CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAYSILEE

The sky of the arena is thick with blue-black thunderclouds. The clock is ticking down from sixty, and I can feel my muscles coiled and ready to pounce.

As the gong rings out I shoot off the plate. Without my permission my legs are carrying me towards the Cornucopia.

No, I think. I should be going in the other direction, toward the thick crop of grass to my left. Couture and Ember will be waiting for me at the Cornucopia! I try desperately to turn myself around but to no avail. I'm in the thick of the battle. If I could only reach a knife or any weapon I might be able to save myself.

"Maysilee!" calls a familiar voice.

I follow the voice and see my sister lying a few feet away, looking dazed.

"Maybelle?" I say incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

A crack of thunder booms overhead, mingling with sound of screaming and blades clashing. The sky opens and rain begins to pour down.

"I don't know!" she yells her lower lip trembling.

"We've got to get out of here, May. We've got to run!"

I try to run to reach her but I lose my footing, the ground is slippery with rain and blood.

"May!" she shrieks desperately.

She's caught the attention of some Careers, and I'm too far away to help her. I try to get up, but fall back into the mud.

"Isn't this precious," purrs a voice I know all too well. Couture. She's standing over my sister with a blade in hand.

"NO!" I screech, but it's too late. Couture yanks Maybelle's hair back and presses the knife to her neck. With one swift movement she cuts the skin and blood flows like a faucet.

Couture throws Maybelle to the ground as she chokes desperately on her own blood. Couture's face stretches into her trademark Cheshire grin, and she looks positively gleeful.

"Now, I'm going to come for you Twelve."

She throws herself on top of me and brings her blade to my throat. I can feel it pressing, pressing… pressing…

I bolt upright gasping for air. I can still feel the imprint of the cold knife on my neck. My heart hammers frantically in my chest.

It was only a dream, it was only a dream.

Except in less than twelve hours it could very well be true. In less than twelve hours I'd be in the arena and I could be dead.

In an attempt to calm my nerves I get up and order myself a hot chocolate. Instead of being soothing it's tasteless and unsatisfying.

My room feels desperately claustrophobic.

I can't be here anymore or I'll puke, I think.

I consider knocking on Fir's door but I know Poppy's probably already in there. She'd had night terrors since training began and when she wasn't sleeping in my room she was in his. Still I know there's no way I can face sleep by myself tonight, leaving one option.

Asking for Haymitch's comfort would be a gamble. If the odds were not in my favor (which they rarely seemed to be) I'd get the arrogant boy from interviews. That boy would probably laugh at my fears and slam the door in my face. But if somehow I got lucky… well, it might be worth the risk.

I knock on the door softly. For a long time there's no answer. I'm almost about to turn around when I hear the lock unclick.

"Blondie?"

His eyes are wide and alert, and I realize he probably hasn't sleep. His mouth is pulled into a frown, not a good sign.

"I had a nightmare," I say, suddenly feeling very foolish.

"Great. What do you want me to do about it? Pat your head and tell you it'll all be okay?"

As expected it seems the odds are not in my favor tonight. This was a stupid idea. I don't know why I even bothered. Haymitch always made it very clear we're not friends.

I feel a prick in the back of my eyes, a telltale song I'm about to cry. Damn it. Haymitch's expression softens, and he gives an exasperated sigh.

"Well, come on then."

"Really?"

"Don't make me regret it," he growls.

I climb in bed next to him, grateful. He might not be especially warm or kind, but his presence is comforting and he smells like home.

For a while we lie in silence, chasing sleep on our own. I shift slightly when I turn over and accidentally bump his hand. A jolt of electricity runs up my arm and I think of my prep team, accusing me of having feelings for him.

I don't, I tell myself. He's still Haymitch, a self-absorbed, arrogant, drunkard.

Who saved you from Couture, echoes a small voice in the back on my head. There's still a tingling where our skin touches.

Shut up, Traitor.

I wait for him to pull his hand away, or make a snarky comment about how I shouldn't touch him but he does neither. Emboldened by his lack of action I take his hand. Immediately, I feel him stiffen beside me and I expect him to pull away. I wonder if he's thinking about a girl he left back home. He stays perfectly still and tense for so long I begin to feel foolish, but it'd be more embarrassing to change my mind now. After a long beat I feel him slowly relax and to my surprise he laces his fingers through mine.

I fall asleep to the sound of his even breathing.

I'm not surprised when I wake up and Haymitch isn't here. It's Game day, and whatever semblance of a friendship we might have had for however brief is over.

I make my way to my own room and get in the shower. It'll probably be the last shower I have for a long time, if not forever. I stay in there a while, soaking up the smells of lemon and lavender.

Finally, I towel off and put on some clothes. I check the clock. I still have some time.

There's a stack of paper and manila envelopes sitting on the desk. I think of all the times I ached to tell Maybelle about Fir's goofy laugh or Maybelle about Haymitch's multiple personalities. Before I can think about it I plop myself into the desk chair and carefully write out three letters. I start with Maybelle before moving on to my parents and Lillian. When I seal up those letters I pause. I feel like I've forgotten something.

I have one more letter to write. I smooth out another piece of paper. I expect this one to be more difficult than the rest, but the words pour out of the pen with ease. When I'm done I seal it up and mark the front.

To the winner of the Hunger Games, I print carefully.

Five minutes later, Laelia comes to get me. We'll be leaving for the arena.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I reply grimly.

On my way out the door a glint of gold catches my eye. My mockingjay! I'd almost forgotten about it. Just holding it made me feel a little braver. Carefully I pin it on the outside of my jacket and shut the door behind me.

Laelia escorts me onto the hovercraft and sits with me as I get my tracker implanted and attempt to choke down some food.

We arrive at the Launch Room too soon. Laelia combs my hair back and lets most of it fall in a long golden sheet. She pulls the strands at the front of my face into a thin braid to keep them out of my eyes.

Soon after my clothes arrive, a thin black tank top with a light jacket and simple black khaki pants.

"Wait," I say when she's finished dressing me. "I forgot this." I remove the small golden pin from the jacket discarded on the floor.

"But you didn't submit it for review."

"I know but I need it. Please, Laelia," I beg.

"I simply cannot do that! I'm sorry," she says loudly, but despite her words she tucks the pin on the inside of my jacket and winks at me.

We're ready to launch. With shaking legs I step onto my plate and glass cylinders rise around me.

I turn back to look at Laelia in panic, and she locks eyes with me. She gives me a reassuring smile that I hold on to until the plate pushes me up.

There's total blackness for a few seconds and then a blinding light.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"