Hey everyone! How's it going? Sorry I've taken so long to update, I just got a bit of writers' block. I wasn't really sure if I should continue writing this story because no one's really reading it, but I know that it won't let me sleep if I don't at least TRY to finish it. Thankyou to everyone who reads this story and gives me support. Thanks, reviewers, especially Clairebear101, for reviewing ALL my chapters so far! I really hope you like this one. Hopefully my 'exciting part' will be next chapter... Actually, it will be next chapter.
Um, I just want to point out something. So, I'm not gonna mention any names, but I got this review that made me laugh so hard I think I peed myself. So, right, some fanfiction user (again, not gonna mention names) decided they wanted to bag everything in my first chapter. The funny part was, the had been able to memorise entire sections of it and tell me every single thing that was wrong with it. I'm pretty sure that I DID mention in that chapter that it was really similar to the book, but it was gonna change from there, but... eh. They then proceeded to list every single similarity between canon and my chapter. Again, I said the two would initially be really similar. They told me that I'm obviously not serious about writing, and not to take offense. Show of hands - who WOULDN'T have taken offense to that? And, I'd also like to point out to anyone reading this that this is FANFICTION. People don't come on this site to post stories that could happen in real life. Characters aren't always meant to be like normal people. Sometimes we use phrases that may not be visually correct, but they get the message across, right? We write stories to share our ideas with everyone else, and not everything has to be completely accurate. Hell, if it were, this site probably wouldn't even exist. Also, there's a difference between a fair review - and some of their points were valid, so I made a couple of changes - and being just plain mean. I know I've probably offended this person if they've even bothered to read past chapter 1, but I would like to thank this reviewer. If you do read past chapter 1, thank you. I really hope you could enjoy it. And you've made my day. Seriously. ;-)
Disclaimer: Is this story mine? No, it's Suzanne Collins'. I just stole the characters and whacked a new one in. And sorry for wasting your time up above.
Chapter Six
Something across the room catches my eye. The Career pack. They're all standing around, talking, arguing about something. I see Clove walk off and I know by the satisfied smirk on Cato's face that he's won. He looks over to me and I instantly know what it was about.
I'm in the Career pack.
There's scoring tonight, this second-last night here before the Games begin. I try not to think about it. I'm sitting outside the training room just after breakfast, in which Haymitch decided to lecture us about what we have to do. I'm listening to all the various noises as each tribute comes and goes. For some reason, each time someone goes in I wish some of them good luck. The seemingly-nice ones, like the boy from 4 or the girl from 5. They all have to walk past me, and in my nervousness I babble amiably. Most of them give me an array of weirded-out looks, a couple nasty ones and a few nice ones, especially from the girl in District 11.
Rue. She reminds me of… Prim. Don't go down that road, Scarlette.
The male from District 11, Thresh, walks by; he intimidates me, with his hulking dark mass and that constant strange look in his eyes that has the potential to say I could kill you if I wanted to. Still, he seems friendly enough; he gave me a tense smile today during training.
"Good luck," I say. He stops and turns around.
"You too, 12." And with that, he walks away.
"What was that all about?" Peeta asks me, nudging my side gently. My heart stops beating momentarily; I'm not sure where it comes from. I've decided it's easier to be his friend than his enemy, so I've given up on the whole 'freeze-out' thing. We actually had a pleasant afternoon together; we watched a couple of Games highlights which kinda made the both of us feel ill, and we talked about life at home. Maybe he has it better than me financially, but at least I have a family that loves me.
That day in the alley, he was hit around the side of the head for accidently burning the bread. He was just eleven. I know enough from experience that Mrs. Mellark, Peeta's mom, isn't a very nice person. Snapping back to the discussion at hand, I peer up at him through my eyelids.
"I – When I get nervous I talk a lot. This - not my best moment," I confess, feeling the blush rise onto my cheeks. He laughs, a deep husky chuckle reverberating from his chest, and it makes me feel… Different. It's a new feeling, definitely, one I didn't know existed. Like I've said, I can't say I'm experienced when it comes to dating, or men, even.
Most I've ever been allowed to experience was being taken to a 5th-grader social by some guy in my class. How was it a date? He paid for my ticket. 50 cents for the both of us. And I only ever felt flattered that the guy asked me, but this… I feel warm inside. I blush harder, embarrassed about the path my thoughts are taking.
