Chapter 11: Training & Interviews, Part II

Katniss's POV

The Capitol is as beautiful and extravagant as I imagined or ever saw on TV. As soon as Haymitch, Peeta and I disembark from the train, throngs of screaming citizens wearing loud, flashy clothing and jewelry try to evade the paparazzi to greet us.

A limousine takes us to a special medical facility. I look to Haymitch wonderingly.

"Stylists," he reminds me shortly.

Ah, yes. Before we begin training, all the tributes must be prepped by their assigned stylist so as to appear pretty before all of the Capitol. Upon entering the place, I only just have time to squeeze Peeta's hand before we are separated. Being primped and preened into something Capitol-worthy would be so much more bearable if I at least had a friend to commiserate with.

But it turns out, I do. Upon greeting me, my dark-skinned stylist praises me. "That was the most wonderful thing you did, for your sister. My name is Cinna."

"Katniss," I return. There's a pause where Cinna appears to be looking me up and down. "So, you were assigned to District 12?"

"I asked for District 12," he smiles, and somehow I can tell he's sincere. His admission surprises me. Twelve is probably the biggest loser district of them all, given our god-awful victory record. That any Capitolite would want to even touch us makes me grant Cinna a great deal of respect.

Still - "So, you're here to make me look pretty?" That's his job, after all.

"I'm here for you to make an impression," he corrects me, and the way he puts it makes me feel somewhat better about my circumstances.

Cinna dresses me in a sleek gray jumpsuit and pants, but tells me that the real 'impression' won't come until that night during the Tributes Parade in the City Circle.

When Effie drops me off at the chariot stables that evening, I see Peeta already waiting in a matching jumpsuit. With his blond hair sleeked back and coifed, he looks quite sexy and I have to banish any dirty thoughts from my mind.

Haymitch is by my boyfriend's side, and so is Cinna, carrying a small object in his hand.

"Are you ready?" he asks, holding the object slightly aloft.

"For what? What is that?"

"This is going to set your clothes on fire." Cinna says this without a shred of irony.

Peeta stares. "You're joking," but Cinna ignores him, eyes only for me. Staring back at him, I have an overwhelming wave of trust wash over me. I nod once. He approaches with what must be a lighter.

"Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," I reply automatically, and I give Peeta a look that says if he can't trust Cinna, he should at least trust me. Peeta nods solemnly, getting the silent message.

But instead of lighting anything, Cinna presses the lighter into my hand. And I realize it isn't a lighter at all - it's a button, the kind that contestants would press on game time quiz shows. "Press this when you're ready." He hands a second one to Peeta.

The tributes are now scrambling to get into their chariots. As Peeta and I approach ours, he playfully bows before me. "Allow me, mademoiselle."

I smile at his boyish charm. "Why, thank you, kind sir!" and I let him take my hand and help me up into the chariot.

Being the very last tribute pair to go, it takes a bit before our chariot even starts to move. As we emerge into the bright lights of the city and hear the roar of the crowd, I instinctively know what to do.

"Now!" I holler to Peeta.

And we press the buttons.

All at once, I feel a tingly heat race up around my body. But it is not like the kind I experience when Peeta and I make love. No, this heat feels more…. artificial, but nevertheless soothing.

Then, I hear the roars of the crowd reach a fever pitch. Amidst all the cheering, I hear one call in particular: my name.

"Katniss! Katniss! Katniss! Katniss!"

By the time our chariot reaches the City Circle and President Snow has given his address, all the other tributes are staring at Peeta and me in jealousy.

Talk about an impression, indeed.

The very next morning, Haymitch takes us down in an elevator to the first floor of the Tribute Training Center. It will be our home for the next four days while we train for the arena, and prepare for our televised interviews with Caesar Flickerman.

"Now, remember," Haymitch warns us. "Use this time to learn something new. Do not show off your strengths."

"Got it," I nod.

"Oh, and one more thing," our mentor adds before releasing us. "You two stick together like glue."

