The next day, I wake to a frantic knock on my door. The heavy handed raps belong to my father, and I recognize them immediately. My eyes refuse to open, but I speak anyway.
"Yes?" I mumble, turning my mouth away from my pillow to be heard. Perhaps I should recognize the gravity of the situation at that moment, but my exhaustion makes it impossible to process anything.
My door swings open, and my eyes snap wide at the sound. Daddy stands in the doorway, looking exhausted and rumpled instead of rested and fresh at this early hour.
"The President just sent us a message," He says, his voice low and gravelly.
My heart skips a beat and I snap up in bed. President Snow? What could he want? My mind flits a million directions, from the Hob to the fence before Daddy speaks again.
"He wants to speak to you," he begins, answering my unspoken question. He flicks my light switch, flooding the room with bright artificial sunshine. I wince.
"Get dressed. Quickly."
And with those hurried, brusque words, he is gone. The door slams behind him, and I am left leering at his clipped tone. My father never speaks to me like that. But I could hear it. Fear. Fear bubbles within every tense word.
And then his words hit me like a barrel of coal. President Snow. President Snow wants to speak to me. The thought makes me want to leap out of bed to action and yet hide under my blankets all at once. I do the former, knowing what disobedience means. Play the part, I think to myself as I stand before my mirror and dress. If you play your role, everything will be alright.
Moments later, I am in the living room, where the entire Capitol team is waiting for me. The primping team sets to work, putting me in a chair and ensuring that I am up to Capitol standards. It simply won't do to have me look less than my best. My lips are covered in a heavy red paint. They powder my cheeks with a pink chalk-like substance, deciding against the heavy white cream base that the rest of them wear. My face is blanched enough as it is, shocked white by my nerves. I am created in the image of the Capitol, my every good feature highlighted and my every flaw tucked away.
My hair is twisted painfully around ornate pins built in the shape of our District symbol and I feel the headache coming on. District pride is painful, I think wryly to myself as I close my eyes against the heartbeat developing in the front of my skull. The prep team prattles on endlessly, assuring me that they won't use the whole interview, just the pieces that make me look best. And they may not even use the interview at all. Somehow, I am not comforted. My father sits in his chair in the center of the room, watching with a cool, impassive look that only betrays how nervous he really is.
They set up the interview in front of the window that overlooks my dutifully kept garden, the only window in the house that doesn't look out over poverty and squalor. From this view, District Twelve looks positively idyllic. At this hour, the sun slants its way through the window gently, brushing past the curtains without a care, completely oblivious to the broken and struggling lives it is glowing past. The window peers over my garden, giving way to the forest and the hills in the distance. At this angle, District Twelve is paradise.
"Now, Madge," the woman whose name is Vicki, speaks to me as she sinks into a seat across from me, off camera, "All you have to do is answer the questions and don't forget to smile. Can you do that for me?"
She speaks as though I am a stupid child she is trying to coax into an unappealing activity. She is all smiles and high pitch lilts. I notice the red light on the camera that now sits before me, staring me down like the eye of God. It's the eye of Snow, I think, which is practically the same thing. I tear my gaze away from it and stare at a screen to the right. It stands at the same height of the camera, and it displays the Capitol logo, spinning in lazy, controlled circles.
"Will President Snow be there?" I ask, ignoring her question all together.
She giggles, joined by her friends from the Capitol, as though I have said something immensely silly. My father, sitting stoically in his chair, cannot even find it in himself to feign laughter for our guests. He merely watches our conversation with blatant interest and veiled fear.
"Oh, no! President Snow is far too busy, but he sent a few questions of his own!"
She leans a small telescreen in my direction before laying it in her lap. There are questions typed out across the screen, blinking in bright green against a black backdrop.
"The Capitol is so excited about the star-crossed lovers you know, and President Snow always gives his support to the Capitol favorites."
"Oh," I breathe, as though I understand, though I do not, "Is this live?"
She gives me a look as though this is something I should know. I am a silly girl. She shakes her head, her pink bouffant curls taking perfectly in place as though they are made of metal.
"Of course not!" she chides, waving a hand at me, "Only tributes and victors have live interviews. You can have as many takes a you like, and the team in the Capitol edits them all together. We want to give you every opportunity to say precisely what you want to say."
