Chapter 14
1 year later
Katniss hums as she moves about collecting things for her bag. I don't quite recognise the tune but it's something upbeat and she seems happy. I sit on the sofa trying to summon up the energy to do anything else.
Katniss stops humming as soon as she has filled her bag and turns to me with a smile. However this quickly turns to a frown when she sees my sombre expression.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
"I don't want to go to Bran's. I don't have the energy," I reply.
The thought of going to Bran's new flat that he bought with Madge fills me with dread. I know what these things are like. They are always loud with people gushing enthusiastically about the new surroundings. There is then lots of small talk where everyone leaves out the bad things going on in their lives and with Wimbledon just around the corner I'm bound to be bombarded with questions about my chances in the wheelchair tournament. But I've had a rough last couple of days and I really can't face everyone today.
Katniss sits down beside me and rubs a hand over my shoulder.
"I thought talking to Dr Aurelius helped yesterday," she says.
I let out a loud sigh as I fall back against the sofa cushions.
"A little. But it's hard to just snap out of it. And the whole month has pretty much sucked," I reply.
I caught a bout of tonsillitis just over a month ago and I was unable to train for two weeks. When I did eventually get back on the practice courts I was sluggish and missing easy balls. Not even Haymitch's normal tough love could break me out of the funk.
The negative thoughts started spiralling just after that. I'm not good enough. I'm useless. There's no point anymore if I'm just going to keep losing. I allowed myself to get into that bad headspace and then did the worst thing I could have done. I went looking for negative comments about myself online.
The sad thing was it didn't even take that long to find those comments. I read countless messages mocking me for only have one leg and slamming me for trying to promote wheelchair tennis.
Iamking692 He should go as a pirate at Halloween. He's got the peg leg sorted!
District2untilIdie PeetaMellark needs to stop banging on about wheelchair tennis. It's a shit sport and no one wants to watch it.
Katniss eventually found me scrolling through the comments yesterday morning and she took my phone off me until I agreed to call Dr Aurelius.
"What would you want to do instead? I can call Bran and say we're not coming. They would both understand. And we've seen the flat already anyway," she says.
"I wish he didn't have to understand. I wish I was happy enough to go to my brother's flat warming!" I exclaim.
"What can I do to help you right now, Peeta? I'm not sure what it is you want," Katniss replies.
I sigh as I run a hand through my hair.
"I don't know what it is I want either. I just want to feel a bit better," I say.
If Katniss is frustrated by my vague answer she doesn't show it. Instead she sits looking at me contemplatively for a long moment. After a while she gets up and disappears into the hallway without saying a word. When she eventually comes back through she is clutches a pile of letters. I recognise the letters to be part of my fan mail but I haven't been in the mood to look at any for a couple of weeks.
"I could list all the good things that you have going on in your life right now but I know you are not in the mood to hear them from me. I thought I could maybe show you what you mean to other people," she says.
She then peels off the letter from the top of the pile and I notice it has childish handwriting on front of the already torn envelope.
"Effie has still been keeping on top of your fan mail and I know she really wants you to read this one. I think now is the right time to read it," she says.
I take the letter off her but don't really want to read another letter wishing me good luck. That's when I start putting pressure on myself.
But when I pull the letter out there is a simple picture of me in my wheelchair holding up the Wimbledon trophy and in the crowd there is image of small boy in a wheelchair too, cheering me on loudly.
Dear Peeta Mellark,
My name is Thomas Blight and I am 8 years old. You are my favourite sports person. I hope you win Wimbledon this year.
I lost my leg just like you. I got meningitis last year and they had to take it off to save my life. I was very sad when it happened because I thought I would never do sport again. But my dad showed me videos of you playing wheelchair tennis and I realised I could. I've been playing wheelchair tennis for three months and I love it! All my friends think it is cool I can play tennis like you. We had to do a report at school on someone we admired and I chose you. My teacher really liked it!
I try to watch all your matches that are on TV and have made a banner at home to cheer you on at Wimbledon.
