Chapter Eight
Katniss can't quite hide the disappointment on her face before she covers it with an indifferent mask. I look away from her before she can look at me. But I get off easy.
"Good," she says. "So, what's the schedule?"
"You'll each have four hours with me for presentation and with Effie for deportment. You'll start with Effie - I'll work with you this afternoon."
I watch Katniss and Effie disappear down the hall, then turn to find Haymitch's eyes glinting on me.
"What?" I ask nervously.
"You have it bad," he says.
I'm not used to speaking about this sort of thing openly, so I stutter on my words. "I don't - yeah - well …."
"Don't make this all about some crush on a girl," he says. "Think about what you're doing."
I don't know - it seems as good a reason as any other. But Haymitch doesn't seem the sentimental sort, so I don't bother to argue. It's all business from here on out. "Do you have any updates for me?"
"Yeah, I have a plan. First off, I know the District 4 mentors pretty well and I've put in the word that you'd like to join them. District 4 Careers aren't like 1 or 2. They're pretty well-trained, but not as ruthlessly nor as consistently. The Capitol doesn't favor them as much. And they are tight-knit, fishermen. They take care of each other in a way we don't in 12." He eyes me as if it's my fault and suddenly I'm thinking of Haymitch not as the hopeless Victor of District 12 but as the coal miner's son who probably had to take out tesserae. The kind of kid my friends always expected would go in their - in our - places. And in this flash of understanding about Haymitch's resentment, I finally understand Katniss'. I'm - such an idiot.
And so I say it. "I'm sorry," I tell him. I'm the one who is dying and he's set for life, but in this moment - I actually feel it: how, at least by way of birth, our roles in life were meant to be reversed. It sucks and - it sucks. "You're right; we don't."
But Haymitch waves off my words and the moment passes. "So - they're not bad kids, Careers or not. And they're kind of tired of the constant losing out to 1 and 2. It's been five years since 4 won a Game, and that was basically by accident. So they might consider taking you as an ally within the Career pack, to help them break off from the others when the time comes. After that, though - you'd be on your own."
I nod. "How will they persuade 1 and 2 to take me?"
Haymitch frowns. "If they can be persuaded that you can lead them to Katniss."
I draw in my breath. "Really? Why?"
"They're scared of her now. Since she won't join them, they'll want to get rid of her right away. So - if we can arrange this - here's how it will work. You get in with the Careers at the cornucopia and avoid the bloodbath. Let them fight it out. You'll be able to grab a weapon and you should make a show of swinging it around, but I have to warn you…."
"Yes?"
Haymitch spastically taps his mouth for a few seconds. "Defend yourself if you must, but killing - killing people. There's no easy getting over it."
I look from his hazy, bloodshot eyes to the empty glass on the table. "Absolutely," I say. "I'm – I - I don't look forward to it – at all."
He shrugs unhappily. "Thanks to Katniss' antics yesterday, there will definitely be a bow and arrows at the cornucopia. Hopefully, I can persuade her not to go for it, because she will be cut down before she can get her hands on it. But you need to make sure that you end up with it. So that if you do cross paths with her, you can get it to her. If she gets it - she has a chance."
"More than a chance. How do I get rid of the Careers, at least 1 and 2? Should I - should I kill them in their sleep, or - what do I do?"
"I doubt you get that opportunity. They will hunt for Katniss. You hunt with them. Turn on them when they find her, not before that. They'll kill you the minute they sense something is up. So - that's the other thing you have to do. You're going to have to put up two acts at once. You up for that?"
I smile. Living with my mother - acting was a survival skill. Just not one I expected to bring to the arena. "What do you mean?"
"Obviously, you're going to have to pretend you've turned on Katniss, to the Careers. But at the same time, you're going to have to find a way to convince Panem that it is a double deal. That you are trying to protect her."
"OK," I say slowly. "You mean - in the arena? Why? How?"
"Well, for one thing, I'm not going to be the mentor who endorsed my tributes turning on each other. You'll want to protect your reputation at home, too, dead or alive. Better for your memory, better for your family. And also - better for Katniss. After all this fire and shooting at Gamemakers, I've got to try to soften her image. The people here - the sponsors - they are fickle with their likes and dislikes. If they think that you two are actually allies - friends, even - or better … they will root for you, both of you. They'll find it - quaint. Unusual. Hopefully - compelling."
"How do I do that?"
He eyes me for a long time. "There will be cameras, everywhere, in there. You step away from your pack once or twice, whisper her name - wonder out loud about her. Keep reminding people that you are really trying to protect her, even risking your life to do it - they will eat that up. And it will be at least as beneficial for her as it is for you."
