My slumber is filled with disturbing imagines. The face of the redhead girl intertwined with gory images of earlier Hunger Games, with images of my mother withdrawn and unreachable, with Prim emaciated and terrified. I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine is blown into million bits of deadly light.
Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a misty, haunted air about it. My head aches, I must have bitten into the side of my cheek during the night; I probe my cheek and I feel ragged flesh and taste blood. I crawl out of bed, and drag my sleep deprived body into the shower. In my haze brought on by the lack of sleep I unwitting pressed random buttons on the console, and shortly I dancing back forth as I'm being assaulted by jets of icy cold water and steaming hot water. Then I'm deluged in a lemony foam that I scrape off with a heavy bristled brush.
If I wasn't awake before, I am now. I think.
After I'm dried and moisturized I prepare to dress myself. I look in the closet and I see the outfit I'm to wear to my training session: Tight black pants, and a long sleeve burgundy tunic and leather shoes. After dressing myself I tie my hair into a single braid down my back. This is the first time since the reaping that I look like myself. No fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. I look likecould be heading off into the woods to hunt. It calms me.
Haymitch didn't give us a time to meet, and no one has contacted me to come down; so I head out the dining hall to get something to eat. I'm relieved to see that there is food set out for me to eat, and I do not have to wait for the others to come to breakfast. A young man, an Avox, is standing next to the food trays. I ask if I can serve myself, and he waves me on. I go up to the food table three times. My first serving is eggs, sausages, batter cake covered in an orange preserves, and a slice of pale purple melon. While I'm eating my first plate the sun begins to rise over the Capitol. My second plateful was grains smothered in beef stew. My final refill is rolls and a cup of hot chocolate. I eat my rolls like I saw Peeta on the train, picking a piece off of the roll and then dipping it into the hot chocolate.
As I'm working on the rolls and hot chocolate I think back to District 12, and my family getting ready for the day; they are most likely up already. My mother making their breakfast, Prim milking Lady before heading off to school. How empty the house feels from the distance. What did they think of our fiery entrance last night? Did it give them hope, or did it remind them of the grim reality when they saw all the chariots in the City Circle last night knowing that only one of the twenty-four tributes would live?
At this time Haymitch and Peeta are coming to breakfast. They bid me a good morning, and then get to filling their plates. I'm irritated/tickled that Peeta and I are both wearing the same outfit.
Not to criticize Cinna, he and Portia did an amazing job with our outfits last night, but they both have to know that keeping up the twins act is going to blow up in our faces. I think.
And then I take in Peeta's body seeing as how he is wearing the same outfit, and it's snug on him. I can see that his body is defined, if not toned. I return to my rolls in front of me. I also remember my deal with Haymitch about not speaking out against my stylist wishes. If it was anybody else besides Cinna, I might be willing to tell Haymitch to shove it. Then I remember what this meeting is about, and I get nervous. There will be three days of training with the tributes; culminating in a private session with the Gamemakers on the final day. Meeting the tributes face-to-face for the first time makes me queasy. I eye the roll in my hands that I keep turning end over end, but my appetite is gone.
After Haymitch finishes several platters of stew, he pulls out his flask and takes a long pull from the container.
Nothing like that early morning shot to get your day started right. I think.
"Are you okay?" Peeta whispers in my ear, the concern evident in his voice.
His breath tickles my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Ask me later." I whisper back.
"Let's get down to business, shall we." Haymitch says, his elbows leaning on the table. "Top of the list: training. If you would like I can coach you separately."
I share a look with Peeta, and then we look back to Haymitch.
"Why would you coach us separately? I ask.
"In case one of you has a secret skill you don't want the other to know about." Haymitch says.
"I don't have any secret skills. I know yours right? I mean I've eaten your squirrels." Peeta says.
It never crossed my mind that Peeta has eaten the squirrels that I have shot. I always thought the baker had kept those to himself. On top of that they had the money to buy prime cuts from the butcher like beef, and chicken.
"You can coach us together." I say, and Peeta nods.
