Author's Note:
This was originally going to be two chapters, but then I realized that it meant I'd be giving you two boring chapters in a row, so I decided to keep it all as a single very long one. Thanks again for reading. Please let me know what you think.
I realize halfway through the afternoon that I completely forgot about the squirrels I planned on taking to the Baker before going to school. They are still sitting in the same bag with the turkey on the Everdeens' living room floor. I doubt they've even been moved yet, and probably won't be until Prim gets home and rouses her mother to cook dinner. Instead of reading the assigned pages from my mining textbook, I use my class time to estimate how long it will take me to go all the way back to the Seam to get them, then walk all the way back to town to trade them, then all the way back home again. Then I try to figure if I can even get back to town before the bakery closes, and if I can't, whether the bread would be worth knocking on the Baker's back door after business hours because it might be answered by his awful wife. Not all costs are monetary. I wonder sometimes why she's such a witch; she has a home in town, food on the table, enough money that her children don't have to register for Tesserae. Not that that did her any good in the end, I guess, but she was a bitch before her son was sent to the Capitol. If anybody has the right to be a shrew, it's my mother. And she isn't. So I can't imagine what kind of excuse the Mellark woman has.
The boys are on edge from what they saw of Katniss at lunchtime, but on opposite ends of the spectrum. Vick is wound up more than usual after school; when Rory dashes by to catch up to Prim, it is without his usual verve. I gather that Vick is anxious to see what is going on in the arena from the dozens of questions he lobs at me, to make sure that she is still all right. Despite the confident front he puts on for Prim, I can tell that Rory is uneasy. It could have been Prim sitting in that spring with the terrible burns, and next year it could be him.
I have to stop by Prim's house to retrieve my squirrels anyway, so I take the opportunity to tag along and irritate my brother by invading his conversation with the girl of his dreams. If he's annoyed at me, then he's not worried about turning twelve in a few weeks, about Prim having five more birthdays before she's ineligible for the Hunger Games, about Katniss never seeing seventeen. And Vick – well, Vick is almost as bad as Posy when it comes to attention spans, and annoying Rory is his favorite sport.
I enthusiastically ask Prim to show the boys her goat when she lets me into the house. Vick is excited because he still thinks a goat is a pretty interesting novelty, and Prim and Rory play along with tight smiles because they both know it's a ploy to keep all of them away from the television for a few minutes in case there's something on the air that they would rather not see. I watch the broadcast while I collect my bag and leave the turkey and vegetables in the kitchen. When I see that there are still two 12 icons on the tracker map, I know Katniss is still alive. It takes a little while for them to actually show her onscreen, but eventually they cut to a few seconds of her dozing by the little pool, in no worse condition than she had been this morning. It is a weird feeling to be happy to see her burned and half-covered in ash. It makes me think of Madge and her messy ponytail and ferocious glare on the day of the bloodbath, and that feeling is stranger still.
After I announce that Katniss is still on her way to becoming Victor (I do my best to put a positive spin on the situation) I decide on the spur of the moment to bring my brothers with me to town. It would be wise to go home first, to warn my mother that we'll be gone for a while so she won't worry, which means Posy will end up tagging along, too. This is going to take forever. But it's an hour or two not spent watching children die.
….
My mother is actually awake and somewhat alert when I walk into her room, so I take my time enjoying breakfast with her for a change in order to keep her from wandering in on the media team watching the Games before they leave for the day. Barring any major mishaps, they will finish whatever worthless project they've been assigned today, pack their bags after dinner tonight, and take the train back to the Capitol tomorrow. I am so elated at the prospect that I don't even mind that another team will be sent to us when Katniss makes it to the final eight in the arena – and I'm confident that she will.
Until I get to school. I catch wisps of whispers from two girls who have lockers near mine - Katniss Everdeen may not make it? It isn't long before the rumors sweep through the school like a flash flood, and with all the swirling eddies of gossip and speculation it's impossible to tell truth from lies.