From your number 1 fan,
Thomas
I finish reading and a small smile spreads across my face.
"I helped make that little boy feel better even though I never met him," I say.
Katniss nods her head.
"That's the beauty of sport and television. It reaches millions of people," she replies.
I nod my head. I've received letters similar to this one telling me what an inspiration I've been to them but this is the youngest person to have written to me like this and it has a greater effect on me than any of the others.
"I want to write back to him. Do you think I could get him invited to Wimbledon?" I ask.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Katniss says with a smile.
I nod my head before getting up to find a pen and paper. I have a focus now. I can help make a little boy even happier and in doing so I might also feel a little bit happier myself.
The next day I wake up feeling better than I did the day before and I think I've finally turned the corner and got back on the right track. I meet Haymitch and Effie in the morning for an important meeting with the Wimbledon tournament organisers.
Haymitch is actually early for once and holds a small paper bag containing some sort of food when I arrive. Effie arrive last holding a mountain of papers and struggles to handle them as well as carrying her huge handbag.
Haymitch puts down the small bag of food and sticks his arms out for Effie.
"Here. Let me take some of them," he says.
Effie takes a tighter grip on them as she manages to catch a sheet that flutters to the ground.
"I am quite alright. I don't need a man to carry things for me," she says.
Haymitch sighs but doesn't take his hands away.
"Stop being stubborn. I know you don't but I'm offering to help so let me help you," he says.
Effie sighs but a few more papers almost topple out of her grip so she reluctantly concedes. She tucks the papers under her chin as she tries to arrange them into a neat pile before handing them to Haymitch.
He smiles at her and the pushes the bag of food nearer to her.
"And I got you a blueberry muffin. I know you won't have eaten yet this morning," he says.
Effie blushes as she bends down to swipe the bag of food. Blueberry muffins are her favourite and I don't think it was a coincidence that Haymitch chose that one.
Effie carefully removes the muffin and peels the wrapper down to take a nipple of it. However it doesn't take long for her hunger to overtake her and she starts wolfing it down.
"Thank you," she reluctantly says as she wipes crumbs off the corner of her mouth.
Haymitch grins and for once doesn't make a smart comment.
"You're welcome," he replies.
I smile at the two of them but turn to look at Effie.
"Why have you got so many papers anyway?" I ask.
"They are mainly sponsorship contracts for you. We need to talk about them but I also thought if I brought them to this meeting the tournament could see how in demand you and wheelchair tennis are and it would help convince them to put the final on Centre Court," she says.
"That's a great idea," I say.
"Well you asked me to come along for a reason. I'm good at selling, Peeta," she says.
I nod my head in agreement.
"I'm just annoyed my briefcase broke on the way here so I don't have anything to contain all the papers in!" she exclaims.
I smile at her sympathetically but Haymitch looks at his watch and suggest we go inside. I nod in agreement and we follow him through.
I asked for a meeting with the tournament organisers to try and finally convince them to play the wheelchair singles finals on Centre Court. The three other Grand Slams have already done this and it's just Wimbledon that remains behind the times. I brought Effie and Haymitch along with me for back-up. Effie is right in saying that she is good at selling stuff and Haymitch is great at taking no bullshit.
I'm still nervous though and spend a long time straightening my tie as we wait to go in. My leg jiggles up and down and Haymitch turns to scowl at me.
"Can you stop that? I don't want to have to punch you just before we go in," he says.
"Sorry," I reply as I try to keep my leg under control.
Effie is focusing on sorting the papers again and Haymitch then turns to do something on his phone. I look up at the clock watching the second hand tick as the time for our meeting draws closer.
Finally the second hand reaches the twelve and the tournament director steps out of his office. He wears his green and purple Wimbledon members tie and smiles at us as he shakes our hands.
"So glad we are finally having this meeting. I think it's been long overdue," he says.
I nod my head and the turn to Effie. It's a promising start and she nods her head in agreement. We then all follow him through and take a seat.
