PEETA
The arrows buried themselves deep in the bull's-eye, striking so close to each other that the shafts knocked together as they vibrated from the impacts. When the black-haired girl finally lowered the bow, there were a dozen arrows sticking out of the bull's-eye, all touching.
Peeta was pretty sure that if his jaw hadn't been attached to his face, it would've shattered against the floor by now.
"Well," someone said. Peeta turned to see the District Two boy tilting his head back as he looked at the target. "I guess the Girl on Fire has some fire inside, after all."
There was some unnerved chuckling. At once, Peeta understood the shift in the atmosphere. Every other tribute was sizing her up, contemplating how they could get her to join their alliance.
No wonder she sat alone at lunch, he thought, heart sinking. Why would she need to make friends when she can do that?
"If you're done," came a new voice. They all turned toward the speaker as she stepped out of the staff elevator. "it's time to prepare you all for the arena."
Tension danced in the air between everyone as the woman strode toward them. This part of the Intergalactic Games wasn't shown on television, which meant none of them knew what to expect beyond vague hints they'd picked up after years of watching tributes get shipped off to die. For some tributes, the lack of knowledge made them more attentive; for others, it made them fidgety.
"My name is Atala," the woman went on, stopping on a rubber mat on the floor. "I am the head training instructor for the Intergalactic Games. Right now, I'm the one standing between you and certain death. If you're smart, you'll use the next three days to learn something new, something more complex than using a sword or a bow." Her dark eyes slid over to the District Twelve girl. Peeta followed her gaze, noting the coolness in the girl's eyes, the way she stood straight and calm under Atala's stare.
She's strong, inside and out, Peeta thought, as Atala went on to talk about the benefits of survival training over combat experience. I should talk to her, see if she's open to an alliance.
Immediately, he wanted to discard the thought. This girl wouldn't be interested in a baker's son. He had nothing to offer her except for the group of misfits he'd assembled at lunch, and even those bonds were tentative, ready to be broken at the slightest tug. Besides, the District Twelve boy had made it pretty clear that they had no interest in aligning with him.
Atala concluded her lecture, reminding them once again that there was to be no fighting before the Games, then let them scatter to the different stations. Peeta stood idle for a few moments, torn between approaching the girl before the others moved in and actually getting some practice with things he hadn't learned. When he caught a dark glance from the District Twelve boy, Peeta averted his eyes and hurried over to the nearest station.
That station was all about tying knots. Or, at least, that was what he assumed, when he saw the coils of rope, wire, and other miscellaneous materials strewn out across the floor. The instructor at that station smiled as he approached, eager to have someone to train. Belatedly, Peeta realized that most of the Careers and a good portion of the other tributes had gone straight to the weapon racks to hone their skills.
He wondered, briefly, how he was going to die and how long he'd last before that happened.
"Do you have any experience with tying knots?" the instructor asked. Peeta shook his head; poaching was illegal in District Nine, and having worked in a bakery for the majority of his life, he'd never even tried hunting or setting snares.
Maybe hunting is legal in District Twelve, he thought, contemplating the girl's archery skills. Surely, she couldn't have learned so much without extensive practice. Unless she hunted illegally.
He frowned, his image of the girl shifting around the thought. What if she wasn't trained? What if she was just a rebel? Would the Capitol go out of its way to punish her in the arena, or would they cheer her on as Earth's greatest hope?
The instructor was going on about how to properly tie a slipknot. Peeta focused, figuring this step was integral to the setup of the actual trap. Ten minutes later, as the instructor talked him through a trap that could lift a hundred-pound animal six feet into the air, Peeta understood the importance of good knot work. You could hang a person from a trap like this, he thought, repeating the steps with some gentle coaching from the man in front of him.
"You have to tie it tighter than that."
Peeta looked up, startled by the unfamiliar voice. The girl from District Twelve loomed over him, staring at the rope in his hand. When he met her gaze, her ash-grey eyes narrowed, and the muscles in her neck stood up.