At lunchtime, I finally get to see the highlights (if you can call them that) from the Games this morning, and I begin to understand why there was so much disparity among everyone's stories; at the start, it's difficult to see anything but the wall of fire bearing down on Katniss. When she disappears from view, my heart stops beating, and when she reemerges on fire it doesn't quite start again. After they show her badly burned leg, I lose my appetite altogether. At long last, she is shown resting, alive but weak and in pain, and I'm angrier than I've ever been. As horrible as it is that twenty-four children – children – are dropped in the arena and made to fight to the death, this Gamemaker-controlled disaster seems even more unfair. It's like the Capitol is cheating, choosing their victors, trying to eliminate the ones they would rather not win.
But then, isn't that what we're doing? Fixing the Games? I begin to feel another fury under what I feel for Katniss' plight, something deeper, duller, and tinged with apprehension. We need both of our tributes alive to turn the tide, and the Capitol – not another tribute fighting for survival, the Capitol – tried to kill one of them. With a play on the nickname that we all hoped would inspire a nation. Does that mean they know?
Prim must be beside herself with this turn of events. Since my mother was doing better this morning and I won't likely have an opportunity to talk to my father alone until late tonight, I decide that now would be a good time to take her up on her invitation from the day of the bloodbath. Circumstances so far had prevented me from getting away from home and I worried that she might begin to think I was a snob after all. Today I could use the change of scenery and I'm certain that Prim could use the company.
When I get home I raid the pantry and throw together a basket of food to share with Prim and her mother; though I have little experience with being invited to someone else's home it seems rude to show up empty handed. I beg Rose to cover for me while I'm gone.
"Tell everybody I'm running errands or something," I say. "I just don't want Claudia to know I'm at the Everdeens' and get the idea to come looking for one last interview."
"All right," she says with a teasing smile, "but you owe me for leaving me here with them alone."
"Fair enough. Thanks, Rosie." I'll have to come up with something good. I sure as hell wouldn't want to be left here with them either. I know from experience.
I realize halfway to the Seam that I'm wringing my fingers furiously in the hem of my skirt. I am nervous about my visit; even though I think of Katniss as my friend, we never spent time together outside of school, and even in school we didn't do a lot of talking. I'm not sure I know how to actually socialize with people since I never really do it.
Prim dispels my anxiety the moment she opens her door. She smiles so brightly and throws her arms around me with such joy that I'm almost convinced we've been friends for years. "I'm so glad you're here!" she gushes as she pulls me inside. "I didn't know if you'd be able to with everything going on and all…." As she chatters on I relax a bit because it becomes clear that I won't have to be the one to initiate conversation. She thanks me profusely as she helps me unpack my basket of bread and cheese and apples, and asks me if I can stay a while to share everything for dinner.
"I don't see why not," I say. "Whatever you're cooking smells wonderful."
"Gale brought us a turkey this morning," she explains. "I think he was hoping today would be a happier occasion."
"I didn't even know what had happened this morning until I got to school," I tell her. "Mom keeps me pretty busy until I have to leave the house so-"
"Is she doing okay?" she asks eyes wide with genuine concern.
Surprised, I stutter when I answer her. "Uh – yes, better now."
"I'm sorry," she says immediately, "I don't mean to pry."
"No, no, it's fine," I say with a smile. "It's just that most people don't bother to ask." It is widely known that I have a sickly mother, and it seems to be equally widely accepted that because she is the wife of a public official her condition merits no concern whatsoever. No wonder Katniss is so fond of her sister, she truly is a sweetheart.
"My mom said they used to be friends a long time ago," she says. "I know she wonders how she's doing sometimes."
I think of the things I've heard about Katniss' mother. How others around town said she gave up her merchant lifestyle to go live in the Seam, and then how my mother kept the things they couldn't believe Mrs. Everdeen left behind and still did not fare much better. I think of my mother and her sister, Mrs. Everdeen and her husband, Peeta and his father, Katniss and Prim; it's all about who you love, in the end, and how they are taken from you.
"She has good days and bad days," I say, "Looks like the good ones might start outnumbering the bad ones soon."
