Chapter 7: Training, Day 3 & Interviews

"So, what's on the agenda today?" Jax asks us as we finish wrapping up breakfast on their third and final morning of training.

"You and Paula will continue your training until noon, break with the other tributes for lunch, and then wait until you are summoned for your private session with the Gamemakers. Traditionally, the girl tributes always go first, district by district, so that means Jax, you will be the last tribute they see. Use that to your advantage," Haymitch says.

"Be sure to solidify your alliances with Braid and District 11," Peeta continues. "And at lunch, Jax, make the offer to Domitia. Report back to us what she says."

I now jump in. "We've said it before: the private sessions are the time to show off what you can really do well to the Gamemakers. Leave all your strengths out on the table. Paula, show off your skill with knives. Jax, give them a few demonstrations of strength, and if there is a pickaxe in there, wield it around a bit. I'll conclude by imparting what Haymitch told Peeta and I last year: make sure they remember you."

Even with the busy schedule of hustling sponsors and my entering alliance negotiations with Chaff and Seeder, the District 11 mentors, time sees to pass agonizingly slowly. When lunch finally arrives it is a more subdued affair than normal, at least without Jax's conversation and jokes.

As we finally pass into the afernoon, I keep glancing at the clock, wondering where my tributes are now, what they're doing. Every tribute is alloted precisely fifteen minutes with the Gamemakers, so I try to do the math to estimate when Paula and Jax will be up. Peeta distracts me by giving me a big kiss, which soon devolves into a heated make-out and groping session on the couch. By the time I wrench myself up for air, several whole hours have elapsed and the afternoon shadows are growing steadily longer.

The sun is beginning to set in earnest when Paula and Jax finally return. Peeta's mom arrives back around 6:45, her expression blank and stony. It grows all the more glacial when she takes in my pink and very-kissed lips, my rumpled clothing.

Jax finally drags himself from the elevators at the top of the hour. He is clearly exhausted, but when I trap him with a questioning glance, he rewards me with a weary smile and a thumbs-up.

Only an hour later, the TV turns on by itself, blaring the Panem anthem and the country seal, heralding the mandatory programming that will broadcast all two dozen tributes' training scores.

As expected, Sheen and Sparkle, Andronicus and Domitia, all score high. District 1 racks up a 9 and a 10. Andronicus nabs an 11, which I find astonishing, especially for a man his age. But Domitia's is the true shocker: she gets... an 8?

I frown. "That's kinda low for a Career."

Haymitch nods gravely, turning to Jax. "What did she say when you popped the question?" Jax oddly blushes and Haymitch barks out a laugh. "You know what I meant, kid."

"She was... open to it," Jax admits.

"That's not a firm enough answer," Peeta presses. "What did she say: yes or no?"

"Yes!" Jax replies. "She said Yes."

Haymitch bobs his head. "Good. I'll place a call to Brutus late tonight."

The rest of the training scores pass relatively quickly. District 3's emaciated 20-somethings both net 6s. District 4's crop is unusually disappointing this year, which might be because the woman is in her 50s but moves like someone much older - she manages a paltry 2. Her 21-year-old district partner only does marginally better. Fritz Sparkplug, the 60-year-old badass from 5, draws even with Andronicus and gets an 11! My jaw drops, and Haymitch whistles.

"Matthias must be very pleased. Very pleased indeed."

The blur of the screen seems to go all the faster. Low to medium for Districts 6, 7 and 8. Braid, Cecelia's girl, manages a respectable 7 - desperately needed to counteract her octogenarian Mayor's pathetic 1. Districts 9 and 10 are just as bad - Selena Dogwood, the 96-year-old grandma from the Grain district, manages only a 3. Our allies from District 11 do well for themselves - the man achieves a 10, the woman an 8.

"And last but certainly not least, District 12!" Caesar gushes. "First up, we have the mother who brought Peeta, last year's Victor, into the world, with a score of... 9."

Light applause erupts throughout the penthouse suite. Peeta actually turns to his mother and nods his approval. "Congratulations, Mom."

"Thank you," she sniffs stiffly.

"And rounding out the night, we have the dashing Jax Wildscape, with a score of... 9."

I deflate ever so slightly. "Identical training scores. That's kind of anticlimactic."