This last instruction throws me. I had always assumed Peeta and I could split up and cover more ground. We can take care of ourselves. This rationalization leads me to break off from him about an hour or so into our session. My boyfriend does not seem to mind and, figuring he can handle himself, I continue to ignore Haymitch's advice by reviewing my knowledge at the Edible Plants section. When I tire of that, I return to find Peeta painting his arm to match the bark of a fake tree. I stare.

"That's amazing!" I breathe.

"Is it?" he shrugs self-deprecatingly. "I used to decorate the cakes down at the bakery."

I smile. "You never told me that!"

He laughs. "Playing up my wrestling skills seemed to be a much more effective way to court you."

I smile.

Later in the day, I am learning about knife throwing when I see Peeta over in the Ropes Course sector. Struggling to climb a netted ladder, he ends up twisting himself in the thing and falls the few feet to the floor.

Laughter makes me glance over to the Careers - the tributes from District 1, 2 and 4 who illegally train for the Games since birth and always form an alliance. They win the thing almost every year.

And they are now looking at my boyfriend as though he is their dinner or something. Fiercely protective, I get an idea and race over to Peeta's side.

"Throw that metal thing over there," I tell him, eyeing some giant weight balls over on a nearby rack.

"What?" Peeta pants. "But Haymitch said -"

"I don't care what Haymitch said. Frankly, I haven't cared all day. Those guys are looking at you like you're a meal. Throw it."

Peeta gets to his feet and approaches the rack. Selecting the biggest metal ball he can find, he manages to carry it to the center of the Training Floor. With all his might, he hurls the thing so hard, it slams into a rack of spears almost on the other side of the room.

I immediately search for the Careers' reaction. Their leader - a blond, imposing boy from District 2 named Cato - simply shrugs and murmurs something to his companions that I cannot make out. But, from the look on his face, he appears to be…. impressed.

On the evening of the second day, I enter our apartment's dining room, ready for my coaching session with Haymitch and Peeta. But I only find my mentor at the table.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask him as I sit down.

"Not coming," Haymitch tells me, and I'm surprised. I didn't think Haymitch was the kind of teacher who would just permit absences, excused or otherwise.

"Why? Is he sick?" I remind myself to check on him in his room once I'm done here.

Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has said he wants to be coached separately."

My being feels as though it has been untethered from reality. Even though Haymitch has probably already seen the hurt in my eyes, I promptly get up and leave the room. I am grateful the old man doesn't follow me. The door to my room has barely closed before I collapse on my bed in tears.

Why would Peeta no longer want to be coached with me? Is this because of how I have mostly stayed separate of him in Training? He's never seemed bothered by it, and even if he was, he would tell me. Right? Couples tell each other things.

Another horrid explanation strikes me, and it sends me spiraling down into deeper despair. The man I love is preparing to kill me. That must be it! When was the last time we even kissed? Was it…. on the train? Has Peeta finally accepted that the arena is no place for love? Is he letting me go? Is he finally placing his own survival over how he feels about me?

With thoughts like this stewing inside of me, I cry myself to sleep.

The next day is our last day of Training and our private session with the Gamemakers. I am the second-to-last called. As I leave, Peeta calls out, "Shoot straight, honey." Thoughts both warm and bristling go to war in my head over his pet name for me. I do not say anything.

My frustration only gets worse when I perceive that none of the Gamemakers are even bothering to watch my session, their attention instead focused on a giant suckling pig. Enraged, I shoot an arrow right through the apple in the pig's mouth. That gets their attention. I mockingly bow.

"Thank you for your consideration."

By the time I return to our team's apartment, Haymitch, Effie and Cinna have all heard about my stunt. Haymitch thinks it's hilarious; Effie is appalled at my apparent lack of manners. Cinna breaks the tie by praising me, though gently. "You were well within your rights to demand their attention, Katniss; you are a tribute, after all."

When Peeta returns from his session and hears the whole story, he flashes me a winning grin that cannot help but warm my heart. "I'm proud of you," he declares. And despite the fact that he hurt me with his wish to be coached separately, I smile back at him.

Outnumbered 3 to 1, Effie has no choice but to join us on the couch to watch the Training Scores be broadcast live. She is tempered by Lucy Gray making an appearance for the first time since we arrived in the Capitol, but our elderly mentor soon needs to be helped to bed before Twelve's scores are even read. Except for the Careers and their predictably high scores, everyone else's are mediocre. Then we get to District 12.