"Were you nervous… at the Reaping?" He asks quietly. The mood turns dark.
"No, just… cold. Unfeeling. In shock, I suppose," I reply just as softly.
A robotic female voice sounding out my name via recorded phonetics (which thus makes it very jumpy) brings be back with a jump. It's time. I have to show them what I've got. I shuffle up to the door, reluctant to enter.
"Scarlette?"
I turn back around. "Hmmm?"
He grins. "Knock 'em dead." I nod in reply and head inside.
The room looks much too big without all the people in it. The Gamemakers are in their podium, chattering loudly and getting rowdy. There's music playing, and multi-colored lights are flashing around the room. Must be tough, having to sit through children showing that they have what it takes to take another's life. And they're drunk. Great.
"I'm Scarlette Everdeen. District 12," I say loudly, commanding their attention aside from the buzz of chatter in the corners. The Head Gamemaker, which has been Seneca Crane for the past three years, motions with his hand, a gesture telling me to show everything I have.
I pick up a bow and arrow; docking the arrow, I instantly tell something is off about this bow. It's not like the lovingly but shoddily-made one I have at home. It's a cold, hard, Capitol-produced piece of weaponry, machine-made, perfect. I aim toward the target – a dartboard in the shape of a human. I let loose. My arrow veers off to the side, and I hear the Gamemakers laugh at this. Lazy bastards. Immediately they're back to their rowdy card games and loud music, and I try again. Dock, release. Perfect. My arrow hits the target dead-center. I look up at the podium, proud of myself. My pride turns to rage when I notice they weren't looking at me.
"Hey!" I call, but they simply ignore me. In my indignation, I notice a black cord running along the floor across the podium right next to Crane's foot, connecting to the stereo and the flashing lights and the poker scoreboard. Instantly, an idea flashes through my head. Dangerous, because I could kill someone, but at the moment I don't care. I head toward the knife section; selecting a sharp dagger with a weighty end, I take a second to calculate before hurling the knife at the podium. It hits its mark.
There are shouts of confusion as the music and the poker machine stop, and the lights pop with a loud crackling noise. We are all plunged into darkness for a second; the emergency back-up lights crackle and creak to life, casting the room in a bright white light once more. I see smoke coming from the point where the knife cut through the cord; geez, must be using more power than I thought. The knife is still wobbling in its grate, right next to Crane's foot. A couple of the Gamemakers have fallen out of their seats. There is every chance I could be killed for this, but instead I put on my brave face.
"Thanks ever so for letting me waste your evidently precious time, good sirs, ladies," I say scathingly, firing one more arrow at a dummy just to prove my point. Bulls-eye. "And, Mr. Crane – if there's a next time, you can be sure I'll do my best not to miss." With that, I throw the bow on the floor and stalk out of the room, feeling the satisfaction as the door slams loudly behind me.
"The floor is all yours," I snarl as I storm past Peeta, leaving what is likely to be a very confused boy and a bunch of pissed-off Gamemakers in my wake.
It's about nine thirty in the evening now; I have tea in my room and spend a good deal of time trying to avoid Effie and Haymitch for as long as I possibly can before they hear about what happened earlier and track me down. I wander the penthouse and watch a few of the reruns from previous Games by myself, from the 68th Games. The sight of the young children makes me feel slightly sick, so I turn it off again. I don't know how people could find twelve-year-olds gutting one another with rusty shovels entertaining.
Soon enough, Effie and Haymitch find me on my way past the kitchen to my bedroom; I'm dragged into the living area to watch the scores being revealed, also having to endure a shouting match between Haymitch and Effie as to whether or not my actions were morally incorrect.
"What were you thinking? It isn't just you that's going to take the fall – it'll be all of us! You'll be lucky to even get scored a four, Scarlette," Effie says in a condemning tone. I feel my heart sink with this, knowing she's most probably right, but the urge to stick up for my actions kicks in.
"They pissed me off; they shouldn't have done that. At least I didn't hit him!" I say in my defense. "All they are is a bunch of fat, lazy bums who needed to be taught a valuable life lesson. Maybe they'll show more respect to the next lot of tributes."
Haymitch is amused at the whole thing; he thinks it was a world-class act. He's being very encouraging and approving of my behavior which only infuriates Effie. The stylists and Peeta are all staring at the conflict, confused.
"What happened?" Cinna asks.