"What can the two of you do? Let me know what I'm working with." Haymitch says.
"I really can't do anything." Peeta says. "Well unless you count baking bread."
I give Peeta a sideways look, and from the look he gives me I know something is off.
"I'm sorry, I don't. Katniss I know you're handy with a knife." Haymitch says to me.
"Not really, but I can hunt." I say. "With a bow and arrow."
"And you're good at it?" Haymitch asks.
I have to think about it. I put food on the table for the past four years, which was no small task. I'm a good shot, not as good as my father; who had more practice. I'm a better shot than Gale because of my practice, but he's excellent when it comes to traps and snares.
"I'm all right." I say.
"She's excellent." Peeta says. "My father buys her squirrels all the time. He talks about how she never hits the body. Every single one is through the eye. Same thing with the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even bring down a deer."
Wait minute? What? I think, looking at Peeta in my peripheral vision.
I'm taken back by Peeta's assessment of my skills. First that he's notice. Second that he's talking me up.
I have a bad feeling about where this conversation is heading. I think.
"What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.
"What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of." Peeta says.
I don't know why, but for some reason this rubs me the wrong way.
"What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour." I snap at Peeta. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."
"Yes, and I'm sure the arena is going to be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't." He shoots back.
"He can wrestle." I say. "He took second place in the school tournament last year, only after his brother."
"How's is that going to be useful? How many times have you seen anybody wrestle somebody to death?" Peeta ask in disgust.
"There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need to do is come up with a knife and you stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I say, my voice rising in anger.
It seems that Peeta's plan is to be a sacrificial lamb, and I won't let him do that. I think.
"But you won't. You'll be living up a tree eating squirrels, and picking people off with your arrows. You know what my mother said when she came to say good-bye me, as if to cheer me up; she said that District 12 will finally have a winner. I then realized that she wasn't talking about me." Peeta burst out.
"Oh she meant you." I say with a wave of dismissal.
"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is." Peeta says.
That pulls me up short. Did his mother really rate me over her own son? I look Peeta in his eye, and I see the pain; I know he's telling the truth. I turn from both of them and look into my lap as I fight back the tears that are stinging my eyes. Peeta looks at me, but I keep my eyes in my lap.
Now I understand that bad feeling. I think.
Suddenly I'm behind the bakery again and I feel the rain running down my back, and the hollowness in my stomach. I clear my throat in attempt to keep the tears at bay, but my voice comes out broken, and weakly like the elven year old I was, when I look back to Peeta.
"Only because somebody helped me." I say.
Peeta looks down at the roll in his hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs and continues.
"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." Peeta says.
"Same with you." I say.
Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she has on people." Peeta says, as he runs his fingernails along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me.
What's that supposed to mean? People help me? When we're dying of starvation nobody helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with things changed. I'm a tough trader; or am I? What effect do I have? I think back to some of the trades I made. Maybe a few of the merchants were generous in their trades, but I attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides my game is first class. No one pities me! I glower at the roll in my hands.
After about a minute of this Haymitch speaks up. "Well, well. Katniss there might not be a bow and arrows in the arena, but show the Gamemakers what you can do during your private session. Until then steer clear of archery." Haymitch says. "Are you any good at trapping?"
"I know a few basic traps." I mutter, my argument with Peeta left me drained emotional.
"That will be significant in terms of food." Haymitch says, but I'm no longer listening. "And Peeta she's right; never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center there will be weights, but don't show how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The same goes for both of you; go to group training, but learn a new skill. Throw a spear, swing a mace; learn how to tie a decent knot. Save showing what your best at until your private session. Are we clear?" Haymitch asks.
Peeta and I nod our heads.
"One last thing. In public you will be by each other's side every minute." Haymitch says.
Both Peeta and I are about to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I say! You will be together, and you will appear amiable to each other! Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."
I bite my lip, and then stalk back to my room. I make sure Peeta hears me slam my door; albeit, I do it out sadness as opposed to be angry. I sit on the bed hating Haymitch, hating Peeta for having total disregard for his own life, and myself for mentioning that day in the rain. It's a joke? Peeta and I going along; pretending to be friends!