Her words are meant to comfort me, but they don't. A rock settles in the pit of my stomach and my face blanches beneath the mountains of makeup. Say the lines they want to hear, I think to myself. If you just say what they want to hear, they'll help Katniss. And if you don't, you'll be an Avox by morning. Play the game. Play the game.
They give a countdown and then the red light begins to blink. I concentrate all of my nervous energy into smiling, praying that it looks genuine.
"State your name and District," she begins clinically, reading off of the script in her hands, a script I wish I was privy to.
I gulp, but keep my painful smile plastered across my face. I feel the heat of several gazes baring down onto me, the eyes of my father and the Capitol alike. I flush. My foot taps against our carpet, my anxiety evident. I say a silent prayer that the camera shows me only from the waist up.
"Madge Undersee. District Twelve," I give a wave and a smile, "Hello."
I even have the audacity to bat my eyelashes. That's it, Madge. Turn on the charm. Lay it on thick and Katniss may even get something out of this. The world is watching. You never know who might want to help.
"Now, Madge," the familiarity of my name on this woman's lips is jarring, "Your father is the Mayor in District Twelve, isn't he?"
I nod, unsure of where this line of questioning is going, or why anyone in the Capitol is the least bit interested in Daddy. I nod and look to her, but she cuts me off before I can open my mouth.
"Into the camera, dear," she says, her smile unmoving though I can hear the annoyance drip like a steady rain.
"Right. Sorry," I say before correcting my gaze.
The little red light seems blinding and the camera looms in the forefront of my vision dangerously. I want nothing more than to turn away, but I do not. I stand my ground.
"Yes. My father is Mayor here in District Twelve."
Vicki nods encouragingly, as though I've just done something grand, though I have answered the most basic of questions.
"And how is your mother? She was quite the piano player when she was young. It says here that they tried to keep her in the Capitol, but she just couldn't resist your father."
There is a glint in the woman's eye that is supposed to encourage me to tell some grand romantic story, but there is not one to tell. Yes, my mother loved my father. And it destroyed both of them in the end. I think to the sleeping woman upstairs, trapped in a small room and deluded by her morphling nightmares of Maysilee's games. I remember that these are President Snow's questions; he is the one prodding and pulling the strings here. He harmed my mother. He has harmed countless others. And he can so much more damage. So much more.
"My mother is fine," I say in a show of reassurance, a little more stiffly than before.
This shift does not go unnoticed by Vicki. She shoots me a look that stings across the small room.
"And you are glad that the Capitol is helping her, aren't you?"
I almost gulp, but when I see my father excuse himself, I don't. I remain strong. So, they are going to threaten my family, are they?
"Yes. The Capitol takes great care of her."
This isn't entirely true. But half truths will do for now. Better half truths now then full truths today and a bombed house tomorrow.
"And you are close with the District Twelve's only victor, Haymitch Abernathy, yes?"
Oh. Oh. That is a thin ice question, I think to myself. Haymitch is the shining Exhibit A of the Capitol's supreme power. He is the example, the man they have put on display as if to say, "Would you rather suffer as you are, or would you rather suffer as he does?" I decide on a compromise that Haymitch will probably be too saturated in liquor to understand.
"It is the duty of the Mayor's family to look after the living victors," I say as I fold my hands in my lap.
It is true, after all. Mayors are obligated to look after and take care of their victors, as extensions of the Capitol. But that isn't the reason I treat Haymitch like family.
"We are able to take good care of Haymitch because he is our only victor. Hopefully this year he will have a friend in the village."
That's it, Madge, I think to myself. Twist the knife. Show Katniss your support.
"Quite good. Quite good. Now, the entire nation saw your artwork on television the other afternoon."
My artwork? I want to ask. I don't draw. But my confusion is cleared when she picks a photo off of her lap and holds it up to me. Gale and I hold hands while the Bloodbath plays in the background. Then, another picture of Gale and I locked in a near-kiss. My stomach rolls at that fresh wound. President Snow made up this program. President Snow has seen Gale and I dating. He knows. I struggle to breathe as I wipe my sweating palms on the hem of my dress.
"Does your father know? I imagine it was quite a shock for him to see you with this boy rather than at his side."
I shake my head, staring into the camera, at the ominous blinking red light. My palms are sweating; my stomach is churning. But I smile.
"My father has always known, and he approves."