I try to imagine myself muttering Katniss' name to the moonlight in the arena and I shake my head. "Isn't that going to seem out of context?"
"You have to provide the context. Tomorrow night."
Tomorrow night? At the interview? Then I realize what he's saying. "Oh," I say. "But - what about the Careers? Won't they be suspicious of me if I - say stuff about that? How can I convince everyone else of one thing and them of the total opposite?"
"You won't need to. They know the interviews are bullshit - they won't really believe you no matter what you say. All they need from you is for you to be helpful in finding Katniss. What they believe is that they can get rid of both of you, as long as they can flush her out - and they are right about that. You're the one who needs to watch for signs that they are ready to get rid of you - always remember, their alliance is designed to break. Trust and betrayal are two sides of the same coin in the arena."
I nod. Everything he has said makes sense. It's risky - he's not pretending that it's not risky. But he's right. If nothing else, it's the way to acquire the bow for Katniss and to join her in a fight against the Careers if it comes down to it. But it comes at quite a cost. Not that I would be lying - not about the one thing. But to announce it, in front of the entire country…. "Shouldn't we warn Katniss about the plan ahead of time?" I ask.
Haymitch shakes his head. "Katniss can't act. She can barely hide her contempt for the Capitol. She'll be lucky if she can get out of the arena without being personally blasted by the Gamemakers. That's one of the reasons she needs this. But she'll object, and if we warn her ahead of time, we won't be able to predict what her on-camera reaction will be. Surprise is the best thing we can hope for - and it will be genuine, too, which is invaluable on that stage."
"Even if ... she thinks it might be true? On my end, I mean."
"From what I know of her so far - she'll need a lot of convincing on that front."
That's true - unfortunately. I rub the place where he hit me a couple of days ago. Also, where Katniss kissed me.
"Do you need to practice?" he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.
I shake my head. "I'm not sure. How do I bring it up - in the interview?"
"There are ways to make the transition," says Haymitch. "And Caesar is damn good at picking up cues."
So, we spend the rest of the morning working with various prompts. It's actually quite easy - figuring out how to turn a conversation to my benefit. Haymitch is visibly pleased with me, and we're wrapping up as lunch is served. Katniss reappears noisily, stomping through the suite. She's wearing a long skirt, which she is holding up above her knees, the better to pound her feet. Her face is stormy - so the morning continued badly for her - and she refuses to look at me all through lunch. It makes me very uneasy about Haymitch's plans.
I give Haymitch a thumbs-up as I head back to my room, where I meet up with Effie. She's also not in the best mood and without preamble, she says to me, "Thank goodness, there's so much less work you need than Katniss."
She and I spend about an hour making sure my handshake is firm and my posture upright. She has me run through some elocution exercises and is pleased with my voice - though, she says, if she had enough time with me, she might be able to correct my District 12 "accent." I really hope she didn't try that line on Katniss.
As promised, Portia arrives at the end of the afternoon, and Effie - thanking me for giving her such an easy day - leaves us alone. I thumb through Portia's sketchbook - it's a beautiful oversized leather book, filled with color sketches, and pinned with fabric swatches. I get a preview of my outfit for tomorrow, which is just a suit with flame accents.
I glance up as Portia starts humming to herself - a song that is vaguely familiar. She's rooting through her bag and pulling out various items - pens, brushes, sheets of paper. It's still odd to me, when she acts so normal - so unlike anything I expected from a person not only from the Capitol but also employed by the Games. If I had passed her in the road, just by her looks alone - just the unnatural yellow color of her hair, the badge of her Capitol identity - I would have loathed her. But - she's not loathsome.
"Ah!" she says, pulling a wrinkled square out of the bag. She looks over at me and grins at my startled expression. Then she unfolds the paper - it's a flyer for the school wrestling tournament. I gasp.
"They found it with your clothes on the train. Sign it for me?" she asks with a grin. "And maybe you could draw something - show me what you got."
That's odd. I changed my clothes for the Reaping; I don't remember transferring this flyer to my good trousers. "Sign it?" I ask, holding out my hands. "Why?"
"Boy, don't you know how famous you are about to be?"
I blink, but there's such an irresistible twinkle in her eye that I can't help but grinning in return. "Right," I say. Then I flip the page over and in one quarter of the sheet, I quickly draw the fence line of District 12: Meadow in the foreground, forest in the back. Safety, imprisonment, division ... home. So much conflict, and so unnecessary. I mean the Capitol no harm. If it let me live ... or, if it just let her live ... but no, I don't think so. I think life itself is probably not enough for Katniss, like it was for me. She doesn't keep herself safe, confined. She kicks down fences, demands attention - she fights. And for her sake, so must I.