"I say we take them!" Peeta laughs, pumping Jax's hand in congratulations. "You scored better than I did, Jax!"

His enthusiasm on behalf of his student prompts me to turn to my future mother-in-law. A training score of 9 at her age is nothing to shake a stick at. "Well done, Paula," I say quietly.

She doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge that I have spoken, electing instead to sweep from the penthouse living quarters without another word. Watching after her, I sigh. Tomorrow is going to be entirely devoted to interview prep before our tributes go live on TV with Caesar in the evening. From everything that Paula has displayed thus far, it is going to be a very long day.

I distract myself that night by sneaking into Peeta's room and surprising him in bed, where we spend hours upon hours making love. When his alarm goes off early, I reluctantly extradite myself from his arms, dress, and pad down the hall to wake Paula up. She is cranky and irritable when she answers the door, and I do my best to ignore it as I ask her to please get dressed and meet me in Conference Room A, just off the penthouse living quarters. My tribute might like the early start as little as I do, but Haymitch had warned Peeta and I that time would not be our friend on our slower day of interview prep.

The sky has just begun to lighten when Paula and I step into the conference room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. I can hear muffled voices in Conference Room B next door, and know that Peeta and Haymitch are beginning their session with Jax. How I wish I had a fellow female Victor to help me through this! I've always maintained that between this year's two tributes, I got the short end of the stick.

"Now, Paula, I thought we would start by holding a mock interview. I'm going to ask you some questions likely to appear in your session with Caesar. I hope that you will answer them as honestly as you can."

Roleplaying as Caesar, I launch into the softest softball question possible: tell me a bit about yourself. Paula runs through the basics that I already know: 41 years old, born and raised in Twelve's Merchant district. Married to a baker, mother of three. Her entire response is laden with a sullen tone, which I would be tempted to nuture as a possible angle... if I didn't feel like that sullenness wasn't directed at me. Because I'm here, asking the questions. With gregarious Caesar in place of me in the interview chair, there's no telling whether or not Paula would be just as brooding and dark. It might be a safe bet - Paula has been cynical and quiet since immediately after the Reaping - but that kind of angle could be construed by the Capitol as rebellious and come back to hurt my tribute later.

Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be any other personality that suits the mother of my lover. She's the farthest thing from warm. If Haymitch was frustrated by me being bland at best, standoffish at worst, my patience quickly wears thin at Paula coming off as downright hostile.

I have granted myself a break between questions, sitting back to go through my notes, when I hear Paula say across from me, "Your mother couldn't naturally have children, you know. She had to take lovers to conceive you and your sister."

I raise my head to meet her feral, truly ugly sneer. "What did you say?" I get out in a deadly whisper. Though I heard her perfectly well.

Paula is about to say it again, her terrible grin broadening, but I don't let her. My vision goes red, and I am suddenly out of my seat without fully realizing how I got there.

"LIAR!" My hand flies out, and in the next second, I am screaming obscenities, chasing Paula around the room as she holds her face, crying blood.

There's a thundering of boots in the hallway outside, and the door bangs open to reveal Haymitch. The drunk gets between us with lightning speed, pinning me to his body as I struggle to attack Paula further.

"Whoa, whoa! Mother of Snow, what is going on?!" my mentor yelps.

"You're absolutely HORRID!" I screech in Paula's direction as Haymitch drags me from the conference room.

Out in the hallway, Peeta steals from the conference room next door, eyes stricken as he takes in the commotion. "What the hell was that?"

"Peeta, get back to the prep! Jax needs you!" Haymitch orders.

But one look at me, and Peeta is at my side, brushing away my burning tears and intimately cupping my face. "What happened?"

I can only break down sobbing. "Lies, lies... all of it... she's... she's..." There isn't a strong enough word to describe the witch I am being forced to train.

Haymitch does the explaining for me. "Peeta, I'm telling you this with the greatest love and respect - your mother is a fucking cunt." I choke out a gasping laugh through my tears, though it's weak.

Peeta's jaw sets and his mouth collapses into a thin line. His cobalt eyes are flashing with a rage I have never before detected in reference to his mother. "Do you want me to continue prep with you? Haymitch should be able to coach Jax on his own."

