I have yet to meet Caesar Flickerman, though I'd seen him on a screen plenty of times. He's a flamboyant, theatrical, but ultimately friendly man, at least on television, though I would know that a person on a screen can be a far cry from a person's true self.
I wait backstage with Effie. There are TVs on the wall that Caesar appears on, and his smile is broad as he addresses the colorful audience. I barely pay attention to his introductions. I'm waiting for Gale.
"Your dress is nice," Effie comments politely. I can tell she actually thinks it's rather dull by her pink-wigged standards.
"Where's Gale?" I ask, forgetting to thank her.
"Haymitch was supposed to fetch him," she replies, thankfully not put off by my lack of cordiality. She's probably used to it at this point. Or maybe she's being kind because she's lying through her whitened teeth.
To her credibility, Haymitch is, in fact, not here. Where else would he be if not collecting the other tribute?
Not tribute. Victor. We are victors. Wow, that's weird.
"Where have you been!?" Effie hisses suddenly.
I scowl. I'm about to reply with some puzzled retort, ("The . . . hunger games, I think?") but then I realize she isn't speaking to me.
Haymitch and Gale emerge, Gale dressed in a suit and tie adorned haphazardly, and he still wears the same boots from the arena. He doesn't look like he's been hurt. He comes straight at me, and I'm hugging him before I've fully come to terms with how relieved I am.
"You're okay!" I cheer into his shoulder.
"You were nearly late!" Effie chastises.
"They wouldn't let him go!" Haymitch defends. "His dress-up people said they'd been given specific orders about when to release him."
Blearily, I realize Caesar's voice still prattling on. "Please welcome, the winners of the seventy-fourth hunger games!"
They kept Gale so he'd be late, and we wouldn't have time to talk, to catch up, to scheme, to plot. The orders probably came from Snow. I release my arms.
"It's time," I say, not excitedly by any means.
Haymitch opens his mouth quickly, probably to don out some quick last-minute advice.
"Go!" Effie urges, cutting him off. "And try to smile!"
Effie more or less shoves Gale and I out of the backstage area and onto the interview stage. I'm glad Cinna opted for flat shoes, because I feel like I would've fallen otherwise. Instead, I merely stumble, and Gale grabs my hand to steady me.
The crowd, whose applause had already started up loud, became nearly deafening. It's a shock to my ears, and all the woops and hollers become one hollow, dull roar. I can barely hear anything else. Gale gently tugs me forward toward a couch that Caesar has been gesturing toward. We sit beside each other, and Caesar takes a seat in a chair adjacent to us. Gale releases my hand.
The crowd quiets reluctantly, still beaming at us.
"Hello, hello!" Caesar bellows. I see nothing fake in his smile and joviality. He truly doesn't want us to look like fools. "Victors! Two for the price of one! How does it feel?"
"Uh . . . good," I respond elegantly.
The audience erupts as if I've said something terribly funny. My face flushes.
Caesar's laugh is less patronizing. "Isn't that the truth," he accepts and looks to Gale. "And you, young man?"
I look to my left at him, and I'm surprised at what I see. Gale's face makes no attempt at openness or charisma. His jaw is locked and his scowl is apparent.
"I'd feel a lot better, I think, if so many kids hadn't been killed," he replies stonily.
The crowd murmurs uncomfortably. Even Caesar's smile falters. I don't know how to look. Wow, I wish Gale had time to fill me in on what he's pulling right now.
"Ah, yes," Caesar nods, suddenly looking somber. He wore emotions extravagantly, but I feel as if he means every one. "Why don't we take a moment to remember your fallen fellow competitors? Little Rue, for example."
I tighten at the mention. Gale does, too. Out of the corner of my eye, on the large screen set up toward the back of the stage, footage of Rue begins playing itself out silently. I shift my head away from the screens.
"Katniss, how did you feel when you discovered that it was one of Gale's traps that claimed Little Rue's life?" Caesar asks solemnly.
How should I act? Should I act like I love him? Not the deep, multi-faceted, complicated, but ultimately powerful love I do hold for him. Should I act out a whimsical, school-girl, kid-friendly version of love and please everyone following our romance? Would that make the Capitol want to kill us less?
They didn't give us time to make plans. I don't know what to do. So I fall back on something dangerous.
I choose to be myself. I choose honesty.
"I was angry," I reveal, latching onto to the end of a silence that was just getting uncomfortable. "I was really, really angry."
"You certainly seemed that way," Caesar agrees. I don't want to look back and see what the screen is displaying now. "But you overcame that anger and renewed your alliance. What drove you to that?"
I glance over at Gale just in time to see Gale's gaze flitter away. He's still putting up his front of frustration, but he's curious about this.
Again, I choose honesty. It's so refreshing to make that choice.
"I learned . . . I just . . . It's just that . . ." Eek. Honesty isn't always eloquent. Or maybe that's just me. "I figured out that bitterness is really exhausting, especially towards him. I didn't want to go home without him."