"She threw a knife at the Gamekeepers' power cord. Fancy lights, poker machine, music, the works. She shut it off. Knife landed right next to Crane's foot," Haymitch chortles. "And what was it you said to them? 'Thanks ever so for letting me waste your evidently precious time', was it? What did you say to Crane again?"
"Um – 'if there's a next time, you can be sure I'll do my best not to miss, Mr. Crane'," I say, staring at my freshly chewed fingernails. My nervousness about my score has been getting to me.
"Priceless!" Haymitch cackles as the scores start. Mediocre fours and fives for Districts 4, 6, 7, 8 and 9, sevens for Districts 3, 5 and 11. Tens for Cato, Clove and Marvel. Nine for Glimmer.
"… and that was District 11, everybody. Now, District 12 – Peeta Mellark," the official host for the Games, Caesar Flickerman, reads off a scoresheet. Every year, he changes his hair color. When I was thirteen, it was white. Last year, red, so it looked like his eyebrows and head were constantly bleeding. This year, he has chosen a bright blue, a crazy but tamer color than last year.
"With a score of… eight," he says. Everybody rushes to celebrate Peeta's high score.
"Congratulations," I lean past Peeta's personal stylist, Portia, and whisper in his ear. Portia bumps me and my lips accidently brush along the base of his throat as I sit back down. I blush and look forward, drawing my legs into myself, preparing for the blow. Caesar calls out my name. Peeta reaches for my hand and grasps onto it comfortingly.
"… An eleven point five! Wow, Scarlette, you must really have impressed the Gamemakers, because this is one of the highest scores –"
And suddenly everyone is crowding me, whooping and cheering and pouring out drinks and dedicating them in our honor. I feel relief and excitement at my score. Then I realize the implications of it. The Gamemakers want me targeted first. They want me dead. I can't breathe. I push my way out of the celebration and head up to the roof, an added bonus of being in District 12. We get the penthouse.
Taking deep breaths of the cool night air, I force myself to calm down. I stare at the commotion below, the faint buzzing sounds of vehicles speeding by and distant people chattering incessantly. I hear vague shouts of this years' tributes' names. Despite it being dark now, the city seems to have come alive.
I count down the seconds on my watch. 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 –
10:00pm. Great. Happy sixteenth birthday, me. I hum the birthday song to myself as I stare up at the sky. The stars dot the black sky, specks of brightness amongst the dark. It gives me hope. It's ironic that a place such as this would be so beautiful.
"Whose birthday is it?"
I jump. Whirling around, of course there he is – Peeta. He grasps onto the rail next to me and stares out at the vast expanse of the Capitol.
"Mine," I reply softly. I'm one of the eldest in my year group, along with Katniss. So, Katniss has already turned seventeen, which was a couple days ago, incidentally. I hope she had a good birthday. I hope she didn't let the thought of me ruin it. Prim has to wait; she is the youngest in her year group.
"Well, then, Miss Everdeen. Happy sixteenth birthday," Peeta says, grinning at me.
"How do you know I'm sixteen?"
"Well, you're a year younger than your sister, and she's sixteen –"
"Seventeen now. Couple days ago," I correct him automatically, wondering what else he knows about me. About us as a family.
"Sorry. Seventeen," he restates. "Why haven't you told anyone?"
"What's the point? I'll be dead in two days' time," I say bitterly, leaning over the rail, feeling the wind brush against my skin. It reminds me of the way the wind would blow in the woods; I can almost hear the rustling noises as the trees sway. Peeta grasps my shoulders from behind and pulls me hard so my back is flush against his chest, a surprisingly intimate gesture.
"No, you won't. I promise you, you won't," he whispers in my ear. I restrain the urge to shudder as his warm breath hits my frozen earlobe, so close…
"How can you make promises like that?" I say, trying to keep my cool as his hands trail down my arms to embrace me in a hug. I'm not sure of the intention behind it, but it's warm and stops the goose bumps from appearing on my arms so much.
"Because I won't let you die," he replies. He rubs his hands up and down my arms, noticing how freezing I am. He takes off his jacket and places it on my shoulders so it covers my arms. I slip my arms in the sleeves; they get lost in the sea of material because the jacket is so big.
"Is that better?" He asks me.
"Very. Thank you – for everything," I say earnestly, trying to convey my feelings of gratitude for everything he's done for me. The bread; the jacket. Him.