"Your journey really has been remarkable, Peeta. I've had more people asking me if I can get them tickets to see you than Cato Muellar!" he exclaims.
"That's great to hear. I certainly feel there is a lot of buzz about wheelchair tennis at the moment," I begin.
I then open my mouth to reel off some statistics about crowd growth for our matches but the tournament director puts out his hand to stop me.
"I'm going to cut straight to the chase, Peeta," he says.
I gulp and my hands get sweaty. He surely can't reject us without hearing us speak.
"We're going to announce tomorrow that the singles wheelchair finals will be played on Centre Court. Both finals will start at 11am. The men's wheelchair final will take place on Saturday before the regular women's final and the women's wheelchair final will take place on the Sunday before the regular men's final. Everyone who got tickets for Centre Court on Finals Day will get to see the wheelchair finals as well," he says.
I'm stunned into silence at first. Surely it can't be that easy. Wimbledon has resisted for years saying there wasn't the demand or the logistics of it were too difficult. But I've not had to say anything to convince them.
The tournament director chuckles at our stunned silence.
"I can see I have surprised you but I can't ignore what the fans want. That petition you started ended up having over a million people sign it. People want to see it and it's always been part of my job to give the fans what they want," he says.
I finally find my words and sit forwards towards him.
"Thank you. This means so much for our sport. Centre Court is the best court in the world and to play on it is something special. It's really going to help our sport reach even more people," I say.
"It's my pleasure. You and Finnick Odair have been relentless in your quest for this. It's a shame I couldn't meet him here today as well," he says.
"He wanted to come but he had family commitments," I say. "Though this is going to make his whole year."
The tournament director smiles at us again.
"I'm sure I'll see him once the tournament starts," he says. "Now I'm going to let go so you can share the happy news with him."
I nod my head eagerly and we all stand up to shake hands.
"I feel a handshake is not enough. Can I hug you?" I ask with a smile.
The tournament director grins at me and opens his arms.
"Sure. Why not?" he says.
I then step forward to give him a warm embrace while Effie gushes over the importance of this moment. I catch Haymitch's eye over the director's shoulder and he tips my head in congratulations. It takes us all a while to get out the office but once we finally exit the three of us stand in a circle and grin stupidly at each other.
"We did it. We actually did it," I say.
Haymitch claps me on the back.
"Now we just need to make sure you get to that final three Saturdays from now," he says.
The final comes around quickly and I play really well to get there. Apart from a small blip in the first set of my semi-final I am never behind in a match and I can sense the excitement in the crowd when I hit an ace on match point. However I try to manage my own excitement. I was in the same position last year and didn't end up winning the trophy. And this year I'm up against Finnick. He knows how to win this thing.
The morning of the final I am swamped with well-wishers. Mum hugs me for a full five minutes as she lists all the things she is proud of me. My brothers slap me on the back and tell me that they will still love me even if I lose and Cato comes to visit and tell me he is more nervous about my final than his own the next day.
But the person I'm most happy to see is Thomas, the 8-year-old boy who wrote to me. His parents wheel him into the locker room in his wheelchair and his eyes are wide with excitement. He looks around the locker room in awe and giddily bounces up and down on his chair.
"This is so cool! Do you always have to get changed in the same bit?" he asks.
"Tennis players are very superstitious. I always have to sit on this bench when I get ready. And if I win I wear the same pair of socks in my next match," I reply.
Thomas screws up his nose.
"Eww! Don't your feet stink?" he asks.
I chuckle.
"I do wash them after the match so they don't smell too bad," I reply.
Thomas nods his head and cranes his head round to study the locker room more carefully.
"Thank you for inviting me here. I've never seen a real tennis match before," he says.
"Well you're going to have one of the best seats in the house. You'll be in front row on Centre Court. I might look to you to check I'm doing alright," I say.
"You won't need my help. Finnick Odair is good and all but you're better. I think you're going to win," he replies.
"I hope so, And if I do I'll let you touch the trophy," I say.
Thomas' eyes widen in excitement.
