Chapter Thirty Seven: Preparation
I slip into my bath and try to block out everything around me. Trying to force the visit with Snow out of my mind.
Even underwater I can hear the sounds of commotion. Honking car horns, shouts of greeting, doors banging shut. It can only mean my entourage has arrived. I just have time to towel off and slip into a robe before my prep team bursts into the bathroom. There's no question of privacy. When it comes to my body, we have no secrets, these three people and me.
"Katniss, your eyebrows!" Venia shrieks right off, and even with the black cloud hanging over me, I have to stifle a laugh.
Octavia comes up and pats Venia's back soothingly, "There, there. You can fix those in no time. But what am I going to do with these nails?" She grabs my hand and pins it flat between her two pea green ones. It's true. I've bitten my nails to stubs in the past couple of months. I thought about trying to break the habit but couldn't think of a good reason I should. "Sorry," I mutter. I hadn't really been spending much time worrying about how it might affect my prep team.
Flavius lifts a few strands of my wet, tangled hair. "Has anyone touched this since you last saw us?" he asks sternly. "Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone."
"Yes!" I say, grateful that I can show I haven't totally taken them for granted. "I mean, no, no one's cut it. I did remember that." No, I didn't. It's more like the issue never came up. Since I've been home, all I've done is stick it in its usual old braid down my back.
This seems to mollify them, and they all kiss me, set me on a chair in my bedroom, and, as usual, start talking nonstop without bothering to notice if I'm listening.
"Katniss, Did I see Finnick Odair downstairs?"
I nod, and they all gush about how gorgeous he is, and how they heard the rumors about us and how I am so lucky. They tell me all about the Capitol. And how much of a hit the games were. The are excited for Peeta and me to visit the Capitol, and after that they will be gearing up for the Quarter Quell.
"Isn't it thrilling?"
"Don't you feel so lucky?"
"In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"
Their words overlap in a blur of excitement.
"Oh, yes," I say neutrally. It's the best I can do. In a normal year, being a mentor to the tributes is the stuff of nightmares. I can't walk by the school now without wondering what kid I'll have to coach. But to make things even worse, this is the year of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games, and that means it's also a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts' defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I've never been alive for one, of course. But in school I remember hearing that for the second Quarter Quell, the Capitol demanded that twice the number of tributes be provided for the arena. The teachers didn't go into much more detail, which is surprising, because that was the year District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown.
"Haymitch better be preparing himself for a lot of attention!" squeals Octavia.
Haymitch has never mentioned his personal experience in the arena to me. I would never ask. And if I ever saw his Games televised in reruns, I must've been too young to remember it. But the Capitol won't let him forget it this year. In a way, it's a good thing Peeta and I will both be available as mentors during the Quell, because it's a sure bet that Haymitch will be wasted.
My mother comes in, somewhat shyly, and says that Cinna has asked her to show the preps how she did my hair the day of the reaping. They respond with enthusiasm and then watch, thoroughly engrossed, as she breaks down the process of the elaborate braided hairdo. In the mirror, I can see their earnest faces following her every move, their eagerness when it is their turn to try a step. In fact, all three are so readily respectful and nice to my mother that I feel bad about how I go around feeling so superior to them. Who knows who I would be or what I would talk about if I'd been raised in the Capitol?
When my hair is done, I find Cinna downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of him makes me feel more hopeful. He looks the same as always, simple clothes, short brown hair, just a hint of gold eyeliner. We embrace, and I can barely keep from spilling out the entire episode with President Snow. But no, we need to tell Haymitch first. He'll know best who to burden with it. It's so easy to talk to Cinna, though. I've been talking to him on the phone often now though, working on my talent.
Every victor is supposed to have one. Your talent is the activity you take up since you don't have to work either in school or your district's industry. It can be anything, really, anything that they can interview you about. Peeta, it turns out, actually has a talent, which is painting. He's been frosting those cakes and cookies for years in his family's bakery. But now that he's rich, he can afford to smear real paint on canvases. I don't have a talent, unless you count hunting illegally, which they don't. Or maybe singing, which I wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. My mother tried to interest me in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them took, although Prim had a knack for all three. Finally Cinna stepped in and offered to help me develop my passion for designing clothes, which really required development since it was nonexistent. But I said yes because it meant getting to talk to Cinna, and he promised he'd do all the work.
Now he's arranging things around my living room: clothing, fabrics, and sketchbooks with designs he's drawn. I pick up one of the sketchbooks and examine a dress I supposedly created. "You know, I think I show a lot of promise," I say.
"Get dressed, you worthless thing," he says, tossing a bundle of clothes at me.