"First we have Peeta Mellark, with a score of 8." Caesar announces.

This seems to finally reverse Effie's mood, for she praises Peeta in her rather awkward way. "We can work with that."

"And last, but not least, we have the lovely Katniss Everdeen with a score of…." There is a pause as Caesar peers closer at the paper. Is something wrong?

"11."

11!

Effie lets out a squeal and Haymitch whoops like some kind of cowboy. I turn to find a stunned Peeta pulling me into a hug. "Congratulations," he whispers in my ear, and I dare to lean my head on his shoulder.

Cinna doles out champagne for the adults and immediately proposes a toast. "To Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!"

The next night are the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Ordinarily, being paraded in front of all of Panem would and should be terrifying for someone like me, whose social skills are average at best. However, with Cinna's wonderful red dress that he designed for me, I feel I at least have something to turn to in conversation. Or to hide behind. I am not quite sure yet.

As with the Training Scores, only a few tributes stand out to me. Cato comes off as extremely arrogant, expecting to come back alive as the champion. The redheaded girl from 5 is sly and elusive. There is a little black girl from District 11 that reminds me painfully of Prim.

Before I know it, it's my turn. As I take the stage, I can just hear the roar of the crowd and I shake Caesar's hand in a fog. My stupor is so great that I know he's asked me a question already, but I cannot focus on what it is.

"What?" I blink stupidly.

"Uh oh, I think someone's a little nervous," Caesar laughs, graciously giving me a save. The crowd laughs, plays along. "I said: How did you feel when those flames came on at the Tribute Parade?"

I think back to the advice Cinna gave me in my dressing room: Be honest.

"Well, I was just hoping I wouldn't burn to death," I reply sheepishly.

Caesar eats it up, and his easygoing nature actually relaxes me. "In fact, I'm wearing some today. Would you like to see?"

Neither Caesar nor the audience seems to know what I mean. So I show them. Standing from my chair, I begin to twirl as Cinna instructed me to. Flames all at once begin to lap up the hem of my dress. I can hear the audience shrieking in delight, spy Caesar clapping his hands in rapture. I soon have to sit down before I get too dizzy.

"My, my, Katniss! That was marvelous!" The audience cheers in agreement with Caesar. The interviewer's expression grows somber.

"I have one more question for you. It's about your sister. What did you say to her after the Reaping?"

No. I can joke about fire and twirl for these people, but I cannot bear my soul to them about my precious little sister. But then I remember Cinna's words: Be honest.

"I told her that I would try to win. That I would try to win for her." There. At least then I can be honest while keeping the details to myself.

"Of course you did," Caesar smiles. "And try you will." He kisses my hand as time expires. "Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on FIRE!"

The audience goes nuts at my exit. I head for the wings, hearing the applause continue as my boyfriend enters from the other side of the stage. Back with Haymitch and Effie, I watch Peeta begin his talk with Caesar.

I have always known my lover to be charming and that he has a great sense of humor. He puts it to good use with Caesar, turning a question about the Capitol's showers into a running gag that involves him and the host sniffing each other. At last, Caesar manages to pull himself together after nearly crying with laughter and turns serious.

"Now, Peeta, tell me: Is there a special girl back home?"

"No, nah, there isn't," Peeta chuckles.

"I don't believe it for a second! Look at that face!" Caesar plays to the crowd. "Peeta: tell me."

There is a pause. What will he do? What do I want him to do? Do I want him to make our relationship public in front of the entire country? Or will he refrain? If he chooses the latter and plays coy, is that an explanation for why he has been so distant in his display of affection for me? But Peeta is now answering.

"Well, there is this one girl that I've been in love with forever. And she loves me back. But I don't think I appreciated how much until the Reaping."

I think I know where this is going. He is going to be honest, while still keeping what should be private as private.

"Well, Peeta, you go out there, and you win this thing, and when you get home, she will love you even more. I bet she'll even marry you! Right folks?" The audience screams encouragement.

Peeta chuckles. "Thanks, but I don't think winning is going to help me at all."

