Effie and Haymitch find Peeta and me asleep on the couch, the notebook sprawled out between us. We've both written things in the margins and pieces of scrap paper are tucked in between the pages. They wake me first, and when I sit up and look at Peeta, I remember finding him and my sister crashed in my living room, her math book left open to a page on geometric formulas, a smudge of ink on her finger. Peeta will take care of her after I'm gone.
We head sleepily to the dining car and eat breakfast. While I have no appetite, I plan on stuffing every bit of food I can get in me before we enter the Arena. I force Peeta to drink a second glass of juice. Holding the crystal glass in my hand, I remember when they pulled us out of the Arena – Peeta bleeding out and his chest leaping under the paddles. I remember the glass of juice they pushed into my hands, how it looked so pretty and foreign and wrong in my bloody, mud-caked hands and broken fingernails.
I'm clearly living in the past this morning. Holding on to what I know. I can't help it. I don't have a future.
Effie tells us we have one more full day on the train and we'll arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. We spend the afternoon in the dining room strategizing with Haymitch. He wants us to make allies. I immediately reject the idea.
"Maybe it's not such a bad notion, Katniss," Peeta says. "If we are going into this as Careers – they always have partners."
"You are my partner," I spit back. I can't believe he'd even entertain the idea of allies. He's too trusting. Too good. Anyone that partners with us in the Arena will turn on whichever one of us outlives the other. And I'm planning on that being Peeta. I'm not going to die and leave him in close proximity to trident boy.
The train brakes, and I'm instantly on my feet. Outside, I order with my eyes, and the boys follow me. When we've put enough distance between ourselves and the train, I resume the argument. I assume this is the last time I'll be able to even utter the word rebellion in my life.
"Just because these people are part of the rebellion doesn't mean for a second I'm going to trust them in an Arena," I bark at Haymitch. "Only one tribute is coming out, and it's going to be one of us." It's going to be Peeta.
"What is the rebellion doing about the Quell?" Peeta asks, his voice low.
"There's not a lot they can do, kid. Most of our key allies in the districts have been reaped. The Capitol did this on purpose. Four is a lost cause without Finnick. Eight is outraged over Cecelia, and it's not likely they'll wait to riot without Chaff there. Our only advantage in that district is the sheer volume of rebels, but if they're all executed before we can organize a front, we lose that foothold. Right now the rebellion is focusing on finding new leaders in the districts and keeping things from collapsing during the Quell. They don't have the resources to actually stop it," Haymitch explains. "You two need to stop thinking about the rebellion now. You need to focus on the surviving the Quell. That's it. Just stay alive in there, for as long as you can."
Why is Chaff in 8? I want to ask, but suddenly I don't care. It's exactly what I suspected. The rebellion, whoever or whatever that means, does not have the strength to stand up to the Capitol. I dismissed it long ago, but I can tell Peeta was still holding on to some hope they'd stop this thing. With that evaporated, his face steels.
"I agree with Katniss, then," Peeta states. "Just because they're a rebel it doesn't mean we can trust them when it's their life or hers."
"Or ours," I whisper.
"What?" he asks.
"Their life or ours," I state, and storm off toward the train. I don't know why I am angry with him when we are planning the exact same thing, but I know the person trying the hardest to make sure Peeta doesn't make it out of the Arena is Peeta. I don't know what to do. I feel myself start to choke on the saliva building in my throat, and I spit it desperately at the ground.
I board the train and slam the door closed to my room. I hear Peeta knocking quietly on the outside.
"Katniss," he calls, his voice hushed. I ignore him. I hear his head drop against the barrier between us. "Katniss," he begs, and I open the door. We stand in the doorway for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say. There is nothing left to say. I love you. Don't die for me. It's all been said. Peeta slides his hands down to my hips and pushes me into the doorframe. He presses his mouth to mine, my tongue on his lips, his heart on his sleeve. He slides a hand onto my lower back and pulls me into him. I can feel him there, present, alive. I remember the last time we kissed like this in my doorway, on the way out of 10. Live in the past. There is no tomorrow.
"Just get in here," I whisper into his mouth, and he enters my room. We spend most of the afternoon not talking in ways that make me blush to think about.
Dinner is quiet. We eat until we can't fit in anymore. That night, Haymitch locks himself in his room and Effie goes to bed early. I head to my room to shower, and when I come out I find Peeta in the lounge car, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television, sorting through tapes. He's holding one in his hand with a perplexed look on his face.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he replies, not looking up.
"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting on the floor next to him. He hands me the tape. It's labeled 50 – Abernathy (12).
"I thought we should watch a Quell. There might be something useful we can learn. But Effie only sent tapes of the living victors, so this is the only Quell we have," he says quietly. He doesn't need to say more. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy to watch Haymitch's Games, even though it's been seen publicly by millions. Peeta pushes himself to his feet and runs his hands through his hair. He's frustrated. I hold out my arms and he walks into them.