Katniss doesn't join us for dinner that night and Haymitch is roaring drunk and peevish. I can't get anything out of him and Effie doesn't even try. Before I go to bed, I finally ask him, anxiously, "Bad session with Katniss?"
"Let me put it this way, kid," he says sourly. "Her reputation is up to you, now."
I have a really hard time getting to sleep and then I end up sleeping in - almost until 10. When I stagger out to the dining room, I find Haymitch, looking green, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. "Where's Katniss?"
"In her room - with her prep team."
"Oh - should I be somewhere?" I ask in confusion.
"Yours is coming after lunch. You don't need the same amount of prep."
"Oh." So I start breakfast.
"You're in," he says abruptly.
My heart starts thumping erratically. Part of me was hoping the whole plan would fall apart and I could skip out on my planned production tonight and take the easiest path tomorrow - run from the cornucopia, hide out somewhere, and wait for death to find me. Tomorrow!
"The District 4 tributes are Dylan and Bet. The District 2 mentors say Cato and Clove are on board, as well."
"And 1?" I swallow.
"One will follow 2. Two are the ones to beat this year. Both of them are head and shoulders above everyone else in terms of capability."
I nod.
"Portia will take you downstairs before Katniss is finished - you'll get a very brief chance to make eye contact, nod, whatever. They have some idea about what is going down tonight, if my 4 contact did his job."
"What?!"
"They think you're intimidated by Katniss, as well, but you'll be trying to fool her into thinking you are on her side."
I touch my head - the headache that has plagued me off and on since the Reaping is threatening a comeback. "OK," I say. "Got it. I think."
When my prep team arrives, it's mostly a repeat of the parade day. I am directed to the shower with specific bottles of shampoo and soap, and when I come out I smell kind of sweet and buttery at the same time. While I sit with a towel draped across my hips, my face and neck are slathered with first a gel, then a cream; my fingernails are re-buffed and painted with a polish that is clear except for some silvery glitter; my hair is sprayed and gelled and curled again. I watch my skin and hair take on a shiny, glittery quality, which I'm assured will look like magic under the stage lights.
Portia enters with my suit - very simple black suit and leather shoes. At the sleeves of the jacket and the cuffs of the pants are an homage to the flames from opening night. They are drawn in flat gemstones of yellow, red and blue, and they flash in the light, like my skin. Portia observes me for a moment, then goes into her bag and brings out a little container.
"Lip gloss," she says, brushing my mouth with a clear, silky gel. "There we go. So, we have to take you downstairs really quick to meet - some of the other tributes."
"You know," I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. "I know. But - Peeta - don't give up entirely on your own life. You never know what will happen."
I return her squeeze. It's nice to feel that there is at least one person here who is actually on my side.
Down in the lobby on the first floor - where our chariots dropped us off - the other tributes are starting to gather. We'll be walking out to the city circle and sitting on a stage set up right in front of the president's mansion. I see Cato and Clove, immediately. They're laughing together, looking just like a couple of teenagers enjoying the night. Portia finds someone in the crowd and nods to him - a familiar-looking mentor I've probably seen before - a young man - and he nudges two tributes in front of him. I've seen them before, of course, but didn't really watch how they did during the training sessions. Both boy and girl have golden-brown hair and bronze skin. We all nod to each other, and then I meet Cato's eyes, and he looks me over. I'm bigger than either tribute from 4 and I scored as well in training, and maybe that's what he's thinking when he nods to me.
Portia takes me back upstairs, and we wait by the elevators for Katniss and Cinna. I feel sick to my stomach and her appearance doesn't help. Of course, she's gorgeous. Her entire dress is made of gems, and the same flame pattern on my suit is repeated in large on her skirt. When she moves, she captures the light at every possible angle and her skin, like mine, is glowing. But I've got used to seeing her up close, and I focus on her expression. She looks very determined - her chin lifts up, defiantly - but she's not entirely composed and her anxiety not entirely hidden.
I haven't seen her for the better part of two days, and I know she's mad at me, but it is good - just to see her. To feel the fluttering sensation in my gut again. To remind myself why I'm going through with all this.
Haymitch and Effie join us - Haymitch looking remarkably clean and stylish in a dark blue suit. We go down and he guides us to our familiar place at the back of the line. I'll be the last interview. As the doors open and we hear the music, he growls at us, "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."
I wonder what he wants me to do - touch her back as we walk in? I wouldn't dare. Nor does Katniss make any kind of conciliatory gesture. So, we just shuffle behind the others in a single line, and walk out into an evening sky that is completely overwhelmed by the bright lights surrounding the stage.