"That's good," Prim says as she lifts the lid on a simmering pot to check the bird. The smell of it makes my mouth water, and I begin to regret skipping lunch. I am immediately ashamed of myself for feeling hungry. How many meals has Prim skipped in her lifetime, and not by her own choice? "Shouldn't take too much longer. Have they shown her on the television yet?"
"Not that I've seen." I've been trying to keep one eye on the Games during our conversation (it hasn't been difficult, since the Everdeens' home is so small the kitchen and living room are practically one and the same), looking for any bit of news about Katniss.
"Gale says that's a good thing," she says as she beckons for me to sit with her on an uncomfortable-looking couch.
"He's right. Most interesting things that happen in the arena are not good."
At long last the camera cuts to a few seconds of the Girl on Fire, sitting with her leg soaking in a small pool. Prim wrinkles her nose, shakes her head. "She needs to get up," she says with a touch of frustration. "Water is good at first but if they won't send her medicine, she needs to find a beehive."
"A beehive?"
She nods. "For honey."
"Honey?"
She nods again. "For the burn."
I look at her quizzically. "Really?"
I get an enthusiastic exposition on the art of burn treatment, punctuated by occasional irritation at the fact that Katniss was never very inclined to help with patients (and therefore acquired only limited bits of otherwise rather valuable information). Her mother emerges from what I suppose is a bedroom, looking melancholy but alert, and nods politely at me in a quiet greeting. She listens to Prim for a moment, glances at the television, and nods again in agreement before busying herself in the kitchen. For a twelve-year-old, Prim is remarkably knowledgeable and utterly confident. I have no doubt that if she were in the arena with her sister, Katniss would be back on her feet already. The girl could be a doctor someday. If she weren't from District Twelve, didn't live in the Seam, had a chance to put her smarts to use. I feel my resolve harden a little more.
We sit and watch nervously for a while as the broadcast focuses on the group of career tributes, who want to find the girl who outscored them in training. When they bring it up as they make plans, Peeta distracts them. For now, they take renewed interest in the project started by the boy from District 3. Whatever he's been doing with the buried wires around their mountain of supplies must be pretty impressive, because he doesn't really look like the type the careers would allow to survive this long. The camera cuts to a slight, red-haired girl watching the group intensely from the cover of a dense thicket at the tree line; she traces a vague outline in midair with one finger as if trying to piece together what they are doing, her mouth turned upward in a faint, knowing smile. I can only wonder at what she's figured out, and it makes me consider what my odds would have been in the arena. I can hear Claudius Templesmith's voice now: Margaret Undersee, the first and only tribute to ever be awarded a training score of zero in the history of the Hunger Games.
The orange light pouring through the small windows tells us that the sun is on its way to setting, and Prim twists in her seat to look at the clock on the kitchen wall behind her. "They said they were going to be late, but I hope it's not too much longer. I'm getting hungry."
I'm surprised that she is expecting company, and immediately wonder where they are going to go because three of us fill their small home on our own. I start to ask who will be joining us when someone knocks on the door as if on perfect cue.
"Speak of the devil," she says with a laugh as she rises to answer it. "I should have said that sooner!" When she opens the door, I realize I should have known all along. And that I had good reason to be nervous after all.
….
"Come in, come in!" Prim says as she points to the kitchen. "Supper's ready!"
"I'm sorry it took us so long," I say, pushing Vick and Rory ahead of me in to the house. "Help her get plates out, guys. And all for naught, it turns out. Bakery was closed," I set Posy down so she can join her brothers, "and they weren't home, so no bread-"
Posy interrupts as if I don't exist at all. "Can I go pet Lady?" Prim nods to give permission, and my sister happily skips away.
"No bread," I continue as I follow Prim through the door, "so guess what's for breakf- what the hell are you doing here?"
A girl sits in the living room. An unexpected girl. A pretty girl with blond hair and a shy smile. She wilts when I speak, though, and the smile wanes as her eyes fall away from me. Everyone else is looking at me now, and I realize that I sounded more harsh than surprised. But they don't understand how hard I've tried to not to have to look at her, to think of her the last few days. How I've been failing. And the guilt. Oh, the guilt….