"That would be awesome! Everyone would be so jealous of me at school!" he exclaims.
I smile at him again before asking some questions about his friends and what he likes at school. I get the sense that it frustrates him that he can't do all the sports his friends can but wheelchair tennis has helped him feel more active again.
I like talking to Thomas and it takes my mind off some of the nerves I feel before a match. I should do more of this type of thing in the future. I can already see how much of a difference this has made to Thomas. He becomes more animated as he becomes more confident talking to me and it helps that I have been through similar things to him.
"I have a prosthetic but I'm finding it really hard to walk on it. I keep falling over like an idiot," he says.
I lean in closer to him.
"I'll let you into a secret. I fell over all the time when I was learning to walk again. One time I was even trying to pee and I got pee all over the bathroom ceiling," I reply.
Thomas giggles.
"It took me six months to learn to walk properly again," I say.
"Really?" Thomas asks. "But you're an athlete. Surely it was easy for you."
I shake my head.
"No. It was really hard and I even cried a few times because it was so hard. But I kept working and eventually I managed to do it," I say.
"You cried?" Thomas asks.
"I cried all the time when I lost my leg. I was really sad after it happened," I say.
"Me too," Thomas admits. "I still get sad sometimes."
"I get sad sometimes too. It's alright to be sad about it at times," I reply.
Thomas nods his head and a new determination comes into his eyes.
"I'm going to keep trying with my prosthetic. I've only had it for two months," he says.
"Then you have got loads of time to get used to it! I bet you learn to walker quicker than me!" I declare.
Thomas smiles at me but then Effie comes in and tells Thomas he needs to go. Thomas looks a little disappointed but I promise to talk to him after the match. However Thomas' mum stops to talk to me on the way out.
"Thank you. He's been so excited to meet you and I think he needed to hear that you found it hard too," she says.
"No problem. I loved meeting him. He seems like a great kid. I really hope he doesn't give up on the walking thing," I reply.
His mum nods her head and thanks me again before following her son out.
Effie stays in the locker room typing something on her phone and doesn't look up at me as she speaks.
"Haymitch and Paylor are just coming for your last coaching talk. Forty minutes and you're on," she says.
I nod my head.
"I think I'm ready," I say.
Effie nods her head as she continues to type messages on her phones and I notice she has a new purple leather brief case with her initials on it.
"That's a nice briefcase. Glad you manage to get a replacement," I say.
Effie glances down at it with a smile.
"Haymitch got me it. Isn't it wonderful!" she says.
I nod my head in agreement and smile. A year ago she wouldn't have accepted that gift from Haymitch.
And as if he could hear us talking about him, Haymitch strolls in with Paylor. While Paylor comes straight to me to talk tactics, Haymitch saunters over to Effie with a bright smile.
"Can you drag your eyes away from your phone long enough to say hello to me?" he asks.
Surprisingly Effie smiles as she pulls her eyes up to him.
"Hello, Haymitch. Though we saw each other five minutes ago," she replies.
"Was it really that long ago?" he replies with a cheeky grin.
Effie laughs softly and I shake my head.
"You can flirt later, Haymitch. I have a Wimbledon singles final to win," I call over.
Effie and Haymitch share one last smile before he joins me and Paylor.
As soon as Paylor and Haymitch leave the nerves really kick in. The part just before we go on court it always the worst. As soon as I hit a ball I feel okay again. I make sure I'm strapped in securely in my chair and then one of the groundsmen comes to offer to hold my bags. I give them to him and take a deep breath as he leads me out the locker room.
I meet Finnick in the hallway and he grins widely at me.
"We finally made it to Centre Court. I feel like I have won already," he says.
I nod my head. I played on Centre Court before my accident but Finnick never has. I think every player dreams of playing on this court and the fact wheelchair tennis is now being played on it is monumental. Because of Finnick and I hundreds of other wheelchair players will get to experience the specialness of playing on this court. Maybe one day even Thomas will play on here too.