I don't want to pretend. I think, and the tears return in force.
If I have to listen Peeta say that he has nothing to offer to the team one more time, I'm going to scream. I'm guess we objected to the plan because we didn't want to put any stress on our burgeoning relationship.
Did I just say relationship? That's a new concept. I think.
Maybe Haymitch isn't wrong. Maybe building the friendship will strength the bond we just forge last night. It's weird that we were talking each other up to Haymitch like we did. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she has on people. Did he mean that in a derogatory manner? But a tiny part of me wonders, hopes even. I think, that he meant it as a compliment. That he meant that I was appealing in some way. It's even weirder that we have been keeping tabs on each other. How Peeta has paid attention to my hunting. I'm not oblivious to Peeta as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling.
The boy with the bread has been on my radar for quite some time. I think.
It's almost ten, so I brush teeth smooth my hair out, and for good measures I splash my face with water to aid in hiding the tears that were building up. Anger and sadness had blocked out the nervousness of meeting the other tributes. Now I can feel my anxiety rising within me. By the time I meet Effie and Peeta at the elevator I'm biting my nails. I stop at once.
The actual training room is below the ground level of our building. With these elevators it takes us less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. Although it's not ten, we're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered around in a tense circle. They have cloth squares with the number of their district pin on their back. While some one pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only ones dressed alike.
"Are you okay?" Peeta asks again, as we're walking towards the other tributes.
"Ask me when we have free time tonight." I say, giving him a look that says I will answer it then.
As we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall athletic woman named Atala, steps up and explains the training schedule. Experts at each skill will remain at their stations. We are free to roam from station to station. Some stations teach survival skills, others teach fighting techniques. We are forbidden from engaging any tributes in active combat: whether training or sparring; there are assistants for that.
When Atala begins to run down the list of stations, I take my first look at the rest of the tributes; it's the first time we are on level ground, and dressed in plain clothes. My heart sinks when I realize all the boys, and half of the girls are all bigger than me. Even though many of these tributes haven't been properly fed; you can see it in their bones, their skin, even the hollowed look in their eyes. I may be smaller naturally, but my family's resourcefulness has given me an edge in that area. The long hours hunting and foraging had given me a healthier body than most of those I see around me.
Except for those from wealthier districts, who had the resources to train for this very moment. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this look about them. It's technically against regulations to train tributes for the Games, but it happens every year. In District 12 we call them Career Tributes, or just Careers. And like it or not, the winner will most likely be one of them.
The slight advantage we had coming into today, our fiery entrance last night, has all but vanished in the face of the competition. The other tributes were jealous, not because we were amazing, because our stylist were. I see nothing but contempt in their eyes.
Thank God they can't attack us now, or we'd be dead. I think.
Each of the Careers easily have fifty to a hundred pound on me. When Atala cuts us lose they head for the deadliest looking weapons and wield them with ease. I almost jump out of my skin when Peeta comes up behind and nudges my arm; sticking together as per Haymitch's instructions
"What should we do?" Peeta asks with a sober look on his face.
I watch as the Careers showing off their skill with the weapons with ease; whereas, other tributes with no experience are wielding those same weapons poorly.
"I guess we try our hand at tying knots." I say.
"Right you are." Peeta says.
We head over to the station that teaches knot tying, and the trainer seems happy to have students. It seems that learning to tie knots isn't a big hit in the Games. When the trainer realizes I know a thing or two about snares, he teaches us a trap that can leave a human competitor dangling by their leg. We stay at the station for an hour until we both master it. From there we move onto camouflage station, but I tease Peeta, attempting to appear friendly per Haymitch's instructions. Peeta, not understanding were this was going, bites hook, line, and sinker. And before long we find a rhythm, and bantering like old friends.
He's a natural. I think.
We're at the camouflage station and I see that Peeta is really enjoying himself. Peeta mixes mud, clay and berry juice on his skin weaving vines and leaves into his disguise. The trainer is enthusiastic with Peeta's skill.
