It's understandable. I might drink too if I had to lead people to their deaths. Anything to numb the pain.

"Every day," Katniss adds.

I grin at her and she gives me a half smile back. I guess I was wrong, sitting in the bakery this morning—a lifetime ago—today is the day I talk to Katniss Everdeen. And the day she smiles at me.

Effie Trinket then proceeds to burst our little bubble.

"Yes, 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 gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and death!"

Just then Haymitch lurches in from one of the sleeping compartments. "I miss supper?" he slurs, stumbling toward us a few steps before vomiting at our feet and falling face forward into his own filth.

"So laugh away!" Effie says as she skirts around the growing pool of vomit.