"Good luck," I say to Finnick. "I'll buy you a beer no matter what happens."
"Good luck to you too. I can't imagine experiencing this with anyone else," he replies.
We share one last smile before someone comes to tell us that it's time. The groundsmen carrying our bags walk behind as we both wheel our way to Centre Court.
As soon as we wheel out into the open the crowd go wild. I look up in disbelief to find Centre Court almost full. Thousands of people wear red, white and blue, waving small union jacks and painted flags on their cheeks. Some people have banners supporting me, others Finnick. Everyone rises to their feet as we come out and I stick my hand up to wave to them. This causes the roar to grow louder and my heart clenches. There must be nearly fourteen thousand people in here. Fourteen thousand people who have come to watch wheelchair tennis.
The thought is a little overwhelming and I quickly look to my box to calm myself. Everyone in my box is clapping loudly along with the crowd but I think Cato is the loudest of them all. I can't believe he's taken time out the day before his own final to watch me. But as usual it is Katniss that calms me the most. We manage to catch each other's eye and she mouths "You've got this." That's all I need to forget about the crowd and focus on my game.
Finnick wins the toss and ops to serve first. A great hush falls around the stadium as he throws the ball high in the air to hit it. But he doesn't manage to get it over the net. I wheel back to change my position and he quickly throws his arm back for a second serve. This time he gets it over and I hit it back to his forehand. Finnick returns it but the ball lands in the middle of the court and bounces up perfectly onto my racquet. I hit it sweetly and hard to the left hand corner of the court and while Finnick reaches it by the second bounce he can't get it back over the net.
"Love-fifteen," the umpire calls.
I do a little fist pump as the crowd cheer. It's always good to win the first point and I hope it is a good omen.
However Finnick responds with an ace down the tee and I swipe my racquet in the air a little in frustration that I didn't read it. But then I knew this was never going to be an easy match.
The match is very nip and tuck in the first set. Neither of us string together a long period of dominance but we both hold our serves. Any time either of us get a break point the other saves it with either an ace or unreturned serve. It doesn't surprise me that the fist set goes to a tie break and the tie break follows a close pattern to the first set. We both hold our serves and it reaches 5-5 with Finnick serving to set up a set point.
I shake my head as he collects balls to serve with. I know I need to do more on his serve. I've spent so much time focusing on my own serve that I'm not making much impact on his. When his first serve is called out I make a decision. I'm going to go big. This set is tight and I don't want it to be decided on a mistake. I narrow my eyes in determination as Finnick throws up the ball to serve. I set off earlier that I would normally and thankfully Finnick's serve isn't that accurate. It hits the middle of the service box and with not a lot of pace. I pull my arm back and pummel the ball cross court. Finnick is too slow to react and the ball whizzes off the court.
There is a large roar from the crowd and I fist pump once again. Finnick shakes his head in frustration and I turn to the ball boy to ask for some balls. One more point and I win this first set.
I don't let Finnick rest for long before I serve. Finnick gets the ball back but my serve has taken him out the court and it's an easy put away for me. Another roar of the crowd and they are on their feet as I take the first set.
I let the triumph of the first set linger too long at the start of the second and Finnick breaks me in my first service game. That quickly refocuses my attention and although I don't break him in the next game I take him to deuce and that gives me the confidence to break him back. But I have to wait for the sixth game to finally break back in a game that lasts almost fifteen minutes.
The crowd is getting louder and I can almost feel the victory now. I can sense Finnick getting tired and his shots aren't hitting the lines as much as they did at the start of the match. I on the other hand seem to be getting to everything in plenty of time which makes it easier for me to choose the correct shots.
I channel the energy I'm getting from the crowd to block out the weariness that is setting into my own body. Every cheer in delight or groan in frustration spurs me on and I vow to put an end to Finnick's challenge.
I hold my serve and then break Finnick again meaning I am four points away from victory.