"I invited her," says Prim carefully. "Figured that would be okay."
I shrug. "Your roost, your rules," I say. Good job, Hawthorne. That fixed it. I'm not overly worried about making Madge feel better, but I don't want Prim and everyone else to be uncomfortable. Which is exactly what I've done. "Didn't expect anyone else, is all." There. Good enough.
Prim decides to change the subject. "Is your mom coming, too?" she asks as she moves to the kitchen and helps Vick, who is still just a little too short to get a ladle out of the pot of turkey without making a mess.
"Later," I tell her while I debate whether I ought to say something to Madge. "She still had a lot of work to finish." A good thing in more ways than one, I have to say. If she'd been here to witness my behavior a few seconds ago, she might have actually smacked me. Hard. In front of everyone.
"Don't worry about the bread, Gale," Rory says with a grin, "She's already got plenty to share."
"Oh?" I'm surprised when he holds up a chunk of soft brown bread for me to see, then tears it in half to give part of it to Vick.
Prim smiles as she fills her own plate. "Madge brought it," she explains, and though her voice is nothing but grateful and polite she says the words as if she is making a very fine point.
Great. Bailed out by Madge Undersee again. I'm still not sure how to handle the situation, or why it always seems so difficult when she is involved. Rory has a good head on his shoulders, at least, and has the sense to say "Thank you." It occurs to me after the fact that I ought to have done it myself. I almost know what to say when my sister opens the door and squeals at the sight of her new best friend.
"Miss Madge!" Posy darts to the couch and throws her arms around a startled Madge.
"Posy!" she says as she returns the hug. "If I'd have known you were going to be here I'd have brought you some more flowers!"
That's about the last sentence Madge will be able to get in for a while, because Posy can have a conversation with a brick wall and do just fine; give her an audience that will nod every so often and work in an "uh-huh" here and there, and it's all over. It'll buy me some time to get my bearings again. I pick up a plate, spare a glance for my squirmy sister, and trade it immediately for a bowl. I fill it and another plate, and carry them both to the living room.
"Sit still for a minute, Pose, so you can eat," I say as I round the couch. She must be hungry because she listens on the first try. "No, use both hands, chickadee – better – okay." I extend the other plate to Madge, but she only looks at me timidly as if she expects me to tell her to get her own damn food. To be honest, I'd considered it, but decided a gesture of good will might not be a bad idea. I do owe her, after all. I nod to indicate that yes, I actually mean for her to take it, and when she thanks me the shy smile returns. I hadn't realized how much I missed it.
Because of that I opt to eat at the table with my brothers. When we finish cleaning up the dishes, we bring the kitchen chairs into the living room so we can all have a place to sit while Madge starts teaching Posy how to play a game with a long loop of string. The girls get the couch, Mrs. Everdeen the armchair. Rory places his chair strategically next to Prim, Vick and I across from them. I want to be sure I can snatch up Posy in a hurry if I need to get her away from the television.
We sit and watch the Hunger Games helplessly for a while, like we are keeping watch for Katniss. Not that it does her any real good, of course, but it makes us feel better. The camera cycles through the remaining tributes, lingering only a moment or two on the ones that have nothing interesting to offer. As much as I miss her and want her to come home, I hope we see little of Katniss for as long as possible. A tall, strong, dark-skinned boy starts a small fire at his camp in the wheat field while there is still enough daylight to keep it hidden. I wonder briefly what his story is – he looks like the type that the Careers would have liked to have on their side, but he had kept all the supplies he'd won at the bloodbath and taken off. A little girl, no older than Prim, perches in a tree and nibbles a handful of berries while her wide brown eyes scan the landscape around her warily. The pack of Career tributes, along with Peeta Mellark, hovers over a skinny, pallid boy near their mound of supplies.
"They're still at it," says Madge says as she pauses in her spiderweb game to tie Posy's loose shoelaces.
"I wonder what they're doing," Prim muses.
"I'm pretty sure he's rewiring the mines," I say, "to booby-trap the supplies for them."
"Really?" says Prim, and I suddenly have a half dozen pairs of eyes on me.