"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Now, seeing as you don't want to celebrate your birthday with the others, we'll have our own celebration," he says. He envelopes me in a strange hug, his hands grasping my hips and swaying me from side to side. Wha-?
Oh. I get it – we're dancing. I've never really danced with a guy before, not even Social Guy – which means yes, I have with Katniss; we were doing a ballroom dance for the school talent show because she got into trouble with her teacher. It was her punishment, and mine too – the most embarrassing four minutes of my life.
"What are you thinking about?" Peeta asks, looking at the face I've pulled when recalling the memory. I slide my arms up to rest on his shoulders, shaking my head.
"Uh – remember… the talent show that year Katniss got into trouble with Mr. Heinberg?"
He laughs. Grrrrr.
"Yes, I remember that! That was cute," he teases. I hit him on the shoulder, but I can't help laughing as well. I can see how it was funny; a ten-year-old girl practically hauling her younger sister along the stage with spastic movements that could barely be classified as dancing. That same younger girl tripping over Katniss' overlarge foot and nearly falling off the stage.
The laughter abates. We look up to see the first of the year's snow falling. Pretty white flakes get caught in my air and eyelashes. I look up at Peeta; he smiles back, and I feel a loud thud in my chest and a new feeling. I don't know what it means, and I don't care because I'm so lost up in him, in this moment. And as we dance to our own music through the night, the world around us turns to white.
Dancing; figures waltz in and out of the world, keeping in time to a tuneless melody, all swishing and swaying in the breeze. I dance with them. Smiling and laughing, I reach up to touch my partner's face… A loud thud in my chest and a new feeling…
"I love you, Peeta."
I wake up with a start, heart racing over the dream I just had. What the hell? Maybe the Capitol air is getting to me. But… I really could see myself saying that to Peeta. I haven't really known him for that long, but love makes you do crazy things. Love? No, I don't love Peeta… But it's possible that I might.
I try the words out in my head. I think I love Peeta. I decide it's all too confusing. I DON'T love him. I can't. There's every chance that it's a petty obsession. I summarize my feelings for Peeta. I know I harbor feelings way beyond a crush; it's just, to what extent? Could I really love him? It doesn't matter now if I do or don't. It's too late. We're going to die in the Arena tomorrow.
My muscles protesting from lack of rest, I stretch my limbs and trudge down to the kitchen for my first meal of the day and Haymitch's advice for the two of us on how to act in the Games interviews. Caesar Flickerman, as host, spends three minutes with each of the tributes in front all of the Capitol citizens, broadcasting live around Panem. It is the most essential aspect in nabbing sponsors for the Games. They have to like you.
As I enter the kitchen, I notice Peeta is absent. I sit down across from Haymitch.
"Where's Peeta?" I ask him.
"Well, good morning to you, too," Haymitch grumbles, tossing a waffle onto his plate and piling jam onto it. When he looks at me for the first time this morning and notices the look on my face, he clears his throat. "Peeta's requested private training."
I freeze. Instantly, I'm hurt. I thought we were… whatever we were. So he just up and left me hanging after last night, huh? Now I have a reason to be pissed.
"Come on – don't tell me you didn't see this coming. It happens every year. One of the tributes wishes to be separated from the other. He's intimidated by you, sweetheart," Haymitch says. "Now, hurry up and eat before I eat it all."
I take a couple pieces of toast and eat in silence, not bothered with putting any butter or flavored toppings. In my head I'm still reeling. Why would he do something like that? Is it me? Am I not worth his time? That's not it. Like Haymitch said, he's intimidated by you. You shouldn't have let him in. You got hurt again, Scar, and now he's most likely going to kill you. Truth is I did see this coming, earlier, when I refused to allow myself to be his friend. I know now that that was smarter, that choice. Katniss' choice. I wish I had listened to that voice in my head telling me not to allow him any room in my heart. But I did, and now I'm paying the price. You're NOT in love. It's probably infatuation. I could convince myself that I'm not, and that what I'm feeling is most probably a petty teenage emotion, but I know it's no use. Whatever this is, it's strong, and I won't be able to let it go easily. But I can pretend that it doesn't exist. After all, you've been able to pretend that you're happy in District 12 for fifteen years; why can't you pretend that you don't have feelings for Peeta Mellark?