"I do the cakes." Peeta admits.
"Cakes." I say distract by the boy from Distract 2 who throws a spear from fifteen feet away hitting the dummy through the heart. "What cakes?"
"At home." Peeta's says.
He means the ones on display in the bakery window. Fancy cakes with pretty designs and flowers painted in the frosting. They're for birthdays, and New Year's Day. When we're in the square, Prim always drags me over to admire them; although, we could never afford them. There isn't much beauty in District 12, so who am I to deny her this.
I look more critically at his design. The alternating patterns of light and dark, like the change in seasons.
How did he learn that? Did he figure that out by watching the old apple tree? I doubt he has ever been outside the fence. I think.
I take it all in- the inaccessible cakes, Peeta's ability level, and the camouflage expert's praise- and it annoys me.
Insert tease in 3-2-1. I think.
"It's lovely. Only if you could frost somebody to death." I say, holding back a laugh.
"Don't be so superior. You never know what you will find in the arena. It could be a gigantic cake-"
"I say we move on." I say cutting Peeta off.
Peeta stops in mid reply, and then looks up at me. I give a sly grin, and then he playfully glares back at me.
Before we move on, I see the other tributes glaring at us again; our camaraderie, and banter is starting to get under their skin. So the next three days passes with Peeta and I moving from station to station learning their skills; we learn to build a fire, knife throwing, and how to make a shelter. Despite Haymitch's instructions to appear mediocre, Peeta excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants test without blinking an eye.
"And who said that hand-to-hand combat skills would be useless?" I ask teasing Peeta.
I can see the look in his eye that he want to do something personal; like give me a hug or a kiss or both, but we both agreed that the intimate aspect of our relationship; there's that word again. I think, were off limits in public. So instead Peeta shooed me onto the next station. We steer clear of archery, and weightlifting.
The Gamemakers come out early on the first day to watch us. Twenty or so men and women sitting in the elevated standing in the training room. Both taking notes and walking around watching us, or dining at the feast that was set out for them; ignoring us completely. But they do watch us; specifically District 12. I have looked up to them contently watching me. They consult with our trainers when we're at lunch.
The first night after training finds me and Peeta alone lying on his bed. I grabbed an ice pack because it looked like he might have tweak his shoulder working with one of the assistants. After Peeta gets the pack situated on his right shoulder I snuggle into his left side, and we just lay there for a time. I trace a finger across the contours of his body.
"Earlier I asked if you were okay." Peeta says all of a sudden, and out of the blue.
"What do you want to know?" I ask.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Peeta asks.
"No." I say.
"Why not?" Peeta asks.
This is new territory. I think. I was never this open with Gale, and it frightens me. I guess my mother and father had moments like this.
"Katniss." Peeta says softly, as if he were trying to coax a child to trust him.
"Last night my sleep was plagued by nightmares." I say.
"What were they about? Peeta asked, looking at me.
"They were about the Avox girl, scenes from earlier Hunger Games. Also there were scenes when I was younger and growing up; about my mother, my sister, and my dead father." I say, looking back at him.
I start to tear up because I know what's coming next. I'm going to have to admit that my feelings run much deeper than what they truly are. That Peeta's spectacle this morning during breakfast hurt me a lot more than I cared to admit too.
To give voice to these feeling days before the Games almost breaks me, too. I think.
"Our argument over breakfast affected you much more deeply than you let on. I saw the tears before you mention the day I gave you the bread, and I could hear the pain in your voice. But if we're going to make it through this we have to give Haymitch something to work with." Peeta says.
In one fluid motion I go from being cradled at Peeta's side to sitting on top of him; straddling his waist.
"And who gave you the right to throw your life away like it doesn't matter, or that nobody cares about you?" I ask quietly; with a calm fury burning in my chest, and tears streaming down my face.