An embarrassing chorus of aww resounds throughout the audience. I resist the urge to cringe. I notice Gale's scowl give way to a smile, but only for a moment. He doesn't notice me looking.
"Very good," Caesar approves. "Forgiveness is truly a healthy practice. And what about you, Mister Hawthorne?"
"What about me?" Gale snaps. The crowd starts up a murmur at his tone.
"How did you feel when Katniss finally forgave you?" he asks.
He looks over at me, his face softening. My stomach flips under his gaze. It's never done that before.
"Uh . . . good," he says, accidentally echoing me.
I chortle at his sudden loss of bravado. The crowd does as well. Caesar looks relieved.
"Ahh, you two certainly are a match," he comments. "I think I speak for everyone when I say we're so pleased about your opportunity at a life together. Do you have any plans for the future?"
I stiffen. And I expect Gale to do the same, but he answer almost immediately.
"I have something in mind," he replies.
He says it almost sinisterly, but from the dark look in his eye, I can tell he's not talking about any plans with me. I don't entirely know what he's talking about.
"Ooh, keeping it secret, I see," Caesar grins, either oblivious to the ambiguity or choosing to ignore it. "Okay, okay, we can let you lovebirds have your privacy."
I nearly scoff.
"Now, something on our minds," Caesar leans forward as he speaks, "is the final trap at the end of the games. From the looks of it, it seems it was Gale who nearly walked you both into a trap that could've killed you! Was this unintentional?"
Yes! I nearly sigh with relief. This is our chance! If we just make it seem like the trap thing was an honest mistake, that we were just going on a final walk together and enjoying the forest, then what charges could Snow hold against us? I'm about to forgo the honestly I'd just embraced and lie to the nation on Gale's behalf, but Gale speaks before me.
"No," he replies sharply, resolutely, "I knew exactly what I was doing."
I almost shove him off the couch on live television.
Because I know Gale. I know he figured out the same thing I did. I know he's aware that he just gave up a slim chance we had of keeping him safe.
But maybe he knows there is no safety for us after this.
"Hmm . . ." Caesar strokes his chin. He's smart enough not to commend that sort of behavior. "Very interesting. You both are very interesting. If we recall, I didn't get a chance to speak with either of you before the games began. There were some complications. Let's not bored the audience with that information."
Yeah, whatever.
I catch Cinna's eye. He sits in the audience in the fourth row. When he holds my gaze, he sticks his finger up and twirls it.
That's right. He instructed me to spin.
"Um, Caesar," I say meekly, "since I didn't make it to the interviews last time, do you mind if I take this moment to show you my dress?"
Caesar seems pleasantly surprised that I put forth a request. This confuses me for a moment. Do I come off as soft-spoken?
No, of course not. But Gale's leadership, his severity, is eclipsing me. He is the ringleader. To them, I am merely riding his coattails, and his big show of scowls and crossed arms isn't helping. Gale and I have won, but we're in danger, Gale most specifically. He's considered the leader of the two of us, the one who orchestrated the plan to let us live, to one-up the Capitol, to prove such a thing was possible. He is in danger, and he is putting on this show of defiance for the nation to see. He's further asserting himself as the threat, painting a target on his own back.
Am I merely an accomplice? Did I merely get dragged along for the ride?
"Sure you can show us your lovely dress! I'm sure the audience would enjoy a chance to admire it!"
I stand. I don't really care if the audience thinks I look pretty. Cinna's my friend, and he asked this of me.
I lift my right foot, set it down gently behind me, and then I start to spin. My hair lifts at the ends as my speed picks up, and the ends of my dress lift as well.
And then, my dress begins to burn.
I vaguely recall Cinna's words from earlier, during my first meeting with him that seems so long ago.
I'm going to set you on fire.
He's done it again, but this fire is not nearly as tame as the one he'd adorned me with during my exposition. This one roars around me without a hint of gentleness. It's fake, and does not burn me, but it awes the attentive crowd. Fire bursts into life at the sleeves, engulfing my arms and shoulders. I welcome it, lifting my arms in the air as I twirl. When I think my head might twist off, I force myself to a stop. It's probably the rush from the spinning, but a new confidence is in me now.
I look down at the dress. The old, plain thing has burned away. My new dress is silver. The same color as the traps in the arena. The mockingjay pin gleams gold against it, complementing the color. Tongues of flames still lick the hemline of the dress.
Snow watches from a balcony high above the awed Capitol crowd. He looks perplexed at the display. I smile at him.
I am not just an accomplice.
I befriended Rue and honored her as she died.
I asserted her as a human child despite the dehumanization of the games.
I put an arrow in the chest of the most skilled knife-wielder I've ever seen.
I found forgiveness and love in an arena of brutality and chaos.
Me. Not Gale.
I am not just an accomplice.
I am a girl on fire.