And though I don't want to subject him to any more of his mother's abuse, I nod like a meek child. "Please."

Stealing an arm around me, Peeta guides me back into the conference room. With his presence, the rest of his mother's interview prep passes by without further incident.

Cinna truly is a miracle worker, in that he somehow manages to make it look as though I didn't nearly scratch Paula's eyes out mere hours ago.

As darkness begins to settle in around the city, Peeta, Haymitch and I hurry to take our seats in the Capitol Studios. Although, many of the Victors and even the citizenry still refer to it by its old name, which still hangs on the sign over the door - the Ford's Theatre.

Just as we settle into our chairs, the house lights dim and a spotlight beams up onto Coriolanus Snow entering the presidential box. According to legend, one of his predecessors was murdered in that very box centuries ago. Then, there is a mighty drumroll, the stage lights spin, inundating the stage in color, and then Caesar Flickerman bounds onto the stage.

After riffing for a minute or two in a short monologue, Caesar leaps right into the interview questioning. The Careers are each beautiful and deadly in equal measure. Caesar has particularly fun with Andronicus, the man from 2, about his age, goading the middle-aged warrior into confidently proclaiming he expects the Victor's Crown despite this. Fritz Sparkplug, the man from 5, is slick and mysterious. From his looks, he reminds me almost of Foxface. I gasp as a thought strikes me: was Fritz her father? I feel queasy when I can't immediately come to a definitive answer.

For a long while after Fritz, the interviews seem to go from bad to worse to downright forgettable. I try to pay attention for Braid's interview, since she's going to be an ally of our students, but by that time Haymitch is snoring. Selena Dogwood, the fossil from District 9, actually livens things up a bit when she declares, "I know exactly how I'm leaving the arena!" She toddles off the stage with the assistance of a cane and to cheers.

At long last, we reach District 12, and I have to surreptiously kick Haymitch to rouse him. "And here is Jax Wildscape, District 12!"

Whatever coaching Haymitch and Peeta tag-teamed on, and then Haymitch completed alone, the boys did an excellent job. Jax comes off just as Peeta did the year before. Likeable. Self-deprecating. Soft-spoken, as he talks about his wife and baby back home in Twelve. When Caesar asks him if he has any special skills, Jax demurs. "Let's just say the mines have given me a particular set of skills." The audience eats it up.

Paula goes last of all. I guess it wasn't just me, because like before, she is hostile to the ever-friendly TV host. Masterful as he is in trying to get reticent tributes to open up, Caesar is having some difficulty. I cast my eyes around the studio to see sponsors and influencers looking at each other in put-off confusion. A few are even failing to hold back yawns. I can't bear to cast my eyes up to the Presidential Box and read Snow's reaction.

"What do you plan on doing if you win, Paula?" Caesar is asking.

Here, Paula bites. "I plan on making my youngest son and my future daughter-in-law's lives a living hell! My ungeateful boy should never have told the world that my husband... and her trashy mother..." The old crone seems to let out something akin to a sob. Next to me, Peeta is gripping my hand so hard, his knuckles are turning white.

I think back to Peeta's and my romantic time in the cave. The story he told me about seeing me for the first time and falling in love with me. He had mentioned how his father, the Baker, had wanted to marry my mother, until she ran off with my daddy.

"What? You're making that up!" I remember saying to Peeta.

Caesar looks tempted to say the same thing. The drama has delighted him, in fact. "Oh, wouldn't you just love to have Peeta come up here? A joint interview with mother and son?" The crowd screams assent. Peeta glances sharply to me, eyes in a panic. But before Caesar can go forward with something so unprecedented, the buzzer sounds. Paula's time is mercifully up. "Paula Mellark!"

Back in the penthouse suite, Paula's loathing eyes are only for me. I have so many things I would love to say to this woman - although people say I am beautfiul in face, like my mother, they also say that I have my Daddy's mouth - but for Peeta's sake, I refrain. I say nothing at all beyond a terse, "Go to bed. You have an early start tomorrow."

And as I slowly spend that night bouncing up and down along Peeta as I make slow and tender love to him, I decide that in order to protect this man I love, I will have to honor Rye's request.

I will have to make sure that my tribute does not make it out of the arena alive. The life of my district partner - my lover - depends on it.