Haymitch and I have our own private counseling session, trying to figure out which angle I should play. Let's just say, sexy? No. Broody won't work because I'm not intimidating enough to pull it off. Over-confidence is also scrapped. I try to act all kinds of happy, sad and angry, but it's no use. I don't have an angle, whatsoever.
"You know what? Just be yourself; slightly sarcastic but usually friendly and good-tempered," Haymitch says after about four hours of torture. "Maybe not the world's best, but they'll appreciate the down-to-earth attitude and the honesty."
Seriously? Four hours just to be told I'm okay the way I am? Great.
"Effie's in the lounge room. You have to practice having the interview with her now. Good luck for that," Haymitch dismisses me. I get up and head toward the door without so much as a goodbye to Haymitch.
On my way to see Effie, Peeta comes out of his room. Oh, great. And I was hoping that we wouldn't cross paths today.
"Hi, Scarlette," he says a little warily. Good. He knows that I'm pissed off by his backstabbing move. I stare at him coldly and walk past silently. Good, Scar. Don't show how you really feel.
Effie has a clipboard at the ready; today, she's decided to dye her hair bright canary yellow, which is further accentuated by a pair of yellow heels. She's wearing a green dress and green make-up. Someone needs to tell her that she can't dress herself.
"Good morning, Scarlette," she says politely, already getting down to business. I pretty much know by now that we'll be spending the rest of the day doing this. So much for a break. "Now – I've already seen Mr. Mellark and figured out the angle he shall be playing. What has Haymitch told you to be? Smart? Funny?"
"He told me to be myself," I reply. She clucks disappointedly. Suddenly, as irritating as he is, I wish that Haymitch was teaching me how to behave in the interview.
"So, how would you best describe yourself, in order to make this task easier on me?" she asks.
"Um, sarcastic humor. Generally friendly and well-mannered. That's according to Haymitch," I tell her, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind my ear. She notes all this on her clipboard.
After this, she asks me several interview questions that I'm told to expect in the actual interviews this evening. I answer them to the best of my ability, but because I'm so tense about tomorrow, she goes off at me.
"No, no, NO! See, you have to be friendly, get people to like you! If you're not liked, there's NO chance of you getting home!" she throws her clipboard on the couch and paces nervously.
"Why do you want ME to go home? Why can't you make Peeta your mascot?" I ask irritably. As soon as I ask the question, I really do become suspicious. Why did Peeta request private lessons? Why are Haymitch and Effie trying so hard to make sure I'm the one everyone will like?
"Um… just because," she mutters. She sits down and places her hand on my knee comfortingly. "Now, I know this whole thing is difficult for you," she says. Yeah. How would you know? "But there are people who are relying on you. Don't… don't you want to see your family again?"
The nerve of that question strikes a chord in me. If I want to see Prim and Katniss and Gale again, I have to make an impression.
"Okay, then. Give me the best questions you got," I say.
After that, I try to be friendly and sociable. I pretend that I'm talking to Prim. Conversations with her are always light and happy; well, relatively. Talking with Katniss and Gale is always a little spirit-dampening, which is why I constantly have to tell them to have their conversations away from our house. Prim's too young to have to deal with the difficult truths of our world. It's my responsibility to ensure she doesn't become a bitter child stuck in an everlasting loop of anger at the injustices of Panem. To ensure she doesn't become like Gale and Katniss and I. So I hide my true feelings and I put on a happy front so Prim knows everything is okay in the world. In some ways, Prim is much more wise that any of us. In others, she is still just a twelve-year-old girl. Something I constantly have to remind Katniss; she's just a child. No need to poison her yet.
When it's finished, we've spent another four hours practicing. I've won Effie's supreme mark of approval by this point.
"Well done, very well done! Oh, darling, the Capitol will simply LOVE you, if they don't already!" she simpers, even reaching over to give me a hug. "Now, the cars will be here at any minute. Go down and wait for them; you don't want to keep Cinna waiting!"
For the first time in this entire ordeal, I feel that everything may be alright. Interviews, here I come.
Okay everyone! So I didn't get the interviews done this chapter, because it would have been too long and the next chapter too short. That's up next. So, reviewing is down the bottom; only takes a couple of minutes. Let me know if there's anyting you'd like to see later on in the story (yes, HopefulMe, I'm gonna pair Katniss and Gale together. :-) Anyone else you you want to see together? It'd really help in creating some background stories for other characters). Hope I get a few reviews. Constructive criticism please, no flames. Thanks! :-) xxx