I add the last bit before she can ask. It would not look good for the Mayor's daughter to run around without her father's permission.
"Ah, I see."
My entire body flushes at that. Have I just made a mistake?
"And how long have you known this boy? Gale Hawthorne is his name, isn't it?"
Her words slide from her tongue and wrap around me like a snake. I feel like I am suffocating. In the midst of everything happening this morning, I completely forgot about Gale's charade last night. I flush at the thought. Gale's manipulation is fresh and painful, but I have to play at young love. The cameras are on and I cannot disappoint. But more than that, there is the implication, the ease with which she says his name. As though she knows him or has spoken of him often.
"Yes."
It's all I can manage to say; I ignore her question about how long weave known each other, even though I know the answer. Too many thoughts swirl around my head to formulate them into words. Snow knows Gale. And he must know that this isn't real. President Snow is not a fool or a sheep. He will not be swayed by a few pictures, not like the Capitol. My stomach rolls as I imagine what my punishment will be. I'll be an Avox by morning. I'll be whipped or exiled or executed.
"And how long have you two been together?"
I snap back to reality, pulled away from my dark thoughts and my shaking hands. Again, I wonder fleetingly why anyone in the Capitol cares about us. Shouldn't they worry about Katniss? Don't they have children to murder? And if Snow is going to out our plot, why not just do it now?
"Uh-" I begin, and my smile falters for the first time.
"There's no need to be nervous, Madge, dear. The rumor is that the two of you have been together as long as the games. Is that so?" She is trying to sound helpful, but it sounds bitter and sharp from her mouth.
I hesitate. Should I admit to that?
"It must have been somewhere around there," I finally decide.
That's a safe enough answer, right?
"Yes. And is it serious? Do you think it's love?"
I look away from the camera into the television screen displaying the national emblem. From the corner of my eye, I can see Vicki smile beneath her thick lipstick, and I know her words are more than they appear.
Snow knows. And he wants to know if I'm willing to keep this up. I will live as long as I do not upset the balance and order.
I smile shyly at the floor.
"Maybe," I say, playing coy and implying things of my own.
I keep my head down, staring at my nails like a bashful schoolgirl.
"And what about his family? I know his father is dead-" Her blunt assessment knocks the wind out of me, "but the rest of them must love you. His mother, Hazelle Hawthorne, and his younger siblings... Rory and Vick and Pansy-"
"Posy."
My head immediately snaps up as the woman mistakes the youngest Hawthorne's name.
"Her name is Posy," I repeat earnestly.
But as I look up at Vicki's face, I get the sick feeling that this is no mistake. I just thoughtlessly gave up how much I care. I showed my hand. Gale's family is my weak spot. And she now knows it. But, more importantly, now President Snow knows it. This pawn of his has gotten from me exactly what he needs.
"Yes. That's right. Posy," she says, drawing every word out slowly, victoriously.
Suddenly, I understand. It is not me that Snow is after. They mentioned my father, my mother, Haymitch. The Hawthorne family. Gale. All the people I love. The people who will go if I fail to keep up this pretense.
It is too early in the morning to deal with politics. My head throbs as my mind races. If I make one wrong move, everyone I love is dead in hours. Yes, definitely too early.
"President Snow wants me to make sure that you understand he will be anxiously following your relationship with Gale Hawthorne," she says.
It is harmless enough. To anyone but me, it would sound like sweet well wishes from our beloved President. But I know better. Those words are both a threat and a promise. The entire room darkens, and I know this is no longer about my romance or my family. This is about any threat I may pose to Snow's precious government. I gulp hard and fight the feeling of deflation. My smile is totally gone by this point, and my pulse races against my skin.
"So, be careful."
It is amazing how often I am getting that advice lately. Her advice is not sincere, though, and as I look back up at her, she smiles at me.
"Good," she says.
And I know that the Devil must smile that way after he steals someone's soul away. I give the camera one long look, a look that I'm sure is desperate and distant. Snow, I think to myself, I'll play your game even if it kills me.
Yes! I know! No Gale! Don't hate me! He is coming back. But I needed to lay down this crucial foundation before we go any further! Thank you all for reading! I love my beta, Ooyeteri, for makingsense of this chapter! This chapter is dedicated to every one of my lovely reviewers! You are all fabulous! If you have been reviewing, I hope you continue! If you haven't reviewed yet, what better time than the present?