"Thanks," he murmured, glancing self-consciously at the knot. She sat down beside him and picked up a coil of rope for herself. She set to work, mimicking the steps he'd taken to get this far, then taking advice from the instructor when she surpassed him. Peeta struggled to keep up, feeling ridiculously inadequate as he watched her deft fingers wrap the flexible cord into knots. In half the time it had taken him to finish the first three steps, she'd produced a flawless trap.
"Would you like to learn how to make a fishing net next?" the instructor asked, eyes bright as he noted his new pupil's talent. Peeta finished making his trap, stomach bunching up when he compared it to the girl's. Only when he felt her eyes on his face did he dare to look up.
"What do you think?" she asked him. "There'll have to be a water source in the arena, so there will probably be fish. Are you up to making nets?"
"I would slow you down, trying to figure it out." He moved to stand, but froze when she snorted.
"That's why we're practicing. And we're all on the same team, so the more you know, the better it is for both of us. Here." She handed him a rope, then looked back toward the instructor. The man looked baffled at their exchange, but showed them the first step to making a good net. This was actually easier than making a trap. Except for the first and last steps, making a net was all about reproducing the same knot over and over. Once he got the hang of it, he was able to move quickly, matching the girl knot for knot.
"So," he said, trying to think of a way to align with her when he had so little to offer. "You're pretty good with a bow."
"It's a hobby. My father taught me."
He nodded, noticing the way her face softened when she mentioned her father. "Are you two close?"
"We were. And then he died." The tenderness slipped away, replaced by the stoic mask she'd worn while shooting. Her hands continued dancing over her half-formed net. Their instructor murmured something, and she undid the last two knots and retied them. Her calm expression never faltered.
"So, your district partner . . . Is he really your lover or—"
"Gale is a friend." Her eyes flickered around the room, lingering on the District Twelve boy. With dark hair and olive skin, Gale could've been her cousin. "The star-crossed lovers bit is something the Capitol made up."
"Ah." He nodded in sympathy, finishing another row of knots.
"He thinks he's protecting me," she said, lowering her voice. "But he can't. Even if Earth did win, what are the odds either of us will make it to the end?"
"I think you'd make it."
Her hands froze around the rope; her head whipped around. "What?"
"I think, if Earth won, you'd probably be one of the survivors. I mean, look." He gestured to the Career pack, where they were driving spears through training dummies and slashing at instructors with blunted swords. "So far, you're the only one I've seen who can even use a ranged weapon."
"That's not true. The girl from Two can throw knives."
He shrugged. "Okay, but—"
"Peeta," she said. A shiver shot down his spine. She remembered my name. "How often do you see ranged weapons in the arena?"
"Well . . . not very, I guess."
She nodded. "Most of the time, the planets supply their tributes with melee weapons, like swords and spears. It's more interesting than watching one tribute snipe the aliens whenever they come too close to their Sanctuary. I'll be lucky if there's a single bow in the arena, let alone one I can get my hands on."
"So why are you tying knots when you could be learning how to use a sword?" The question jumped to his lips without passing through his mind, and he winced at the challenge in his own voice.
Again, her hands paused over the net she was weaving. "I'm avoiding Gale, actually."
Peeta arched an eyebrow.
She sighed. "He's been my best friend for years, but having him here, knowing what's ahead . . . I don't like it. It's bad enough I have to be here. I shouldn't have to worry about my best friend getting killed, too."
"I'm sorry things ended up that way."
"Yeah." She tied off the end of her net and turned to the instructor. "Thanks for the tips."
"No problem," the man said, as she turned toward the weapon racks.
"Wait," Peeta called, reaching for her. His fingertips brushed the back of her hand, and she whipped around, body going rigid. His hand jerked back so fast, he lost his balance and fell backward.
"Yes?" she asked stiffly.
"I . . . I never got your name. I think I should know, since we're on the same team."
Her jaw flexed, her grey eyes turning to flint. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed. "Katniss Everdeen, District Twelve."
"I'm Peeta Mellark, District Nine."
She nodded, started to turn, then paused. After a long moment, she spoke again. "You seem nice, Peeta. Try not to die, okay?"
"Yeah," he muttered as she left. "Sure."