7 - PRIVATE SESSION
Katniss and I sit, tense, waiting for our turn with the Gamemakers. Today is the day when each of us gets their Private Session so the Gamemakers can look us over one last time before assigning us our Training Score.
The sessions are done in district order, so Katniss and I have to sit and wait while eleven other districts are examined. We stopped making small talk somewhere around District Four and have sat there in nervous silence for hours, waiting.
I glance at Katniss. Her face is a mask, impassive. Only a slight quavering of her voice belies the tension that she...that we both...feel.
Maybe I shouldn't wait until the interviews to tell her how I feel. Maybe Haymitch was right. Maybe I should tell her after our interview prep training sessions with Effie and Haymitch. Or maybe I shouldn't say anything at all.
No. She has to know. She has a RIGHT to know. I need her to know how I feel...even if she doesn't feel the same way about me...because when I die for her in the arena I want her to understand that I died to protect her out of love for her. Maybe that will mean something to her...so she won't forget me. So she -
"Peeta Mellark!" The disembodied voice calls my name for my session. I stand up, trying to look calm.
"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights," Katniss says suddenly. She hadn't spoken a word to me in hours. I turn to her.
"Thanks, I will," I say. "You...shoot straight." Katniss looks at me and nods once. I turn and enter the training room. Once I announce my name and district to the Gamemakers, I'll have ten minutes to impress them.
As I walk into the room I scan the Gamemakers gallery. I can see...and hear...a group of them huddled together, swaying and singing some sort of drinking song. This irritates me. They're supposed to be paying attention. Only a few are actually watching me as I stop, stand, and announce myself.
"Peeta Mellark. District Twelve."
The Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, glances at me and nods. I walk over to the weight rack and select a large metal ball, like the one I threw a couple of days ago to impress the Careers. I step forward, picking my target - a dummy about twenty feet away - cock, wind and throw as hard as I can.
And miss.
The ball clangs to the floor and rolls a bit before stopping. I quickly grab another and throw again. This time I clip the dummy, but still not a solid hit. I glance up and see only a couple of Gamemakers watching me. I feel panicky as I grab yet a third weight but as I wind to throw I feel it shifting and slipping. The weight slips from my hand and clangs loudly to the floor, almost hitting my foot as I dance out of the way.
This is disastrous. I need to do something else, and quick.
"May I get a hand to hand partner?" I call out. One of the Gamemakers that was actually paying attention nods and signals someone on the gallery. He turns back to me.
"Mr. Mellark, we've stopped your clock for the time it will take to get your hand to hand partner. Just relax for a few moments...and try not to drop anything on your feet in the meantime." I redden at the joke the Gamemaker just had at my expense, but when I look up at him he's smiling kindly at me. Another Gamemaker approaches him.
"Plutarch, the hand to hand partner will be here in one minute," the other Gamemaker says. He gets a nod in response.
"Did you hear that, Mr. Mellark?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you." The Gamemaker waves his hand dismissively. Shortly afterwards my hand to hand partner walks in. It's the same one that I had trained with before. He was impressed with my skills. He smiles in recognition as we move to the mat.
"Your time starts...now," I hear the Gamemaker - Plutarch - say.
My partner steps forward to shake my hand and as he does he whispers, "Don't worry, kid. I'll make you look good." I smile my thanks as we start.
We spar for a few minutes and he's true to his word. Time and again I throw him, take him down, and put him in one hold after another. He's good...he makes it look like he's really fighting hard. Finally, I hear a soft chime and my partner slaps me on the shoulder and stands up. We shake hands one last time.
"Good luck, kid," he says before leaving.
I face the gallery. Seneca Crane stands up.
"Thank you, Mr. Mellark. You may go," he says. I nod and head for the exit. I hope I did better than I think I did.
As I walk to the exit I send one thought to my district partner.
Shoot straight, Katniss.