Peeta was taken back on two fronts; one was because of the way I was sitting on his waist. That was a new position for the both of us. And the second was because he now understands why I slammed the door earlier, and why I was fighting back tears during breakfast. Peeta reaches up and pulls me into him; letting me cry the tears. Seeing my tears and understanding the pain he had cause me, Peeta shed a few tears himself.
"I'm sorry." He whispered into my ear; his breath sending another shiver down my spine.
After a while I finally stop crying, and we kiss. Then we start making out; opening our mouths between kisses so we can breathe. I pull away from Peeta to speak.
"I want you to remember that the only opinion about your life that should matter is mine; not your mother's or the Capitol's." I say. "I remember the black eye that your mother gave you for burning the bread that you gave to me."
Peeta nods his acceptance of my decision. I lean in for another kiss, when Peeta catches me by surprise. He traps my left side and pulls me into a roll that I pretty certain he learned when while wrestling. I try to keep my voice down, but I let out a squeal. I go from straddling Peeta to him lying in between legs. I wrap my legs around his waist, and pull him into me.
"It seems that you have been watching me wrestle." Peeta teases.
I don't answer; I just pull Peeta in for another kiss. After a time we fall asleep on our sides, chest to chest; with our arms wrapped around each other. I wake up just before dawn to Peeta subconsciously kissing my forehead. I slip back to my room, but not before kissing Peeta good morning. Peeta starts to stir; he opens his eyes to see me slip out the door back to my room. I get a shower and then make my way out to the dining room.
Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but lunch is served in a dining room off the gymnasium; the food is arrange on carts around the room and you feed yourself. The Careers all sit at one table acting rowdy and getting loud, ignoring the rest of us. The rest of the tributes are spread out and eating by themselves. Only Peeta and I are sitting together, per Haymitch's instructions; but to be honest neither us of care about Haymitch's orders anymore. Because of our talk last night, we are moving as a single fluid unit; which pisses the Careers off to no end. Peeta empties the bread basket, but he points out that the Capitol took the time to include the types of bread from the districts, along with the refined breads from the Capitol also. The fish-shaped loaf tinted green from District 4. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds from District 11. Even though there made from the same stuff, it looks more appetizing then the drop biscuits back home.
"And there you have." Peeta says, scooping bread back into the basket.
"You certainly know a lot." I say with a smile.
"Only about bread." Peeta says. "Okay laugh as if I said something funny."
We both give a convincing laugh, my practice at convincing the crowd becoming more credible after a day interacting with Peeta, and we ignore the glance from the rest of the tributes. If we hadn't formed that bond, or had this been anybody else besides Peeta, following Haymitch's orders would have been taxing. But Peeta and I have grown closer since our wrestling/make-out session last night; alas, orders are orders.
"All right I'll keep smiling pleasantly while you keep talking." Peeta says.
"Did ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" I ask.
"No, but it sounds fascinating." Peeta says with a smile.
The emphasis that he put on the f in fascinating cause me to laugh, so I playfully glared back him; to which he just smiled back at me. I tell, with animated features, the true story of how I challenged a black bear for rights to a bee hive. Peeta laughs, and ask question right on cue.
He's definitely better at this than me, but I'm finding my way. I think.
After lunch we find ourselves throwing spears again, but Peeta whispers.
"I think we have a shadow."
I throw my spear which I'm not too bad at, if I don't have to throw it too far; I turn to see the girl from District 11. She's the twelve year old that reminded of Prim in stature. Up close she looks like she's ten. She has dark brown eyes, and soft brown skin. She stands tilted on her toes with her arms slightly extended; as it to take flight at the slightest sound. It's impossible not to think of a bird.
"I think her name is Rue." He says softly.
I bite my lip. Rue is the name of a flower that grows in the Meadow. Rue and Primrose; neither of them could tip the scale at seventy pounds soaking wet.
"What can we do about it?" I ask.
"Nothing we can do about it; I'm just trying to make conversation anyways." Peeta says.
I'm dumbfounded by Peeta's response.
"Jerk." I say, in a playful manner; it's now Peeta's turn to look dumbfounded.