He buries his face in my shoulder, and for one moment, we let the pretense between us drop. We stop lying to each other. We stop rushing through things. We find that detail that made us fall in love in the first place – friendship. We understand in a way that needs no words. We breathe and our chests rise and fall in a harmonious syncopation that reminds us that we fit together. We'd both stand here and would never let go if we could stop the passing of time.
The arrival of a Capitol attendant is what ultimately drives us apart. He sets a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologizes in a soft voice. "I brought you some hot milk. I know you've been having trouble sleeping and I just thought…"
"It's lovely," I voice, and he smiles meekly.
"I added just a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice," he adds. The attendant looks at us like he wants to say more, but dismisses himself quickly.
"I think he feels bad for us," Peeta wonders aloud.
"Right," I say, pouring the milk.
"I mean it, Katniss. I don't think the people in the Capitol are very happy about our going back in," he replies. "Or the other victors. I think they're attached."
"I'm sure they'll get over it when the blood starts flowing," I say flatly. But then I look over my shoulder at the door, where the attendant left. I've been thinking about discontent in the districts, but I never thought about discontent in the Capitol. I wonder if the rebellion might find sympathizers. Activists. Spies. Peeta catches me staring at the door, and I shake my head.
"So," Peeta says, holding the Second Quarter Quell tape in his hand.
"We don't have to tell Haymitch we watched it," I offer, and Peeta nods his head and puts in the tape. We curl up on the couch and get lost in the 50th Hunger Games. I learn things I wish I didn't know. We see Maysilee Donner reaped.
"Oh!" I say. "She was my mother's friend. I didn't realize she was in Haymitch's Games."
"I think that's your mother there," Peeta points, and I know in an instant he's right. I see my mom at my age. No one exaggerated her beauty. She comforts Maysilee's sister, and it suddenly connects. My hand moves to my chest, but my Mockingjay pin is absent. Madge. Her aunt. Her mother in immobilizing pain. Isolation. The token.
We watch Haymitch reaped. The interviews. The Games. We learn that Haymitch made the Capitol look foolish, just like us. I realize immediately why his family was killed. I realize immediately how vulnerable Prim is. If anything, watching the tape has reinforced how important it is I don't leave the Arena. The best chance I have to save the people I love is to give them back their insignificance. No one needs to hurt Prim once I am gone. She's not bait for anyone but me.
"What are you thinking?" Peeta asks, studying my face. No wonder I've never seen these Games. The Capitol wouldn't show them being made a fool of over and over in syndication.
"It's almost as bad as the berries," I laugh. Peeta looks at me sideways, but I can't hold it in. I giggle hysterically, holding my sides. "Seriously, it's like we're all trying to get ourselves killed," I cackle.
"Almost as bad, but not quite," Haymitch says from the doorway, and we both swing around. I finally feel like I understand who Haymitch is. A new confidence builds inside me. Surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much hurt can figure out a way to get Peeta home alive. "Time for you kids to get to bed," he says, dismissing us from the room. Before I leave I see him bend down and collect the tapes from the floor.
We didn't sleep in my bed last night. I watch Peeta sleeping now – on his stomach, an arm draped over mine. Lying beside him, I realize one of us will be in this bed alone on the way home. I picture him here without me. I let myself evaporate into the air. I am certain Peeta won't leave my room until he arrives in 12. I wish I could leave some bit of me behind, something tangible for him to find and take comfort in. I reach into my pocket and dig out the smooth rock from the lake. The one I thought was pretty. The one I was embarrassed to pick up in front of Gale. I open my nightstand drawer, place it in the center, and close it slowly.
We arrive in the Capitol in the morning. In a way, I feel like I have to say goodbye to the train, too. It's become sort of like a surrogate home to me. Now that we are in the Capitol, the Quell feels like it really begins.
Haymitch is stalwart as we leave the train. The crowds scream and cheer our names, but Haymitch didn't give us any direction. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to smile and wave or show my discontent. I choose to follow his lead. I grip Peeta's hand and we push through the crowd stoically. This feels different than before, though. Yes, the crowd is shouting, but it is not the absurd drone we normally hear. It's almost manic, like they don't know how to process that they might lose us. Like for the first time, they almost feel what the districts feel – like they're surrendering their own for tribute. Capitol darlings in the Games. I realize they aren't cheering to see us fight. They're cheering us. They're here to support us.
I look up and catch the eye of a woman in the crowd. She looks ridiculous, like they all do. She's preened and primped like some exotic bird, with feathers for eye lashes and a nose sharp like a beak. But in her eyes I see sympathy. Loss. She stops clapping when she realizes I've met her gaze and we stare at each other. She mouths, "I'm sorry." Before I know what's happening, someone pulls my arm and the doors to the Tribute Center close behind me, shutting me away from the bird lady.
I look at Peeta. The last time we were in the Tribute Center, it felt haunted by ghosts. In our Games, the tributes mostly stayed in their rooms when they weren't at a prescheduled event, but here in the lobby, the victors are mingling. Laughter floats in the air. Hands are shaken, backs are patted, embraces are exchanged. These people all know each other.
Peeta and I are the outsiders. This isn't good.