Another big roar from the crowd but I don't have time to savour the feeling. The umpire is already calling me to serve and the crowd suddenly fall deadly silent as they wait to see if I can do it. I take a deep breath as I ask for a ball from the ball boy and then turn ready to face Finnick. I throw the ball in the air and vow to finish this game as Wimbledon champion.
First point and Finnick returns my serve into to the net.
15-0. 3 points to go.
Second point. Finnick returns it and we get into a rally but I try to go too big too soon and my ball flies widely out.
15-15. Don't panic. I still need 3 points to win.
Third point. An ace!
30-15. Only two more now!
Fourth point. I hit a clean serve but Finnick gets it back quickly. I rush to reach it and only just manage to get it. I lob it high in the air and Finnick should have an easy smash. But he takes his eye off the ball at the last minute and smashes the ball into the net.
40-15! Match point!
It takes a while for the crowd to go silent and I try to take deep even breaths as I wait. Eventually hush falls around the stadium again and I pause just a moment before throwing the ball in the air.
My first serves goes into the net but I get my second one in. I hit a good second shot but Finnick winds his arm back and powers a ball down the line. I swear under my breath as I watch the ball bounce past me.
40-30. It's not a big deal I try to tell myself. I still have match point. I can still win this.
Another deep breath. Another big serve. But Finnick gets it back. Another long rally. 5 shots. 10 shots. Both of us are cagey not wanting to try anything too soon. And then finally I see an opening. Finnick has dropped back quite far so instead of hitting the ball back hard I dink the ball over instead for a drop shot. Finnick races as hard as he can to reach the ball but it trickles to a stop just as he reaches it.
"Game, set, match, Peeta Mellark!" the umpire calls.
The crowd erupts and I throw my racquet up on the air in celebration. I then punch both hands in the air as I let the feeling of victory wash over me.
Finnick hangs his head in defeat and I almost wish I didn't have to beat my friend. I wheel to the net and reach over it to give him a hug. Finnick wraps his arms around me too to squeeze me tight.
"Congratulations. You deserved this today," he says.
"I'm not going to forget this day," I reply.
Finnick nods his head as we pull apart and then smiles as he raises my arm in the air so I can share my victory with the crowd. They haven't stopped cheering since the end of the match and I can't stop the huge smile that crosses my face.
I quickly look over to my box and Mum is sobbing with happiness into Dad's chest. Cato has joined my brothers in a group hug and the three of them jump up and down like lunatics as they sing a victory song. Katniss just beams at me.
But the surprising sight is Haymitch and Effie locked in a heated embrace and not caring at all that there are cameras around to pick up their make-out session.
By the time I look back they have already started bringing to trophies out. I can't stop looking at the winner's trophy as it is brought out. It might not be the Wimbledon trophy I dreamed of picking up as a kid but it somehow seems more special. It's been harder than I have ever imagined to win this trophy and suddenly all the hard times seem worth it because they have all led me to this moment today.
Eventually a member of the club presents me with the trophy and I grip onto it tightly. I tease the crowd about lifting it before finally lofting it high in the air. I swear my smile must be able to be seen from the moon and in that moment I am the happiest I have ever been.
It's absolutely crazy once they finally get me off court as dozens of press and media want to speak to me but I have one very important thing to do first.
My family wait for me in the locker room and all jump on me as soon as I enter. I laugh as I share their joy before managing to wriggle away and finding Katniss. She smiles at me with so much pride and love that I can't help but swoop down for a kiss as soon as I see her.
We both continue to smile as we pull back and rest our heads against each other's.
"Congratulations. I'm so proud of you," she says.
"I couldn't have done it without you. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have achieved this today," I reply.
Katniss reaches up to tuck a sweaty curl behind my ear.
"So now you have achieved your ultimate goal, what's next?" she asks.
I grin as I tip her chin up.
"I don't know. I guess I might just have to marry you," I reply.
A/N: And we've reached the end! Thanks for everyone who stuck with Peeta on this long and hard journey but I think he is finally in the best possible place.
Next week will be the epilogue and will be a little glimpse into his and Katniss' future.