We both share a laugh and go about our business. Now that I know she is there, Rue slips up and joins us at different stations. Like me, Rue's clever with plants, climbs swiftly, and has good aim. Rue can hit the target every time with a slingshot; albeit, a slingshot isn't going to cut it against a 220-pound male with a sword.
Back on the District 12 floor; Effie and Haymitch grill us over breakfast and dinner. They want know what we're doing, how we're doing it, and who's paying attention. Cinna and Portia aren't present, so there is no one to add sanity to the meals. Not that Effie and Haymitch are fighting anymore; on the contrary, they seemed to be of one mind. Giving us endless advice, and whipping us into shape. Peeta is more patient, but I become fed up and surly.
"Somebody needs to get Haymitch a drink." Peeta says, when we escape to his bedroom after dinner the second night.
I make the sound between a snort and a laugh, and we bother laugh even harder at my reaction than Peeta's joke. We fall into a comfortable silence, which we occasional break with bouts of kissing. At one o'clock in the morning I kiss Peeta good night, and then head back to my room.
After lunch on the third day they start to call us out for our private session with the Gamemakers. District by district, beginning with the boys first. We linger in the dining room, seeing as there is nowhere else to go. As the room empties out we cut back on the banter; and then when Rue leaves, we sit in silence until Peeta is call. Peeta is called away, so he rises and starts to walk away; but not before I do two things.
"Peeta." I say.
Peeta looks back at me to see that I'm holding my hand out palm up. Peeta rest his hand in mine, and I fold his fingers into my hand so I can kiss his hand. He's taken back by my affection, and before he can comment I speak up.
"Remember what Haymitch said about throwing weights." I say, as if to wish him good luck.
"Thanks, I will." Peeta says. "And you… shoot straight."
And with that Peeta takes his leave. I think about Peeta and lifting, or throwing the weights around; if I lose I want Peeta to win, that way Prim and mother will be taken care of. Fifteen minutes later they call my name. I smooth my hair out, and set my shoulders back.
Oh crap! I think upon entering the gymnasium.
I knew the moment I entered I was in trouble. The Gamemakers have been here to long, and are bored from sitting through twenty-three other demonstrations.
No offense Peeta. I think.
They are bored, probably had too much to drink, and want nothing more than to go home. I've come this far, might as well go the rest of the way. I walk over to the archery station.
The weapon of my salvation. I've been dying to get my hands of this thing for the past three days. I think.
There are bows made of wood, plastic, and a material I can't even begin to name. Arrows with feathers cut in uniform lines. I choose a bow and sling a quiver of arrows over my shoulder. The targets on the current range have limit view, so I head to the range for knife throwing. As I go to shoot my first arrow I know something is wrong. The string is tighter compared to the one back home; the arrows are too rigid. I miss the dummy by a couple of inches, and lose what little attention I had been commanding. I head back to the archery range took a few more shots to get the feel for the weapon. When I find my rhythm I try again, heading back to the center of the gymnasium and hit the dummy in the bulls-eye. I then hit the rope that's holding the sandbag for boxing; the bag splits open upon making contact with the ground. Without missing a beat I do a forward shoulder roll, and then bracing on one knee after coming out of the roll, and hit one of the hanging lights on the ceiling; causing sparks to fly out of the fixture.
It was the best shooting I have ever done. I turn back to the Gamemakers, and a few nod their heads in approval; while the rest are fixated on the hog roast that was brought out moments ago.
Suddenly I'm furious. My life is on the line, and they don't have the decency to pay attention to me. I'm being up staged by a dead pig. My heart starts to pound, and my face is burning. Without thinking I pull an arrow out of the quiver and aim it in the direction of the Gamemakers, and let it fly. The next thing I hear is the Gamemakers gasp in shock. I hit the apple out of the pig's mouth, pinning it the wall behind them. They turn and stare at me in awe, and shocked amazement.
"Thank you. For your consideration." I say.
I give a bow, and then discard my bow and arrows next to the weapons station. I leave the room without being formally dismissed.