I may have no interest in designing clothes but I do love the ones Cinna makes for me. Like these. Flowing black pants made of a thick, warm material. A comfortable white shirt. A sweater woven from green and blue and gray strands of kitten-soft wool. Laced leather boots that don't pinch my toes.
"Did I design my outfit?" I ask.
"No, you aspire to design your outfit and be like me, your fashion hero," says Cinna. He hands me a small stack of cards. "You'll read these off camera while they're filming the clothes. Try to sound like you care."
While I was in the living room I could hear Finnick and Prim talking in the kitchen. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I could tell they were having a good time. Every once in awhile my mother would join in. I find myself smiling.
Interupting my thoughts, Effie Trinket arrives in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, "We're on a schedule!" She kisses me on both cheeks while waving in the camera crew, then orders me into position. Effie's the only reason we got anywhere on time in the Capitol, so I try to accommodate her. I start bobbing around like a puppet, holding up outfits and saying meaningless things like "Don't you love it?" The sound team records me reading from my cards in a chirpy voice so they can insert it later, then I'm tossed out of the room so they can film my/Cinna's designs in peace.
Prim stands in the kitchen, being interviewed by another crew. She looks lovely in a sky blue frock that brings out her eyes, her blond hair pulled back in a matching ribbon. She's leaning a bit forward on the toes of her shiny white boots like she's about to take flight, like—
Bam! It's like someone actually hits me in the chest. No one has, of course, but the pain is so real I take a step back. I squeeze my eyes shut and I don't see Prim, I see Rue, the twelve year old girl from District 11 who was my ally in the arena. She could fly, birdlike, from tree to tree, catching on to the slenderest branches. Rue, who I didn't save. Who I let die.
Who else will I fail to save from the Capitol's vengeance? Who else will be dead if I don't satisfy President Snow?
I feel soft familiar fingers on my face. "Katniss, its okay," he whispers in my ear pressing his forehead onto mine. "Nothing is going to happen to her, or any of them, okay?" He reassures me as if he could read my mind. I nod, and smile at him.
I'm suddenly aware that the camera crew is in my house and they are ecstatic with the footage of us. Finnick kisses my forehead and helps me put my jacket on. I want to be held in Finnick's arms and for him to kiss me, really kiss me but I know we can't in front of the camera. That wouldn't look innocent enough.
My mother hurries up with something cupped in her hand. "For good luck," she 's the pin Madge gave me before I left for the Games. A mockingjay flying in a circle of gold. I tried to give it to Rue but she wouldn't take it. She said the pin was the reason she'd decided to trust me. Cinna fixes it on my jacket.
Effie Trinket's nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?" I don't exaggerate when I say she shoves me out the door.
For a moment I can't quite see right because of the snow, which is now coming down in earnest. Then I make out Peeta coming through his front door. In my head I hear President Snow's directive, "Convince me." And I know I must.
I see Peeta walking towards me with his hands behind his back, smiling playfully at me. I raise my eyebrow at him, knowing he is up to something.
He greets me, "Enjoying the snow little sister?"
I smile nodding yes, "Are you?"
He nods and reveals the snow ball he was hiding behind his back tossing it between his hands.
"You wouldn't..."
He smiles and lobs it at me, hitting me square in the chest and he is running away from me. I quickly pick up a handful of snow and chase after him squealing. I don't know if I have ever squealed in my life, but it seems fitting now. As i'm chasing him I silently thank him, he didn't even know about my talk with President Snow but he acted perfectly.
Effie corrals us and manages to get us to the train station. I hug my mom and Prim saying goodbye, while Peeta hugs his father and brothers. I notice his mother isn't present. I walk to Rye and Nate to say goodbye and they wish me luck. Then I walk over to Thomas, my father. I call him by his first name because Mr. Mellark seemed too formal and Dad didn't seem comfortable enough, at least not yet. But for the cameras, I run up to him hugging him. He takes me in his arms and spins me. I can tell he senses what I needed for the cameras.
"Good luck, baby girl." He tells me.
I reply, "Thank you daddy." And he kisses my cheek before telling Peeta to look after me.
Its a very fitting sweet innocent little girl scene. Perfect for the cameras.
We all sit down to eat an indescribably delicious meal on the train. And then I'm swathed in pajamas and a voluminous robe, sitting in my plush compartment. Peeta's door is across from mine. Finnick's is down the hallway a little ways. I'm waiting for everyone to fall asleep. I know Haymitch will be up for hours. He doesn't like to sleep when it's dark out.
When the train seems quiet, I put on my slippers and pad down to his door which is across from Finnick's. I have to knock several times before he answers, scowling, as if he's certain I've brought bad news. And truthfully, I have.