Of course I'm not going to tell her, but not for the reason Cato thinks. There's really no reason she knows of that I should be doing this, so she would only distrust me. Even if I can't disclose the false agreement to her, I can tell Haymitch my plans. In fact, I should, because that way he'll understand my strategy and won't be lead to believe that I'm deceiving her.
Tonight we have our scored training sessions. Everyone individually shows off all of their best skills in front of prominent Gamemakers, who then rate each tribute on a scale of 1-12, 1 being the absolute worst and 12 being a nearly unattainable best. There have only been about 50 tributes in the history of the Hunger Games to receive a 12. Predictably, almost all of them were from Career districts. With the last day of training behind me and my body well-rested after turning in early last night, I join Haymitch and Katniss at the dining table that is, as always, strewn with a bounty of incredible Capitol food that I always feel guilty for eating when I think of the starving people in District 12. Effie is nowhere to be seen, to my delight that is contrasted by my lack of excitement to be here. At least I don't have to hear that dreadful woman insist that we must both be so thrilled to be here representing our district. Haymitch nods to me as I sit down and I flick my eyes over to find any acknowledgement from Katniss, but she is stoic, her face blank as she stabs a strawberry with her fork and twirls it around in the fruit juice puddled on her plate before placing it in her mouth. The small fruit reminds me of a classically beautiful blonde girl in 12 who kissed me before I left the day this all started. I'm not sure what my feelings are towards her yet, but it might not mater because it's not sure that I will return. In fact, it's not even probable.
"So what have you gotten good at in training this past week?" Haymitch inquires, breaking the silence and my thoughts as he dips a tea bag into a mug of hot water with honey and lemon. I realize this is the first time I've seen him drink a non-alcoholic beverage.
I have to think about it for a moment. I know my skills in archery are indispensible, but that was obvious. I've developed a certain liking for the axe, which I can throw quite accurately. I even got notably good with knives and swords, but obviously not like Cato or Clove, the short, dark-haired District 2 girl. She can throw any type of knife at a moving dummy with her eyes closed and deliver a kill shot every single time. In training, whenever she does this to show off, the other Careers just smile and laugh at the tributes gawking at her. Clove herself gains a tight smirk and her dark, snake-like eyes light up demonically.
"Axes. Swords. Knives. And obviously I already know archery," I answer neutrally.
"What about survival skills?" he asks, but I have to search his face twice to see if he's being serious. I raise my right eyebrow slightly and lean my face forward with intrigue.
"Haymitch. I've been hunting illegally in the woods for years back in 12. How much better survival training can you get?" I ask rhetorically. Really the training experts only refreshed the already present knowledge I have of important survival skills, and there wasn't much I was able to truly learn. Haymitch just nods at me, as if accepting my vast experience, and turns to Katniss.
"What about you, sweetheart? You learn anything?" he asks, as if there is any question as to if she took advantage of the available training.
Katniss finishes chewing the toast and poached eggs she's been working on, and says simply, "Spears." Haymitch lurches back slightly in surprise. Usually, spear throwing is a talent mastered exclusively by boys. Career boys, more specifically. This year that boy is Marvel, the District 1 boy, who has probably been throwing spears since he was a kid. I vaguely remember thinking he seemed much too small to be strong enough for spears, and when he showed off how far he could throw it during training, his skills appeared meager considering he's probably been training since he was a kid.
"How far can you throw them?" I hear myself ask, surprised at myself for talking to her, the girl who has ignored me since I discovered her secret about the woods. She appears momentarily shocked, too, but regains composure and looks me dead in the eye, suddenly not embarrassed.
"Far," she says gravely.
Haymitch is beside himself, enthralled by her newly unveiled skill, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, a comical smile playing on his lips. "And how did Katniss Everdeen get strong enough to throw a spear?"
Suddenly I realize how she's good at spear throwing. At the bakery, I've seen her haul 100-pound bags of flour around without a single trace of strain or fatigue. How did I not see this coming? Her arm muscles bulge through her shirt and her shoulders are wide and brawny from years of carrying heavy loads that her mother and younger sister could not handle. She doesn't mention any of this, however. She simply shrugs and mumbles that she's finished, pushing away from the table. This leaves Haymitch and I alone, and with Katniss already in her room, I know I can begin to explain the alliance to him.
"What was that all about?" he asks me, half-heartedly interested.
"She's the baker's daughter. She carries huge bags of flour and stuff around so she got pretty strong, I guess. I bet she can even throw farther than the stupid Career boy who has thrown them his whole life." I explain tersely.
"Huh," is all he says in response.
"Haymitch, what do you think about making alliances?" I ask tentatively, hoping I'm not reminding him of some tragic event that happened in his Games. He looks distant for a moment, and I fear I've struck a nerve. His eyes go glassy as he grips the tablecloth in his fist, staring at nothing in particular. He takes a deep breath and brings himself out of the second trance I've observed, finally making eye contact with me.
I must look very surprised and concerned, because he looks down into his lap, embarrassed, and simply says, "It's hard to get involved in them, knowing what's going to have to happen later."
"But what if I knew that it would benefit myself and someone else for a little while, then got out of it as soon as I didn't benefit anymore?" I ask, trying to lead him in the right direction. He looks intrigued as he wipes traces of bacon and orange juice from his unshaven face. "I told Cato I'd ally with him and the Careers because he wanted me to help him find 'the invisible girl,'" I explain, smirking as I put air quotes around her nickname. The amusement is struck from his face suddenly and he throws his silk napkin down on the table, pushing his chair back abruptly as he stands.