It's unnerving, seeing this all from the viewpoint of a tribute, instead of as an audience member. The cameras add glamour through subtraction. From home, I never saw the scaffolding, the cords, the fresh cuts on the plywood. The balconies on the nearby buildings, including the 2nd and 3rd floor balconies of the tribute center, are filled with Gamemakers and camera crews. Elevated seats - like the ones that lined the avenue during the parade - are set up to face the stage. I can see Portia and Cinna near the front. Beyond the seats, the avenue is filling with people, and the screens that are set up all around us show the side-streets filling up, as well.
I think about the town square at home. Mandatory viewing - the screens will be on and the square will be crowded with people. It's always so noisy. I used to be able to look out my bedroom window and crane my head just a little bit to watch the big screens. But my family will probably be watching from our apartment today. Better not think about that. Better not. I can't afford to lose my nerve.
Before I know it, Caesar Flickerman - the interview host - bounces on-stage. He's a slight, short man who has looked exactly the same my entire life. His long face is caked in white makeup, concealing his true age, which I think is pretty advanced. Same suit as every year - dark blue, dotted with tiny lights. Same hairstyle - piled high up on his head - just a different color every year. This year, it's light blue, and his lips and eyelids are painted to match - as always.
Caesar starts with a few jokes that seem to land with his audience; they're incomprehensible to me. Then, he begins, calling Glimmer, the District 1 female tribute, up to join him at the stage. I check out at that point. Perhaps I should be paying attention, but there are only two things I can concentrate on. One is my planned speech. Two is the girl next to me - her knee shaking against my leg.
When she is called up, I watch her anxiously. Haymitch wants her softer and she is definitely this, while still managing to be herself. Caesar helps her over her initial stage fright - when he asks what she's most impressed with about the Capitol, she mentions food. True. When he questions her about her opening night costume, she makes a gentle joke about her fear of being burned alive, then an honest compliment of Cinna. She twirls, and her skirt flashes and sparks as if it's on fire, too. Then he asks her about her training score - I perk up at this, nervous - but she demurs, reminding Caesar that the private sessions with the Gamemakers can't be discussed. Finally, he ends on her volunteering and she tells the truth here, even when Caesar asks her about Prim and what Prim said to her when she said goodbye. I sense Katniss' tension when she says, "She asked me to try really hard to win. … I swore I would."
The buzzer goes off just then and Katniss is applauded soundly and sent back to her seat. I want to give her a reassuring pat as I stand in my turn, but I can't bring myself to do it. My mouth is dry.
"So, Peeta Mellark - the baker's boy from District 12! I understand you're a great authority on District breads."
Well, that's a chilling way to start. Were they recording our conversations in the gym lunchroom? But I play along. I compare the green, seaweedy biscuits from District 4 to the green-eyed District 4 tributes. The cream-filled District 1 rolls to the luxury district. Etc. It's strained at times but, to my surprise, it comes easily to me - talking to Caesar, talking to the audience, which laughs and shouts in response to me. But I need to turn Caesar's thoughts to romance. "You didn't ask me what I find most impressive about the Capitol," I tell him.
"What's that?" grins Caesar, as if he's genuinely enjoying this conversation.
"My shower," I reply with a wink, which draws both laughs and catcalls. "I've never been more terrified of soap. Tell me, do I still smell like roses?"
I lean in and he makes a show of sniffing me. Of course I don't, but he says, "Maybe, yes …. What about me?"
Then we're making a huge show of sniffing each other, and the audience is screaming with laughter. "Well," I say, at the end of this run. "Maybe it's something that girls like."
More catcalls. And I look directly at the audience - it's hard to make out faces in the glare of the lights - and nod, as if we're all in agreement about something. (Involve the audience, says Haymitch in my head. You're a character on TV to them - a pawn on a game board. Make them look at you as if you were real.)
"Don't you have a girlfriend back home?"
Bingo. I pause to catch my breath - to pause on the precipice - then shake my head.
"Handsome lad like you? There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"
I blink into the bright lights. "Well - there's this one girl I've had a crush on ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."
A sigh floats through the crowd.
"She have another fellow?"
"I don't know, but - a lot of boys like her."
Caesar plays along just as if he had received my script. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"
My heart starts thumping erratically and I'm not sure how successful I am at pulling off the sad expression I need next. "I don't think it's going to work out," I say, sounding hoarse and somewhat unconvincing in my own ears - which is weird, because this is the part of the interview that is actually true. "Winning - won't help in my case."
"Whyever not?"
My blush is not put on; I'm genuinely mortified to be saying this, here and now. Even my stammer - hopefully effective - is real. "Because - because she came here with me."