"And whyever not?"

"Because she came here with me."

My mouth falls open. He outed me! He just outed our relationship in front of the entire country! I feel a new kind of heat begin to build within me now. And it isn't love.

Caesar, for his part, looks speechless and crestfallen. "Oh. Well, that's just bad luck."

"Yeah it is," Peeta morosely sighs.

The audience is taking it worse than either of them. Some are openly weeping, a few have given agonized cries. But Caesar reverses fortunes quickly, by bidding Peeta a hearty farewell. "And I think I speak for all of Panem when I say: our hearts go with yours."

A new kind of heat has built up in me, all right. Except it isn't love.

It's rage.

That boiling rage makes me target my lover like a heat-seeking missile. As soon as I spot him, I promptly pin him to the wall by the throat.

"What the hell was that I?" I shriek, finally letting the bottled-up emotions of the last several days out into the open. "You don't so much as hold my hand for four days and now you make our relationship public? Oh, but you wanna be coached separately?"

"Hey. Hey!" Haymitch is on me now, as he and Effie pull us apart. Turning to face me, my mentor eyes me sternly. "He did you a favor."

I suddenly have even less faith in Haymitch's basic vocabulary skills than I did on the train, if he can somehow interpret what just happened up there as a 'favor.' "He made me look weak!" I spit.

"He made you look desirable!" Haymitch snaps. "Now, I can sell the Star-Crossed Lovers act -"

"Unfortunately, my boyfriend and I are actually in love," I drawl, sneering at Peeta over Haymitch's shoulder.

"Whatever. At least now I can honestly say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet! Which do you think will get you more sponsors: that, or my saying you're about as exciting as a bump on a log?" Haymitch points between me and Peeta. "Whatever issues you lovebirds have right now: deal with them. By 10 AM tomorrow morning." And he orders me to my room while Effie leads Peeta away.

It only takes about a half an hour of just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling to realize that I can't sleep. As much as I hate to admit it, there is only one thing that could get me to enjoy one last peaceful night before I have to fight for my life.

Slipping out of my room, I go across the hall to Peeta's door and tentatively knock. I'm surprised when he answers after only about a minute.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Couldn't sleep?" I shake my head.

He sighs. "Well, that makes two of us. Come on in." Taking me by the hand, he pulls me into his room. Not once breaking our contact, he slips into his bed and helps me in beside him, nestling me into his embrace without a word.

It dawns on me how much I've missed this. The feeling of lying in his embrace, in his bed after we've had sex or kissed until our lips are bruised. I savor the moment, the silence, the sensation of just being with him. Nothing need be done. Nothing need be said. Peeta finally breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been so distant with you. And…. I should have told you my plan for my interview."

I turn my head against his chest, looking up to find his gaze. "Is that why you wanted to be coached separately?"

"That was the reason, yes. I'm sorry if you ever thought otherwise. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I understand," I whisper. "And…. I forgive you." I let out a long sigh. "But it doesn't change the fact that we're going into an arena of death tomorrow."

"Hey, now, what did I tell you on the train?" Peeta cups my face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing away that tears that linger there. "I. Love. You. The arena will never change that."

"But death can," I whine plaintively. But Peeta just smiles in the face of this crushing reality.

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is….. delay it for a little while."

He kisses me at long last, and I close my eyes, failing to hold back a moan. "Hmmmmmmm….." He pulls away far too quickly, and I am desperately reaching for him, not wanting this moment to end, when I notice the pensive expression on his face.

"What's wrong, my love?"

"I….. I just wish I could think of a way to show them…. that they don't own me," Peeta ponders. "Does that make any sense?" He glances back to me and I nod vigorously, urging for him to continue. "You know if…. if I'm probably going to die…. I want to still be me."

I take him in my arms and press my lips to his, making the kiss deep and lingering. "You will be," I murmur against his lips. "But…." and I lace my fingers through his. "I cannot afford to think like that. And neither can you. Let's just stay alive, like Haymitch said, and focus on whatever time we have left together."

Peeta and I fall asleep in each other's arms, kissing until our eyes close from sheer exhaustion.