"You're going to betray your district partner?" he exclaims. His voice only reaches a whisper because Katniss is in the other room, but I can hear his exasperation clearly. "What the hell are you thinking?"
"Haymitch, it's not what you think. I was going to lead them away from her and then take off before they realize what I'm doing," I clarify quickly before he grabs the knife off the table and slits my throat with it. "I wanted to tell you so you would know my strategy. And so you could just send any gifts you can get to her. If this year follows past trends, the Careers will have everything in the Cornucopia secured by the end of the first day, and I can just make off with a bunch of food and medicine." It's a lot to take in at breakfast. The sun hasn't fully risen over the horizon yet and we're talking about very involved strategies here. Haymitch sits back down, stunned by how much I've thought this through, and complies with a simple, "Okay."
The day carries on as usual: Katniss and I watch Hunger Games tapes, looking for more fight tactics we can absorb and store in our memories to use when we go into the arena. Later on we eat lunch, helping Haymitch list off things we must remember for tonight's evaluation. He prompts me first, explaining that archery is the most important thing to show off. Next are axes, then swords, and then knives. I should also make a point to demonstrate my strength, speed, and survival skills, as Gamemakers don't rate us simply on the ability to wield weapons. Katniss is next, and she fills him in on skills he doesn't already know she possesses; their exchange at breakfast did not reveal much. She is to shoot her bow and arrow as well as throw the spear, but stay away from unfamiliar weapons because they could lower her score. Then she can continue on to show other strengths, most importantly her camouflaging techniques.
The next hours pass by quickly and mercilessly, and before I can comprehend the rapidly eroding time, Katniss and I are seated in a secluded room to await our turns in silence. Sitting with just her here, I realize how much I want to talk to her, to tell her everything I've never said but always wanted to. Words swirl around in my head, forming perfect sentences that seem easy to spout out to her, but stick to the back of my throat when I try to say them. I can't say them here and now. It's just not right yet. Either way it doesn't matter because they're calling my name and I have to leave for my session. As soon as I stand, Katniss grabs my wrist firmly but releases her grip once I turn around, as if she's embarrassed that she touched me.
"Peeta," she breathes, and I let my eyes seep into hers, wondering what she has to say when I couldn't manage a word. "Make your brothers proud." She stares sweetly and sincerely up at me as I nod, grateful for the empowering sentiment. It keeps me strong when I step into the room that holds an incredible amount of weapons and obstacle courses. Immediately I lunge for the bow, intent on introducing myself strongly. The Gamemakers seem a bit restless after evaluating 22 other tributes, so I decide then to put on a show. I gingerly grab a large bow and sheath of perfect metal arrows from the rack, throwing the sheath over my shoulder as I begin. I sprint quickly to the first target dummy, remembering what Katniss said. I put at least 50 yards between the dummy and myself as the Gamemakers watch, amused, assuming a tribute from an outlying district like myself must be just another weakling to be overlooked. Show them what you can do, I think to myself, but I'm not thinking about the Gamemakers watching me. Prove to them that you will not let the Capitol ruin what they lived to preserve.
It is made evident that they were completely mistaken in their assumptions when an arrow slices through the air, piercing directly through the heart of the dummy. I roll forward on my right shoulder, coming up on one knee and quickly stringing another arrow through the bow and shooting it through the forehead of my fake victim. My bow and arrow practice continues for about fifteen minutes, as the Gamemakers look on, astonished. When I finish, I replace the bow and arrow on the cart and move on to axes.
What they lived to preserve, I reflect silently as I draw an axe from another shelf and sprint over to a new dummy. My parents. The ones they tried so hard to protect. The ones who sat back and watched their children do all of their work for them. The sturdy manikin stares down at me as I raise my axe mid stride, letting it fly back as far as possible to put as much power into my swing as I have to offer. My parents. The ones who did nothing to protect much more vulnerable and smaller versions of themselves. The ones who let the deaths of my brothers break them just when I needed someone to protect and provide for me. The ones who forced me to fight for my own survival before I even became a teenager. The heavy axe I hold flings forward, and I strike a deafening blow into the dummy's stomach then pull it out with great finesse, now aiming to chop just above where I last hit. My parents. The ones who would not visit me before I entered a sadistic pageant to fight for my life against other children. A sickening chop reverberates through the air and I remove the slick, sharp blade, continuing to maul this inanimate object. A last blow is dealt straight into the heart of the dummy, cutting deep into the body before I extricate my weapon a final time and replace it on the weapons wagon.
That's when I see the shimmer of a long, sharp implement glinting from above the axe. I know what it is and I intend to use it well. I quickly grab it off the cart and stride toward the same dummy, using every ounce of my strength to slice through the dummy. For ten minutes I sling around this weapon, cutting off entire body parts and appendages. At last, I grip the sword handle with both hands above my head and strain every muscle in my body as I force it straight through the victim's heart, skewering it with metal.
Strangely enough, there are no throwing knives in the training room. Instead of letting the rest of my time run out, however, I charge towards the ropes course and nimbly climb through it, avoiding the traps carefully as I make my way to the end. Once I finish, I make it my task to display all of my capabilities, from tying complicated knot to creating fires to fabricating hammocks and shelters. Just as I realize I have nothing left to show the Gamemakers, Seneca Crane calls out, "Peeta Mellark. That's all we need to see. You may go now."
My gaze shifts upward, my exhausted body heaving and dripping perspiration. This is the first time I've noticed that he's the only one left standing there, a mask of sheer non-emotion covering his face. He turns from the balcony to a door I never saw before and steps out of the room, leaving me in solitude. I gather my bearings and leave the same way I came in, already anxious for Caesar Flickerman to announce the scores received tonight.