Madge asks, "Can they do that?"
"Sure, I guess, if they know how," Rory answers, staring hard at the television as if he could somehow absorb this knowledge from it.
"Not a bad idea, if you think about it. But I wouldn't do it that way," I add critically.
Prim frowns. "Why not?"
"Look how close their stuff is to the explosives. If somebody trips a mine, it'll kill them, sure, but everything else goes with it."
"Oh. You're right," Rory agrees. "That's… stupid."
"Maybe not," Madge offers as she looks up from her game with Posy. "What if he did it on purpose? I mean, most of those careers can use a weapon, but other than Peeta none of them seem very bright -"
I do not feel like listening to Peeta Mellark's redeeming qualities. After making such a show of his crush on Katniss, he abandoned her. Period. "Oh sure, Peeta's a real genius," I cut her off. "That's why he's relying on these idiots instead of finding a way to survive on his own and actually help the love of his life."
Madge looks surprised, as if she cannot understand how I've come to this conclusion. "But… he is helping her-"
"By staying with the mountain of provisions and the Capitol lapdogs," I spit, "while she sits in a pool with an injured leg?"
Her brows knit and that fierce glare from a few days ago returns, except now I'm on the receiving end of it. "By staying with the hounds that want to kill her and keeping them at bay," she snaps. "If you'd pay attention, you'd see every time they bring her up he distracts them or leads them in circles."
If I'm willing to be honest – and for some reason I'm finding that I am, more and more often – I'd have to say she's got me there. I haven't paid much attention to Peeta Mellark. Haven't wanted to. So I'm not very sure about how to refute this point. But I'll be damned if I lose another debate to her.
"You sure about that?" I prod. "Maybe he is trying to find her but he's too incompetent to do it." I put on my most patronizing tone. I'm good at it. I've had a lot of practice. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you don't learn too many survival skills like tracking growing up in town with a cushy job in a bakery."
Her eyes narrow at the barb. A little piece of me feels bad, because of the debt I owe her and the kindness that I really can't deny she's earned of late. But then, I may have missed that shy smile mere moments ago, but ire suits her even better.
"Growing up in town doesn't make somebody an idiot, Gale. It just means their survival skills are different form yours. He might not be able to track Katniss through a forest, but he can manipulate the murderers away from her for a while. Do you honestly think he believes them when they say they want her as an ally?"
"I don't know, but if he doesn't don't you think he would try a little harder to help her? And that aside, do you think it matters at all? Because – "
"Gale!" Posy stomps a foot as she stands up and rolls her eyes at me in irritation. Four going on fourteen, God help me. "We can't play our game if you're fighting!" Her comical mannerisms cool me down a degree, and the uncomfortable looks on everyone else's faces a few more. I realize with jarring clarity that I had practically forgotten they were here with us. In a weird way, I'm a little disappointed I remembered them; I was really starting to get Madge going.
I pause for a second before I finish my last thought. I can't not say it. "Because only one gets to come home anyway."
Madge's glittering blue eyes flash back at me, and for a second she looks like she might respond. Instead she checks herself and lets her gaze drift carefully back to the sting in her hands, twisted artfully around long, elegant, unscarred fingers. She nods calmly for my sister to take her turn, but her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw give away the fire smoldering just below the surface.
"Are you finished?" Mrs. Everdeen asks quietly.
It's almost like the floor drops out from under my chair. Except it doesn't actually happen, which is unfortunate for me, because the very best thing that could happen would be for the earth to swallow me up right here and now. So I hang my head and try to look as contrite as possible. Because Madge wasn't the only person here who grew up in town. I only hope Mrs. Everdeen understands that I was so harsh because I love her daughter. That thought drops the bottom out of everything all over again, because even while I love her daughter I'm completely enamored with getting a rise out of the girl watching the Games with us. And it's not because I hate her. And of course, because everything can always get worse, this is exactly when my mother decides to knock on the door.
….
I'm glad for the distraction that Gale's mother brings. I need a moment to bite my tongue. He is only protective of Katniss, and doubtless he'd have handled things differently if he had been in the arena instead of Peeta. He is worried for his friend and angry at someone who is unable to help her like he could. So I forgive him. Again.
It's getting old, though.
Hazelle greets everyone warmly – even me, which I am certain irks her eldest son to no end – and I get an opportunity to reflect on how very close I was to telling him he is wrong, that if the pieces continue to fall into place two tributes will be coming home to District Twelve. I can't let that secret go. Because it has to seem that like it happened organically, unplanned, from within the Capitol itself if it's going to work. I don't think Gale is untrustworthy, per se, but I can't risk him letting something like that slip. It hurts though, because I so badly want to tell him, and he so badly needs to know. She's the only one in the arena with an ally that won't have to turn on her in the end.
The action picks up unexpectedly on the television, and after a moment we all realize that the Careers are on the hunt and closing in on the Girl on Fire. Everyone holds their breath as we will her to wake up and run for her life. Hazelle coaxes Posy off to the side and asks her to show her the game she had been playing with me, one eye still on the Games on screen. Heavy footsteps finally rouse Katniss and moments before they bear down on her she scrambles to her feet and up a tree. I wince at the thought of what it must feel like on her burned skin, but I suppose it's nothing compared to what she must know they have in store for her.
After a few seconds of shouting and confusion, a boy tries to climb up after her.
"This oughtta be good…." Gale mumbles, and sure enough a bough cracks under the boy's weight, sending him crashing down. I'm surprised that he gets to his feet after a painful-looking landing.
More confusion and a lot of swearing end in a girl attempting to scale the tree as Katniss climbs even higher. When she finds a suitable perch, she struggles awkwardly with something slung across her body for a second or two, and I see it is a bow and a quiver of arrows. I glance at Gale to gauge his reaction; his gray eyes are focused and hard as his mouth forms a silent No. These weapons are meant for Katniss. The girl aims an arrow and misses badly; Katniss retrieves it and waves it mockingly at her pursuers, which makes Gale smile.
A little girl appears in a tree next to her, and alerts Katniss to a bees' nest overhead. I'm alarmed for my friend, because they don't look like the kind of bees Prim said her sister needs. Peeta convinces the other tributes to wait until the morning to deal with Katniss, and I (with a smug little smile, I have to admit) look at Gale again only to find is face unreadable. After she tries in vain to cut down the beehive, Katniss is rewarded at last with medicine, and lashes herself to the tree to rest for the night. We wait, breathless, for any further action, but no one – Katniss, Peeta, or the careers – moves, and we decide that the excitement is over for now.
It's getting dark now that we all ready ourselves to go home. Prim invites me to visit again as I retrieve my basket, and I insist she keep the leftovers. Privately I debate whether I should return or not since Gale will likely also be in attendance, and decide that I will if only to make a point. I say my goodbyes, thank the Everdeens' for their hospitality, thank Gale for the turkey (I am certain that my effort at civility has him nearly climbing the walls), and give Posy one last hug. I have one foot out the open door when I hear Hazelle Hawthorne's voice behind me.
"You are not letting her walk all the way home alone in the dark. Go with her."
...
Footnotes:
I meant to notate this when it was mentioned in the last chapter but failed to do it, so here it is: Arrowhead is a real wild food source, and it has many varieties found all across the United States. They grow in swampy, watery areas and are actually rather pretty; they produce a tuberous root that tastes something like a turnip. Arrowhead is the common name for –wait for it - Katniss.
Honey is among the best natural treatments for burns. It has even been shown in clinical studies to outperform most pharmaceutical products in healing wounds. Better-known Aloe is useful as well for its soothing properties, but does less for the healing process (besides, it doesn't grow in the geographical area in which District 12 is located, so I would think that Prim and her mother are unlikely to be familiar with it).
In case anyone is curious, the "game" Madge and Posy are playing is Cat's Cradle. I chose this particular activity for them because of its simplicity; all it requires is about a yard of string, so it's easy to do in a pinch and children in the Seam probably don't have much in the way of fancy toys. I can actually do it – if you have the time look it up, because it's pretty cool.